Fleur Might Have Genuinely Expected

  • by Kentand then BOOM. Kismet.
  • lined up like dolls
  • straight into my skull
  • Everything I know about sloths
  • a pervert’s omelet

Tune in next time part 838      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur might have genuinely expected me to have this prize. Her grasp of reality could at times be that tenuous. More likely she just wanted to humiliate me. I looked furtively at Jim and Tessa, wondering if I could get anything suitable from either of them. But no. The combined contents of their pockets would be a pervert’s omelet and utterly inappropriate as a victory token in this venue.

I usually find that whatever predicament I’m facing can be solved by decoding it via one of the multitudinous ciphers I learned at the Academy. This time I was stuck. If I went haring around the airship in search of a prize, Fleur would hear of it and mock me savagely. I had to calmly produce an answer from where I sat.

I receded into a trance, making my mind receptive to the vibrations of the universe. It was another Academy skill, one which I’d used infrequently but with great success. Everything I know about sloths was beamed straight into my skull during such an episode, the facts all lined up like dolls on a shelf in my parietal lobe. (Some of what I know about sloths is rather unusual.)

I was losing control. My trance became a spiral, and then a centrifuge. I feared I would be flung into perpetual madness all for the lack of a trophy for an infant talent show. I had to admit that there was a certain poetry in such a fate befalling me. All seemed lost, and then BOOM. Kismet. The answer floated before me.

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Susan Took Bruce by the Hand

  • by jenbecoming reacquainted with Fear
  • kickass title for a prog rock album
  • time is not on our side
  • hungry, sleepy, and cross
  • filled with white-hot rage

Tune in next time part 837      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Susan took Bruce by the hand and tugged him toward the exit. Bruce tried to pry his hand free, but Susan’s grip was iron. As he was dragged offstage, Bruce bellowed back over his shoulder at us, “When I return you will all be becoming reacquainted with Fear! Moon Fear!”

I didn’t want to say anything to Bruce about it, but “Becoming Reacquainted with Fear” would be a kickass title for a prog rock album. I made a mental note.

Fleur stepped up to the recently vacated microphone. “I’m afraid time is not on our side. The children are hungry, sleepy, and cross. Some are even filled with white-hot rage over missing snack time. We must conclude this infant talent show posthaste and declare a winner. I assume my husband has the prize prepared?”

As far as I knew, I was her only husband, and I did not in fact have a prize prepared. Shit.

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Retirement Celebration Part 1: Norway

Upon Kent’s retirement we took a big ol’ trip, partially to celebrate, partially to break Kent of his “check work email every 10 minutes around the clock” habit.

Our first stop was Norway. We’d been there once, briefly, about a decade ago, and it was great to be able to spend more time exploring. We started in Oslo and worked our way north.

Frogner Park in Oslo features about a million sculptures by Gustav Vigeland, all of them weird.

We visited small cities and tiny fishing villages, an aquarium north of the Arctic Circle, and a nature park where we got to go inside the wolf pen and pet real life actual wolves. Somehow Jen was able to convince Kent to leave his new lupine clan behind so we could continue our explorations.

Norwegian scenery: dramatic fjords, gorgeous vistas as seen from the train, and a mountain with a hole through it.

Eventually we made it all the way to Nordkapp, the North Cape, where the Atlantic and Arctic Oceans meet. We had gorgeous weather, which is apparently a rarity, but it was hella windy up on the plateau. We ran back and forth a lot to get pictures of each other with the globe statue. The visitor’s center goes deep underground, with a movie theater, a museum dedicated to a visit from the King of Thailand, a light show, and access to the King’s View, a lookout area built into the face of the cliff where it is considerably less windy.

Nordkapp

 

What do you do when you reach the northernmost point of continental Europe? If you’re Rune Skelley, you keep going north, of course! More on that next week.

“Nay!”

  • by Kentonce slashed at my stomach with a penknife
  • like a crafty red squirrel
  • every time a movie features punk rockers
  • sang three little boys together
  • smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick

Tune in next time part 836      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Nay!” roared Bruce Pamplemousse pretentiously. “It is Tycho whose claim is false!”

“Prove it!” I shouted. “Show us your own certificate.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Bruce whined.

“So, go get it,” I retorted.

Bruce fixed his gaze on Tessa. “No one is less entitled to rule the moon than your father. He once slashed at my stomach with a penknife, like a crafty red squirrel with a penknife. I was just a boy, and he attacked me. He’s so uncouth and unmannered, every time a movie features punk rockers I expect one of them to be him.”

Tessa leaned to me and whispered, “As far as I know, my father’s never met any of the Pamplemousses.”

Meanwhile, the talent show’s finale was trying to resume but devolving into chaos. The performers weren’t waiting for their cues. “Hey now, get your butt off the stage,” sang three little boys together. In the wings, Fleur demanded of another woman, “Susan, get this mess under control!”

Susan marched out to Bruce to tell him his time was up. Bruce winked at her and put his arms around her, and smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick in the process.

I yelled, “Get a room, you two!” Sending Susan off alone with Bruce Pamplemousse felt wrong, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

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Tessa Stood and Held Up the Paper

  • by jenheir to an ancient lineage
  • all just mumbo jumbo
  • (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate)
  • the length of his mustache
  • although his solid chin is clear of any hair

Tune in next time part 835      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa stood and held up the paper she’d pulled from a hidden compartment in the sole of her shoe. She spoke loudly and clearly. “Zeus Pamplemousse claims he is heir to an ancient lineage of lunar rulers, but that’s all just mumbo jumbo cooked up by him and his partner in chicanery and marriage, Blanchisseuse (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate) (in case you were wondering how they met). In reality, Zeus, (and therefore his sons, including Bruce), is heir to nothing. This certificate proves that it is actually my father, Tycho, who is heir to the lunar kingdom! You can tell by the length of his mustache, although his solid chin is clear of any hair. That’s a moon trait!”

This absurd claim was news to me, but it might explain why Zeus had forced marriage upon Tessa. He was trying to legitimize his claim to the lunar throne.

Whether or not it was true, it was an amazing distraction.

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Ghostly Progress: Book Two

As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #1 is in the hands of our beta readers. We have turned our attention to Also-Untitled Ghost Novel #2.

Book One had rested for a few weeks, so we began with another read-thru of that installment. It was even better than we expected (not that we’re trying to influence our beta readers). Kent had been fretting over possible pacing issues in the first part, but it flowed very nicely. There are a few pages of heavier-than-necessary exposition here and there, but those will be easy to deal with. (To be clear, such infodumps are always Kent’s doing.) So, having made some notes, we moved on to the next step.

Utilizing both whiteboards, we set up the rainbow for Book Two. Perusing it was quite entertaining, because Jen’s got quite a wit, but also a little surprising. There were some placeholder character names, and some plot beats that have been superseded now that we actually wrote Book One.

We also have a long-form synopsis, which we usually refer to as the prose outline. That was created later, in parallel with the manuscript for Book One, so it should be up-to-date. Guess we’ll find out.

A writing partner is someone to accompany you on a journey of (re)discovery.

Bruce Pamplemousse Sneered

  • by Kentrampant adulterer
  • try to keep a straight face.
  • sexy paparazzi death match
  • be perfect, of course
  • under her shoe

Tune in next time part 834      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Bruce Pamplemousse sneered away his confusion. “Sure,” he said to Jim. “You want me to share the stage with that rampant adulterer you call a brother, and you want me agree to it while I try to keep a straight face.” His face did look quite straight, despite the sarcasm overloading his voice. I had to assume that my carnal exploits were common knowledge among everybody on this airship, but moral censure from the likes of the Pamplemousse clan was a rather bitter pill to swallow. And he wasn’t done. “Give me time to alert the media,” he crowed, “so our pageant can feature a sexy paparazzi death match.”

It would be perfect, of course, if Bruce Pamplemousse simply stormed off. But he showed no intention of leaving.

Jim laughed off Bruce’s hissy-fit. “It’ll be great,” he said, already on his feet and tugging me by the hand. “We’ll make a kick line. We’ll spin plates. Just wait’ll you see what our other friend here has under her shoe.”

Tessa wore a tight grin. What had those two cooked up?

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“Hey Bruce!”

  • by jenhis gooey chocolate center
  • giant ostrich egg
  • joke with us, his accent bizarre
  • trying to convince people of your awesomeness
  • probably not normal

Tune in next time part 833      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey Bruce!” my brother Jim yelled. “It’s probably not normal for you as a grown-ass man to be entering baby talent shows as a way of trying to convince people of your awesomeness. But it’s working!”

Bruce looked confused. I knew just how he felt. Growing up, my siblings and I never got used to Jim’s attempts to joke with us, his accent bizarre and obviously fake, the giant ostrich egg he named Egward and carried around in a bowling bag, his promises (threats?) to show us his gooey chocolate center. No one ever knew how seriously to take Jim, and that might work in my favor now. If he could keep Bruce Pamplemousse distracted, I might be able to get my children to safety.

“Let me and my brother join you on stage!” Jim added in an accent more mysterious than I had ever heard.

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Whiteboard Jr

The newest addition to the SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises, LLC family is a second whiteboard! This one is somewhat smaller than its big brother, and has really high-quality wheels. It’s perfect for the writer on the go! No more excuses for Rune Skelley! Doing laps around the neighborhood? This bad boy can tag along! Going to the roller disco? He’s already wearing his shiny white suit!

We weren’t really in the market for a backup whiteboard, but when Jen saw it at the salvage center, her brain lit up with potential uses for it. (Maps! Plot rainbow overflow! Character inspiration photos! Murder board!) There was no talking her out of it, which Kent must have known because he didn’t try very hard.

There’s a lesson in here somewhere, akin to “don’t go grocery shopping hungry” or “don’t go to the animal shelter unless you really want a pet.” Keep Jen out of the stationery aisle and, apparently, the used office furniture warehouse.

A good writing partner is someone who can admit he was wrong about the number of whiteboards your office needs.

Having My Numerous Offspring

  • by KentTalk about awkward…
  • long blond hair unbound and disastrously tangled
  • soda was the dominant aroma
  • — after the fly incident
  • a muffin pan is ideal

Tune in next time part 832      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Having my numerous offspring in the same room with Bruce Pamplemousse was unacceptable, that much I knew. The chaos in the auditorium was making it difficult to think, to come up with a plan of action to correct the problem. It would also make it all but impossible to wrangle all the children.

A flash of inspiration struck. Unlike my children, Bruce Pamplemousse was not numerous. So all I had to do was get him out of the room. Despite his reputation, he might have cooperated with a polite request. Only I’d shouted at him and spoiled his tacky performance. Talk about awkward…

Bruce tugged off the bald pate that was part of his baby costume, leaving his long blond hair unbound and disastrously tangled. Drops of sweat flew from the rubbery headpiece, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that orange soda was the dominant aroma thus released. He also shed the diaper, revealing the skimpiest cutoffs I had ever seen. It amazed me that Bruce would wear them — after the fly incident of a few years ago that trapped him for two days in a pair of jeans with a frozen zipper.

He was zeroing in on me as he advanced to the lip of the stage. I wished I had some implement with which I could deflect punches and accomplish nonlethal subdual (a muffin pan is ideal for close-quarters combat, FYI). But my sweat-soaked scientist costume did not include anything suitable.

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