Rereading the Divided Man Trilogy

Once upon a time, Rune Skelley decided to write a novel. We knew two main facts, which seemed like an ample number of things to know to get started: how things would begin for the main character, and a catchy phrase to describe how he’d end up. We did not know that there would be a co-protagonist. We did not know much at all about the whole middle part, although we had a clear notion of the overall mood we wanted to convey. It was a very difficult process, but, hey! We did it. Rune Skelley wrote that novel! And then we wrote a second book extending the same story, and then a third. So, um, hey! We published a trilogy, and we called it The Divided Man.

At this point we’ve written two more trilogies and are substantially along on a tetralogy. A lot of miles behind us on this road, since The Divided Man. So we’re going to reread the series.

And it’s going to be weird.

For such a long time, those books took up so much space in our heads. We knew them by heart, and these are not small books. It was impossible to imagine even the tiniest details slipping away. But now that we’ve worked on so much other stuff, it seems just possible that our own early material might be able to surprise us. We’re excited to see how it goes.

A writing partner is someone who’ll stick with you on the journey, even when it includes a detour down Memory Lane.

The Divided Man Series

Miss Brandymoon’s Device
Tenpenny Zen
Elsewhere’s Twin

My Proposal Swiftly Became Law

  • by Kentvelvet patchwork coat
  • almost glowing with serenity
  • “Seems kind of hinky to me.”
  • love when a sound repeats
  • diplomats of any rank

Tune in next time part 824      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My proposal swiftly became law in this tiny kingdom, and it wasn’t long before I regretted it. The contestants would be getting their driver’s licenses by the time everyone had their chance to perform.

Time became soft and blurry with abrupt unexpected seams, much like the velvet patchwork coat worn by the baby who did the interpretive dance to Pagliacci. I dozed during the next one, a kind of modernist Morris dance by a cherub who was almost glowing with serenity. I thought I covered well, rousing myself to applaud politely, but the babe’s mother shot me a look that said, “Seems kind of hinky to me.”

It happened that there was a bit of an echo in the auditorium, which led to an awkward state of affairs. Something everyone knows about babies is how much they love when a sound repeats. An audience member sneezed, which echoed, which made several of the infants laugh, and their laughter echoed, which made more of them laugh, and so on. The chamber filled with a cacophony of mirth that could not be quelled by any number of consternated mommies or by diplomats of any rank, which only further delayed the conclusion of the entire business.

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The Infant Talent Show

  • by jengracefully choreographed free-for-all
  • new and pink and chubby
  • presented with a trashcan lid-sized plate of steamed broccoli
  • For years, I’ve gotten drunk and told the story
  • and gloves without fingers

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The infant talent show turned out to be a gracefully choreographed free-for-all. First place went to the choreographer, a baby girl all new and pink and chubby. She and her mother, Isolde, were presented with a trashcan lid-sized plate of steamed broccoli and a teeny tiny tiara. There was a lot of grumbling amongst the mothers over the fact that Isolde’s baby won, since the talent show was her idea in the first place, but Isolde claimed that it couldn’t possibly have been rigged due to the sheer number of babies she had and how she couldn’t possibly choose a favorite among them.

For years, I’ve gotten drunk and told the story of my own childhood in a family full of twins and triplets, and how the only way I could find to distinguish myself from Jason was to wear a vest and gloves without fingers while he wore sleeves with no shirt and little socks on his fingers. All this squabbling reminded me of that, and I felt sorry for all the also-rans. Every child needs a time to shine.

“Instead of one big dance number,” I said, “let’s let each baby perform solo!”

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A Galaxy Far Far Away

A few months ago we went on a trip with Jen’s sister and brother-in-law. The four of us booked passage on the Chandrila Starcruiser the Halcyon, and traveled to Black Spire Outpost on Batuu.* It was a very eventful trip!

We got to visit the bridge, and we had lightsaber training. The intergalactic superstar Gaya even performed several shows! Planetside on Batuu, we had a few scrapes with smugglers and the First Order, but we managed to make it out safely.

During all the excitement, the Halcyon was boarded by the First Order, and we had to choose whether to align ourselves with them or with the Rebels. Not a difficult choice, but some of our fellow passengers got it wrong. It all ended with a climactic lightsaber duel right in front of us.

Stormtrooper!, Hoth Icebreaker, the bunks in our cabin
On the bridge, the Halcyon’s registry, surprise visit from Chewbacca
Millennium Falcon, Batuu street scene, Mando!
Lightsaber action!

* We actually went to DisneyWorld, and stayed in the Galactic Starcruiser hotel. It’s a couple days of live action roleplaying with other Star Wars fans. There’s a storyline, and the entire staff stay in character the whole time. It’s pricey, but it’s a total blast. And it’s closing soon, so if you’re interested, make your reservation today.

 

“Seems Like It,” I Sighed

  • by Kenthe had a great mustache, come on!
  • down in the pelvic region
  • none of the government’s business
  • just lucky they hadn’t markered a mustache on her
  • poodles, frosting, something that looks like

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“Seems like it,” I sighed. “They all know that I’m aboard, so my absence would be a scandal.”

“The babies?” Jim asked.

“The mamas,” Tessa said sulkily.

“Why are you so possessive all the sudden?” I asked her. “I’ve never complained about any of your boyfriends, not even Siegfried.”

“There was nothing wrong with Siegfried! He could dance and he had a great mustache, come on!”

From what I had heard, the problem was that there was altogether too much right with Siegfried down in the pelvic region. The mustache was also pretty epic. There were rumors that he took hormone supplements to enhance it, but all he’d ever say when asked was that it was none of the government’s business which parts of the ibex he chose to extract and concentrate and add to his coffee. Tessa perhaps thought I didn’t know about the time she and Siegfried passed out together and the lacrosse team found them. She was just lucky they hadn’t markered a mustache on her boob. But it was all water under the bridge, which was my whole point.

A man scurried past us, hunched over a clipboard, muttering. “Where am I going to find seven poodles, frosting, something that looks like ‘odd-numbered flavors,’ and a robot so lifelike that even it can’t be sure.”

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“Dammit,” Jim Said Around a Mouthful of Churro

  • by jenfrom the cloaca of a quartz tortoise
  • have to find a back-up baby tuxedo
  • Cobwebby.
  • despite the ketchup and clam juice
  • use it in a rap song

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“Dammit,” Jim said around a mouthful of churro. “I had a lot of money riding on that polo match. With it cancelled, where I am I gonna get my big score?”

“From the cloaca of a quartz tortoise, of course,” I said, referencing the secret compartment where my father used to hide his cash. Jim chuckled.

Isolde’s voice came through the loudspeaker next. It sounded like she’d just wrestled the microphone away from Fleur. “In place of the polo match we will be holding an infant talent show in the auditorium. Anyone who wants to compete will have to find a back-up baby tuxedo and a baby to go in it.” Something about Isolde’s voice sounded dusty. Cobwebby.

“Is she high?” I asked no one in particular.

“I assume you’ll want to attend this talent show,” said Jim. “Since all the babies on board are yours.” He stepped up to the churro stand in search of dipping sauce, and despite the ketchup and clam juice being clearly labeled, dunked his churro in both.

I stared in horror. If Jason were here he’d find a way to describe how disgusting it was and use it in a rap song. In his absence I merely gagged.

“Well?” Jim asked. “Are we going to this talent show? I’ll call my bookie.”

“Yes,” Tessa said, ice in her voice. “Tell, me, are we going to go sit in a room full of your baby-mamas?”

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Mostly Not Failing to Plan

We did it! Or rather, Jen did it! The fourth and final book in the Ghost Series is fully synopsized (mostly). It has a beginning, a whole lotta middle, and an end that almost completely holds together if you don’t look at it too closely. We know the broad strokes, and that’s good enough for now.

You know how the weather forecast for tomorrow is a lot more reliable than the forecast for next Friday? It’s kind of like that. Some of the details toward the end are fuzzy, but it’s so far away it doesn’t really matter. By the time we get there we’ll have plenty of time to sharpen it up.

Vague as some of the details are, As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #4 is shaping up to be a beast. The synopsis is 27 pages long, nearly twice what #3 came in at. We’ve started to wonder if maybe we’re dealing with a pentalogy instead of a quadrilogy. It could be that it’s too much story for one book, or it could just be that we gave a lot of thought to the ending, so we know more about it. Time will tell.

All together the 4 synopses are 40,000 words. That’s 75 single-spaced pages. It’s tempting to slap it into one file and call it a novella.

A writing partner is someone who doesn’t let you take the easy way out.

“Attention Passengers”

  • by KentThat poor alpaca got gussied up for nothing
  • meant to be a group experience
  • imagine my surprise to receive this photograph of my mother
  • no snowshoes, no compass
  • sold the rights to the motion pictures

Tune in next time part 820      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Attention passengers,” said my wife’s voice, in which I picked up an edge of irritation. “I have an important message about the polo tournament: it’s cancelled. So if you planned to enter, you should go tell your steed about the change in plans. That poor alpaca got gussied up for nothing. Polo, of course, is meant to be a group experience. Unlike certain other things, so imagine my surprise to receive this photograph of my mother and nineteen other people wearing… well, let’s just say they had no snowshoes, no compass, and no shame. And until I find out who leaked this image, and doubtless sold the rights to the motion pictures, this airship’s polo field is off-limits!”

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The Nearest Exit was Behind Us

  • by jenadorable doofuses
  • his second home in the mountains
  • When he was drunk,
  • to be eaten with one hand
  • riding a wave of adrenaline together

Tune in next time part 819      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The nearest exit was behind us, past the unconscious Julien, and back through the Gauntlet of Brazen Hussies. The three of us held hands and ran through, riding a wave of adrenaline together. I slammed and locked the door, hoping it would slow Julien down when he inevitably woke. We were in the food court, near the churro stand, and I was ravenous, having eaten only pickles all day. Contrarian churros are intended to be eaten with one hand. I ordered two because I have two hands and I really like churros. When he was drunk, Jim tended to need two hands to guide pastries to his mouth, but he hadn’t been in the pickle chapel and seemed pretty sober at the moment, so I risked it and ordered two for him as well, and two for Tessa. The churromonger smiled like he would finally be able to afford his second home in the mountains, the one he’d always dreamed of.

Jim and I bit into our churros simultaneously. Tessa shook her head and called us adorable doofuses. Our happy mood didn’t last though, because the tannoy crackled to life and Fleur’s voice made an announcement.

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The Perils of Disorganization

As part of Jen’s Outlining the Whole Damn Series project, she went back through the steno pad where we made our original notes and found some hidden gems that never made it into the typed record. We really need to learn to be more organized.

Nothing was uncovered that required us to make changes in Book 1, which is lucky because we’re alllllllmost done fucking with it. Books 2 and 3, on the other hand, will need some adjustments. It’s not “rethink the plot” level stuff, but there are nuances we’d like to include which impact the motivations for a couple of characters. Better to find out now than after we’ve written any more!

And while we’re on the topic of (dis)organization — if there’s something that has broad application for your whole story, maybe don’t hide the note about it in the depths of Book 4’s documentation. Just sayin’.

A writing partner is someone who is happy to share the blame when things are suboptimal.