A Moment Of Clarity

  • by Kenttastes like sock dirt
  • one thing I absolutely hate in relationships is banal chitchat
  • his very fancy castle
  • lick peanut butter off your nipples
  • It’s a tax thing.

Tune in next time part 818      Click Here for Earlier Installments

A moment of clarity came over me. I realized that Petit Julien was never going to stop chasing us as long as we were running away. The dynamics of the situation would have to change. And then I saw what I had to do. Sometimes you take your medicine, even if it tastes like sock dirt, and this was one of those times.

I stopped winking and turned to face the menacing mega-mime. I let him close the distance between us, dimly aware that Jim and Tessa were shrieking at me to move. When Petit Julien was only a dozen strides away, I directed my gaze at the hideous statuary. I silently acted out my terror at the sight of those forms, using the art of mime against their king.

It worked. Petit Julien couldn’t miss a cue, so he did a dutiful double-take as if noticing the nightmare sculptures for the first time. Maybe he was. But what he didn’t count on was the illusion of movement that those statues possessed. He dramatically passed out from fright, keeling over on the spot.

I rejoined my companions, dusting off my hands. Jim asked, “Are there lady mimes? Cuz one thing I absolutely hate in relationships is banal chitchat, which I reckon wouldn’t be much of a problem with a mime.”

“You should set up a dating profile,” Tessa told him. “Your bio would say you’re a mad poet who lives all alone in his very fancy castle and needs a companion.”

“Uh-huh,” Jim said, nodding. “Come for a visit and I’ll lick peanut butter off your nipples. But you can’t make a sound! It’s a tax thing.”

“We should not be here when Petit Julien comes to,” I said. “Let’s find the nearest exit.”

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Frantically Winking Only Did So Much

  • by jenthe ancient experiment of pinching
  • back to the Gauntlet of Brazen Hussies
  • no idea how much blood
  • my impression of Ben Affleck
  • could not be expected to evince surprise at *anything* that was done at the funeral

Tune in next time part 817      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Frantically winking only did so much to mitigate the horror of being surrounded by my nightmares. If only the ancient experiment of pinching oneself would awaken me! In a moment of weakness I glanced back to the Gauntlet of Brazen Hussies we’d just traversed, and saw Petit Julien enter the sculpture garden.

You have no idea how much blood was spilled while I perfected my impression of Ben Affleck, but it was a lot, and even so it was nothing compared to the blood spilled by the monstrous mime. Tessa once told me about his ruthless rise to leadership of the White Faces, and how he trapped his rivals in an invisible box, cut off their oxygen supply, then insisted on the same invisible box being used as their joint coffin. After hearing that much, you could not be expected to evince surprise at *anything* that was done at the funeral, but in the name of decorum, I’ll spare you the details.

Huge and hulking, with the ground bones of his enemies smeared on his cheeks, Petit Julien barreled toward us and pantomimed yelling Tessa’s name like a lovesick beau running through the airport after his departing lover. I had the distinct impression that there was something about Tessa’s relationship with Julien that she had never told me.

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Outline Outlier?

The prose outline for Book 3 is complete, moving us one step closer to world domination.

If Jen thought the notes for Book 2 were disorganized, she had no idea what was in store! At least for that one we had about half of a synopsis already written. For Book 3 there was no such handholding. Jen started with only a plot rainbow, a blinking cursor, and twenty-odd pages of jumbled notes. Combing through old emails uncovered a few more details and highlighted the one really smart thing we did for this project: set up an email address just for our brainstorming notes. They might be hella disorganized, but at least they’re all in one place without anything off-topic.

Out came the hammer and tongs, and over the course of about 2 weeks Jen whipped Book 3 into shape. The synopsis is a bit shorter than the one for Book 2, even though there’s a ton of story. This implies that there’s a lot of detail yet to be fleshed out. Most of it should appear naturally as we write Book 2, so the next time we pick this up we should be able to en-hugen it significantly.

Which will be good, because looking ahead to Book 4, we’re expecting a whopper. We (read: Jen) strongly STRONGLY prefer it when all the books in a series are approximately the same size. If Book 3 turns out to be the runt of the litter by a significant amount, there’s no telling what might happen.

A writing partner is someone who humors you about your silly hangups.

My Worst Fear

  • by Kentconfined space like a bathtub
  • I could become a baker. I could become immortal
  • wink like your life depends on it
  • He said that was normal
  • unhealthy love for gummy candy

Tune in next time part 816      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My worst fear was that this door would lead us into an even more confined space like a bathtub (although I was well aware that my recent bathing escapade, however thorough, had long worn off). It was in fact quite spacious, but oppressed by statuary.

A sculpture garden is not standard on all Contrarian airships, but of course this vessel had all the upgrades. When a Contrarian airship does have a sculpture garden, it’s mandatory for there to be a theme. This one must have been selected by Fleur personally. It gave me the creeps, and the heebie-jeebies. It made me question my life choices. It made me reflect that I could become a baker. I could become immortal through the medium of yeast and frosting. And then I wouldn’t be surrounded by my worst nightmares.

Literally. Fleur had obtained one of my old dream journals and commissioned the whole thing in bronze. That was the theme.

I hadn’t realized that I was frozen in place, until Tessa gave me a shove. She said into my ear, “Run like the devil is chasing you, and wink like your life depends on it.” Jim was already halfway down the first concourse. Petit Julien would be on our heels any second. I ran.

All around me, the metal monstrosities seemed to reach out, seemed to actually be moving. I involuntarily wrapped up my head with my arms.

“No, they aren’t really moving,” Tessa grunted, shoving me again. “I asked Jim about the illusion while you were gawping. He said that was normally only noticeable by the one whose psychic trauma was depicted by the works, so I must be pretty well attuned to you. Now, wink dammit!”

I was too terrified to argue, and as soon as I started the process of repeatedly shutting only one eye I understood why she was ordering me to do that. It created a sort of lopsided stroboscopic effect that counteracted the menacing sense of motion, blunting the terror even of the statue that showed my unhealthy love for gummy candy.

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The Pirate Ship Descended from the Stage Rigging

  • by jenno regrets at all
  • dude must have extremely strong butt muscles
  • all while looking incredibly handsome
  • friends don’t let friends have mullets
  • the phrase “mild sexual shenanigans”

Tune in next time part 815      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pirate ship descended from the stage rigging, festooned with sock pirates, and I could tell by the smile on Jim’s face that he had no regrets at all about raiding the zeppelin’s laundry when he built the prop.

I risked a glance at Petit Julien, who was still engaged in the mime classic, Bumping Enormous Hotdogs with One’s Derriere. I signaled to Jim, “That dude must have extremely strong butt muscles.”

Jim lit the fuses on the pirate ship’s cannons, recited the next few lines of the play in his southern-fried slavic accent, and signaled that on our cue, Tessa and I should sneak out the side door, all while looking incredibly handsome. I asked him once what his secret was and all he told me, with a wink, was that friends don’t let friends have mullets.

Just as the first sock-cannon boomed, Jim said the phrase “mild sexual shenanigans”, which was our cue. I gripped Tessa’s hand and we darted for the door, with Jim right behind.

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Pro Tip: Don’t Make Your Notes Cryptic

You know how you and your bestie have inside jokes that no one else gets? Or how you and your spouse have your own private language? Maybe don’t lean too heavily into those sorts of things when you’re writing up your notes. Ask us how we know!

Before Jen started writing the synopses for the rest of the books in the ghost series, we  read through their plot rainbows together. Unfortunately, in several places there were phrases that were clearly meant to be cute, quippy references, but the context is lost to time. The plot rainbow is particularly prone to this sort of thing because each square in it is small. There’s not a lot of room for detail, so we often resort to shorthand. To our occasional detriment.

We’ve immersed ourselves in those plots again, and that’s allowed us to decode (most of) what we were talking about. There are no giant question marks. It’s a good reminder, though, that thorough notes are important, and pop culture references don’t always stand the test of time.

A writing partner is someone who can let you know when you’re being too clever, unless they’re caught up in it with you.

Jim Waved To Me

  • by Kentthe circlet of gold which marked her
  • his old pinched-up hat
  • used as a decoy
  • “Wow!” I said when it arrived. “I didn’t expect it to be so big.”
  • And we all know how that turned out.

Tune in next time part 814      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim waved to me, or rather the puppet on his right hand did. She wore the blue gown and the circlet of gold which marked her as Princess Toejam. I suddenly realized how apt it was to do this particular play with sock puppets. On Jim’s left hand was the Earl of Stretchknit, complete with his old pinched-up hat.

The princess wasn’t merely waving, she was signaling. Jim was using her to send me a message. His technique was poor, like even in hand signals he had a silly accent. The gist of what he was saying seemed to be that help was on the way, that he’d called for something to be sent here that could be used as a decoy. I signaled back, saying, “I hope it gets here soon.” Jim replied that I should be patient, and I said Petit Julien was setting the timetables here and we needed to move quicker. Conversing in this way helped keep either of us from falling back under the Mime King’s spell, and also made the time while I waited for Jim’s delivery seem to go faster.

“Wow!” I said when it arrived. “I didn’t expect it to be so big.”

The item in question was a pirate vessel, crewed by socks of course, and unmistakably intended to symbolize the key naval engagement of the last Mime-Pirate War. And we all know how that turned out.

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Jim was the Kind of Guy

  • by jenplayed the piano occasionally dressed only in a towel
  • sweet but also slightly tart nectar
  • we mapped our hometown carefully
  • by an unidentified hand with red ink
  • as far as my layman’s eye could see

Tune in next time part 813      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim was the kind of guy who played the piano occasionally dressed only in a towel, so it only made sense that he named his dog after himself. His ego knew no bounds. He once told me that women craved him like a sweet but also slightly tart nectar. And mostly they did. When Jason and I were kids we mapped our hometown carefully, and one day we found that our map was covered with hearts drawn by an unidentified hand with red ink. Jim later admitted to marking the homes of each of his girlfriends. As far as my layman’s eye could see, he had one on every street.

And he also had a dog named James, so when I called that name out in the puppet theater, it got his attention. He looked startled to see me.

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We’ll Stop Procrastinating Someday

As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #1’s first draft is nearly in the can. Or maybe it’s technically the second draft — we’re filling in the holes and smoothing out the inconsistencies, making it presentable for test readers. Very soon we’ll have to set it aside and start working on Book 2 in the series.

Jen wrapped up the lengthy prose outline for Book 2, a process made more complicated than it should have been through procrastination. During our year-long planning of the whole series, we took a ton of notes. We just didn’t organize them very well. Why should we? We planned to jump right in and write the synopses for all four books while the whole thing was fresh in our minds, but then we didn’t. Neither of us can exactly remember why. The upshot is that Jen had to do a lot of digging, and we had to have a lot of conversations where we tried to jog each other’s memories about story details we couldn’t quite remember but didn’t want to lose.

To prevent that from happening again when it’s time for Book 3, we decided to be smart this time and get the whole rest of the series organized and summarized and synopsized before we start writing any of Book 2. Jen’s been working on that while Kent day-jobs, presenting him with a page or two to review after he clocks out. It’s been quite interesting to review these later events now that we’ve gotten to know some of the characters. We’ve written a whole book about them, really gotten inside their skin. Now that they’re fleshed out (or maybe not “fleshed” out, since it’s a ghost story), it makes their actions that much more real, their story arcs that much more fulfilling.

In some cases, though, it makes our planned story beats feel like missteps. Our characters are like real people now, and we’ve noticed a few things that feel, well, out of character. So far they’re fairly minor details, nothing that will break the story. We’ve talked through them and found solutions. But uncovering these hiccups uncovers another reason for us to follow through and get the whole series thoroughly written up — we need to have a firm grip on the whole thing so that we don’t unknowingly steer ourselves into an untenable position.

A writing partner is someone who’ll tame the jungle of your old notes to make a garden of well-laid plans.

At Petit Julien’s Entrance

  • by Kentexhilarating hipness
  • the world maps and the blueprints
  • two 12-foot-high anthropomorphic hotdogs
  • butting against them with his rear end
  • also the name of his dog

Tune in next time part 812      Click Here for Earlier Installments

At Petit Julien’s entrance, the entire audience surged to its feet, and all three of the people attending Jim’s play clapped ecstatically, overwhelmed by the exhilarating hipness of being in the presence of the Mime King. These same people would be less thrilled about the situation if they had ever seen what was tacked up to the walls of Mime HQ: the world maps and the blueprints for doomsday devices that never speak a word.

But their foolish fawning was, for us, fortuitous, because Petit Julien can’t resist performing before an appreciative crowd. And, per the idiom, three people qualifies. It was imperative that we make our getaway while he was distracted, but I couldn’t abandon Jim. I tried to subtly draw him down from the stage without breaking Petit Julien’s mime-fugue. Despite myself I was enthralled by what he conveyed. I could really imagine that he was having an altercation with two 12-foot-high anthropomorphic hotdogs, butting against them with his rear end to drive them over a precipice. At least, I chose to believe that was what he was acting out.

Jim was even more mesmerized by the Mime King, too far gone to ever notice my subtle hand signals. I cleared my throat, but he ignored that too. Finally I stage-whispered, “James,” not so much on the basis that using his formal name would get his attention as in the hopes that he would feel puzzlement and concern, because James was also the name of his dog.

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