The Cattle, Too, Were Gone

  • by jenwrapped their heirloom weapons
  • fought in the Trojan War, but not very well
  • “Are you saying I’ve grown fat?”
  • The cattle, too, were gone
  • She was warmer on the horse’s back
  • her lack of enthusiasm

“The cattle, too, were gone by the time I mended the hole in the fence,” Bridget said, and I noted her lack of enthusiasm.

“Are you saying I’ve grown fat?” I asked, trying to lighten her mood with a little joke.

She smiled. “You’re fit as ever, darling.” Then she shivered like a warrior who fought in the Trojan War, but not very well. She was warmer on the horse’s back than she was now, dismounted and standing in the snow without the equine’s heat to warm her.

I quickly shed my anorak and wrapped her in it as master fencers wrapped their heirloom weapons between matches. She meant more to me than their antique epees did to them, and I willingly sacrificed my own comfort for hers.

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Make Critique Work With Your Process

r-avatarWe never bring our works-in-progress to critique group until the first draft is done, and it has at least one polishing edit applied. The experience with our second novel taught us not to. The plot got twisted into a writhing tangle of second-guesses as we tried to alleviate our readers’ confusion. Eventually we decoded the feedback and realized that the problem really had nothing to do with plot. The issue was characterization, things we were forgetting to put on the page because we knew the character so well.

Readers don’t know what you have up your sleeve, so their comments are sometimes out of proportion. We found that when our upcoming pages were still hypothetical, it was all too easy to lose our own sense of proportion.

It was just one way the critique process can go haywire when you bring in material that’s not ready. The wheels can come off in other ways, too. You should at least not treat your critiquers like proofreaders; make sure to read over your own draft looking for mechanical problems before you send it around.

There are times when you’re stuck, and you can’t finish the first draft for that very reason, and then you should bring it to your group in whatever shape it’s in. They can help you prod and twist your ideas and maybe provide the inspiration you need.

Writing with a partner gives you an extra set of eyes, which makes it much easier to spot little things like dropped words. It also gives you someone to discuss deeper story structure with while it’s being written, someone to help keep the ideas bouncing so you don’t get too stuck. A good collaborator will challenge you to make your scenes even more awesome, and when asked if something works will occasionally say, “Not really.” You might be able to do that much just by talking to yourself, but the magic of flesh-and-blood writing partners is that they often offer constructive suggestions along with their blunt honesty.

All of this means Rune Skelley’s first drafts aren’t really first drafts, not once they’re ready for the group. By serving up something that’s clean and debugged, we clear the way for our fellow writers to let us know how they’re connecting with the characters, and how the story makes them feel.

 

Were He a Commoner

  • k-avatara bonny lord and a merry one
  • under the eyes
  • grinned involuntarily with appreciation
  • blue-gray eyes suddenly keen
  • would have been described as stocky

Were he a commoner, Smedley would have been described as stocky. But he was a bonny lord and a merry one, often at the same time, and so he was accounted robust of stature.

Smedley’s position at court afforded many luxuries. His special favorite was dancers, one in particular with many jingling bells and cymbals and tattoos under the eyes. When she swayed and twirled before him, Smedley grinned involuntarily with appreciation for her grace and flexibility, which a, shall we say, stocky personage might view in more frankly vulgar terms.

One gusty winter night a new dancer appeared before Smedley. He sat forward in his chair, blue-gray eyes suddenly keen. The newcomer’s feet were just as nimble, howsoever they might be clad in perplexing low boots that set up a clattering like hailstones with her every step. The cane and the straw hat confused Smedley most of all.

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Playing the Part of the Innocent Venutian Princess

  • by jenunbuttoning his Space Ranger pajamas
  • nearly vomited in terror
  • the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
  • stuck in his eyebrows
  • and the telephone itself
  • dogs of all sizes and descriptions

Playing the part of the innocent Venutian princess who nearly vomited in terror at her first sight of an Earth astronaut, only to find herself strangely aroused by the alien intruder, Ibernia Patience reached out to her husband Frank Pax, unbuttoning his Space Ranger pajamas.

Venutian folk music warbled in the background. The tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but the lyrics were incomprehensible. Ibernia drew the now-naked Frank down onto a large pile of stuffed dogs of all sizes and descriptions. She brushed away a stray bit of fluff that was stuck in his eyebrows as he bent down to kiss her.

Just then the phone rang and Ibernia cursed both the thoughtless caller and the telephone itself for interrupting her play time.

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Multitasking Made Easy

r-avatarIt was a bit like herding cats, but we are finally back into the fiction writing we allegedly love. We were away from it long enough to convince ourselves we had forgotten how it works. Following the read-through of the existing 75,000 words, we procrastinated with discussions about modifying the ending (some of which were fruitful), and then we procrastinated some more with movies to “reward” ourselves for completing unrelated projects.

Several times we sat down to work and were stymied. Months ago when we stepped away from the project, we didn’t leave ourselves set up very well to step back in. Kent had a few cryptic sentences at the start of his scene. Jen simply had a document called “Deja Vu.” It was blank. The fear of the blank page got so bad that we even put off writing anything new in favor of backfilling a retaining wall with 4 tons of gravel.

In the end, we had to lock ourselves in the writing cave and stare at the flashing cursors on our monitors until we remembered how to make our fingers push all those tiny little buttons with the letters on them.

It felt good to produce something again, and we’re falling back into our old rhythms, which reminds us why it’s so nice to write with a partner. Jen is composing prose like a demon while Kent is busy learning all the important aspects of mouse breeding. If there were only one of us, progress would be slower. The writing would have to stop while the research into how temperature affects the genders of mouse fetuses was accomplished. With two of us, no such work stoppage is necessary. Kent can gather all the information he needs for future scenes while Jen works with the characters who are not elbow-deep in rodents. It’s a win-win.

In case you were wondering, colder = more female mice.

“Now You May Feel a Momentary Discomfort”

  • k-avatarjust a nip
  • a Swedish gynecologist
  • such as Mr T
  • we watched professional bowling
  • This angered Bruno

“Now you may feel a momentary discomfort, just a nip.”

Sue nodded, wondering how a dental procedure came to be invented by a Swedish gynecologist. Also wondering why her dentist had a mohawk. The hair would look normal on some outrageous celebrity, such as Mr T. On a dentist it looked like he couldn’t possibly be a real dentist.

I have got to get better insurance, Sue thought. Then she winced, but only for a moment.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?”

She nodded again, then shook her head, then tried to smile apologetically and that really hurt because of the way her lips were stretched out of the way.

“It’s okay, I understand,” her dentist assured her hastily. “I haven’t seen such a confused sequence of emotions since we watched professional bowling with my uncle, and my cousin Bruno rolled seven consecutive strikes but lost the match.” He sighed. “This angered Bruno so badly that he bit through a pin. Which is how I got into dentistry.”

Bonus points for using the prompts in order!

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Gertrude Lifted Up the Lid of the Coffin

  • by jencarried them off on a ship to Denmark
  • escape from one calamity
  • lifted up the lid of the coffin
  • and rubbed it
  • having dosed him with liquor

Gertrude lifted up the lid of the coffin and found it empty, save the white satin pillow. She sighed. “They were at least able to escape from one calamity,” she said to Rupert.

Rupert smiled grimly. “While I am relieved to know that Tristan and Stephen weren’t buried alive, I become increasingly concerned that some nefarious force has carried them off on a ship to Denmark where it will be exceedingly difficult for us to find and rescue them.”

Gertrude patted Rupert on the shoulder. She was not surprised that his mood was maudlin, having dosed him with liquor herself to fortify his courage.

Rupert dropped his aching, gin-soaked head into his hands and rubbed it.

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Movie Night

r-avatarLast weekend we watched three movies, making only a tiny dent in the heap of them on our DVR. One was quite good, one was simply unambitious, and one was dreadful.

Being a writer can make it harder to enjoy movies, because so many movies are weak in story and writers become sensitized to that kind of problem. This one was really bad, not just failing to meet a writer’s elevated standards. Bad. (And it’s doubtless someone’s favorite movie, so it shall remain anonymous. No need to start a fight.)

Bad movies are baffling; was there no one on set who realized what a craptastic troglodyte they were making? When you’re working with a partner, you’re supposed to have someone there to tell you when the writing sucks. It’s probably a good idea to employ a bit more tact, but it really is important to be honest. It’s equally important to be receptive to your partner’s honest criticisms.

Unless you would rather not know about the craptastic troglodyte.

Bertram Told His Story For the Fortieth Time

  • k-avatarsuddenly the foe cries out
  • ears, a tail, paws
  • like a crushed strawberry
  • peace reigned once more
  • held his head and groaned
  • I grabbed the nose picker’s arm

Bertram told his story for the fortieth time. Each successive rendition has featured a new nonsensical twist, so I listened closely.

“Suddenly the foe cries out like a crushed strawberry!”

That was it. Cecil held his head and groaned, but others in the circle chuckled. I spied Cecil covertly probing his nostril, so I grabbed the nose picker’s arm and gave a rude yank.

“…ears, a tail, paws…” Bertram had deviated yet further from the rather less interesting truth. The fact was that he’d crept upon our old nemesis in his sleep (Bertram’s somnambulism was at times a plus) and now peace reigned once more.

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Felicity Relaxed Her Expanded Nostrils

  • by jennicknamed “the incubator”
  • I am Morris
  • the last man on the list
  • relaxed her expanded nostrils
  • an insoluble cryptogram
  • I shall wear my sash all the time

Felicity relaxed her expanded nostrils and called the name of the last man on the list.

He took the stage and said, “I am Morris, nicknamed ‘The Incubator’ by my last girlfriend, who also said I was an insoluble cryptogram in bed. If I win the title of Mr Universe, I shall wear my sash all the time.”

Felicity felt her nostrils flaring anew as Morris The Incubator flexed his pecs rhythmically at her.

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