Another Road Trip

Kent and Jen spent another few hours on the highway recently, and as we often do we made use of the time to converse about a writing project. In this case, it was As-Yet Untitled Ghost Novel #1, and the feedback we’ve been getting about it.

We tossed around various proposals for addressing the comments. For each idea, we rated it as “radical” or “reasonable.” For example, some of the suggestions would entail not only rewrites for Book 1 but replotting the whole series. Too radical. On the other hand, just changing whose POV certain scenes come from? That’s eminently reasonable, perhaps too much so. It might not go far enough. After all, we do want to successfully remedy the issues. At this point, we’ve narrowed it down to three options, and will probably implement two of them in combination. The third one’s more of a departure from our usual style, but it has us fascinated. We’ll experiment with it before we decide whether to use it for real.

Having a partner makes these brainstorming situations so much more productive. You get twice as many ideas to work with, and you have someone who understands your process to help you analyze them. Someone whose investment in your voice and in the quality of the final product is in tune with your own.

A writing partner is someone to keep you company on the road of life.

Proper Use of Aluminum Foil

  • by Kent“I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.”
  • someone involved in the circus
  • an excuse to rub it all over you
  • his handheld computer
  • after the whole hippo’s foot incident

Tune in next time part 912      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Proper use of aluminum foil had become a small obsession of mine after the whole hippo’s foot incident. Let’s just say clearing customs that day was a major headache, as the inspector scrolled endlessly on his handheld computer in search of the proper import duty on such an item. He finally gave up only when I told him, “This will give me time to bring in the rest of the animal, and think up an excuse to rub it all over you.” He found an exemption that could be applied if I were someone involved in the circus industry, which according to my phony papers I was. Due to the delay, I had to race through the airport to make my next connection, and then the customs inspector appeared again to bar my way. I thought he’d discovered my false paperwork, or finally tracked down the amount I was supposed to pay. He seized me in his arms, and I was convinced he was arresting me, but then he whispered in my ear, “I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.” He slipped me a note, which I read on the plane. Turned out he had a fetish for being slathered with exotic cuts of meat.

None of which I would have ever had to know if only the parcel had been wrapped more effectively. I took the lesson very much to heart and practiced religiously until I could encase almost anything in a smooth, gleaming cube of foil. I’d never before tried to do a room, though.

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My Mother Kept Many Secrets

  • by jen“Nice neighborhood.”
  • with bars on the windows
  • often requires a flight of stairs
  • within sleepwalking distance
  • (depending on thickness, of course)

Tune in next time part 911      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My mother kept many secrets about her past. Could she have possibly spent time in Colloquillia and learned that wretched recipe? The only time I could remember her mentioning the country she had said merely, “Nice neighborhood.” The way she said it, disdain dripping from her words, meant she thought it was the kind of place with bars on the windows, the kind of place so full of vermin it often requires a flight of stairs to avoid them, the kind of place with dangerous cliffs within sleepwalking distance of every bedroom. Not the sort of place she’d want to spend any time. But Colloquillia was so secretive, how would she know that unless she’d experienced it first hand?

My mind was swimming with even more questions than mere moments ago. I stared at the roll of foil in my hand. Covering an entire room with the stuff was a challenge. It was prone to tearing (depending on thickness, of course) and creasing. But it was still my best bet. If I could restore my memory, I might suddenly have the answers to my questions about Ursula, my mother, and any number of other topics.

“Forget the stinky man,” I said. “We have work to do.”

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The Grandchild is a Grand Child…

…But having an infant in the house sure isn’t good for writers’ productivity.

Yes, you read that correctly. We have the nerve to blame our own shortcomings on the cutest human on Earth, who has done absolutely nothing wrong.

We thought we knew what we were getting into when we agreed to watch the grandkid during the week. We had plans for shifting our schedule around and showing a resilient dedication to our craft. But it turns out that caring for an infant makes us tired. Too tired to write, evidently. We think we’re getting used to the new normal, though.

A writing partner is someone who doesn’t make you change all the diapers.

My Lack of Knowledge

  • by Kent— the European kind with beaks —
  • videos of quivering food
  • while screaming like a demon
  • with the smallest number of syllables
  • she calls “the stinky man.”

Tune in next time part 910      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My lack of knowledge about how Colloquillian summit facilities are laid out quickly became apparent. The pharma man tromped along obediently behind me, because the nanobots under my tenuous control gave him no alternative. But I could tell by his frequent, loud sighs that he was growing exasperated with my navigational decisions.

Ten minutes into the trek, we encountered the kitchens. Colloquillian cuisine is another weak area in my education, but it seemed to me this must actually be a culinary school. The gleaming steel counters held row after row of neatly folded uniforms. Each little pile comprised an apron, a shirt, and a pair of chef’s clogs — the European kind with beaks — and the uniforms were stationed in front of dozens of flatscreens playing videos of quivering foodstuffs. Fortunately the sound was off, because every few seconds the instructor would appear, hurling ingredients onto hissing griddles while screaming like a demon.

I located a roll of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Now all I needed was a smaller room that I could cover with it.

“Make food,” grunted the pharma man. I was surprised he could speak at all, so it was natural that he would express his wishes with the smallest number of syllables. But, did he want me to make food, or did he intend to do it himself?

“You can eat later,” I said, using the nanobot control app to steer him toward the exit. But he resisted the compulsion with vexing effectiveness. His feet didn’t budge. He pointed at the nearest video and its gelatinous images. Shockingly, I recognized the recipe it depicted, something foul that Mother forces us to consume on special occasions, the only meal I’ve ever known her to prepare personally, which she calls “the stinky man.”

What was this nanobot-addled pharma rep trying to tell me?

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Of the Many Looks People have Given Me Over the Years

  • by jenspooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious
  • “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”
  • wore a top hat over a hoodie
  • “The doorman knows your movements.”
  • foil-covered room

Tune in next time part 909      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Of the many looks people have given me over the years (spooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious among them), furtive is my least favorite. I prefer to be the furtive one in any and all interactions. I turned my attention back to the nanobot app and entered the homing command again, paying careful attention to each glyph. During my Digital Mystic training, my partner and I devised a mnemonic song for remembering the purpose of each arcane squiggle. I could remember that much, but not who my partner had been. That must be a clue!

I stared at the glyphs and let my mind drift back. In my memories I saw a hand wearing a haptic glove with too many fingers. “I stole this from my brother,” a feminine voice said. “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”

Had I ever heard of anybody with six fingers who might have a sister named Ursula? The only six-fingered individual I could remember was someone who was kicked off the Academy’s beatnik team when he wore a top hat over a hoodie to a competition, but as far as I could remember he was an only child.

But could I trust my memory?

Stomping footsteps announced the pharma man’s approach, and with him the nanobots I needed to restore my faulty memory. I gave him a furtive look and whispered, “The doorman knows your movements.” His eyes went wide with fright.

To safely transfer the nanobots from the pharma man to myself, I would need a foil-covered room in which to work. This being a summit facility, there must be one nearby. “Follow me,” I said.

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Moonlighting: A Fascinating Mess

We’ve been watching Moonlighting. Kent’s never seen it before, whereas for Jen it’s technically a rewatch but it’s been so long that it feels mostly new. We just finished the infamous third season, and we have some thoughts about it (as do plenty of other folks).

Spoilers ahead, or things that are spoiler-adjacent anyway. If you’re like Kent and never saw it when it aired, proceed with caution.

The show started off fun. It didn’t always make a ton of sense, but the snappy rythms of the dialog and the offbeat chemistry of Willis and Shepherd gave it a nice flavor. But by the end of season three, it wasn’t fun anymore. And the seasons were short — it’s frankly amazing how small the fun era of Moonlighting is, considering what a cultural touchstone the show is. We do have two more seasons to go, and we hope some of the fun comes back. We know that Cybill Shepherd will be largely absent for season four, which will obviously impact the flavor of the show. And we know that its ratings tanked…

Lots has already been written about the behind-the-scenes problems, and how the production delays led to reruns (look it up, kiddies) which hurt audience loyalty, and thus led to cancelation. But for us, it just boils down to this: The show was fun, then it wasn’t. We’ve been talking over why we think that is. The two biggest things that stick out are that they (a) started neglecting the core premise of the show, and (b) stopped doing the zany plots and witty banter that made it fun.

Of course, the big turning point on-screen came when David and Maddie became romantic. That’s where there stops being even a token nod toward cases for the agency to handle, and where whole strings of episodes (reminder: the seasons were short…) dwell on how miserable the lead characters are. And because they’ve become miserable, they no longer have rapid-fire repartee. They have speechifying. And they have long takes of sullen silence, gloomily lit.

Many have said that the lesson of Moonlighting was that they shouldn’t have given an answer for will-they-or-won’t-they. That’s a bell that couldn’t be unrung, sure. But, did ringing it have to destroy all the fun? We say no. What if Maddie and David hadn’t made each other miserable? They could have kept making each other crazy instead, and kept pretending they were detectives. They could have had ups and downs, and kept bantering through it all. The banter could have even shaded over into bicker sometimes; snarky, witty bickering can be fun. But seriously, why wasn’t David allowed to even try to actually make Maddie happy? What necessitated making him act like a stalker? It seems like the answer was something along the lines of, “The conflict for the story is rooted in their relationship, so the relationship can’t make them happy.” Okay, but there are options in between “happy” and “miserable.”

So we think that the real lesson of Moonlighting is: Don’t let your detectives stop solving cases. The show’s failure wasn’t when it got canceled, it was when it stopped being fun. It stopped being itself on a basic level. Without MacGuffins to chase, the characters ended up just wallowing. A story can turn in unexpected directions, and can go through different moods. It should! The author’s responsibility is to ensure that through all that, it doesn’t stop being itself.

A writing partner is someone who won’t bend your story so far it breaks, and who’ll help you fix it if it does.

Paradoxes Are Fun

  • by Kentwhatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it
  • may be inappropriate for children under 13
  • one weird trick
  • I do look mighty cute in riding boots
  • looking furtively at me

Tune in next time part 908      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Paradoxes are fun, until you’re caught inside of one. Such as: trying to remember who tampered with your memory. My only clues that it had even happened were “Ursula” and the fact that I couldn’t remember anyone by that name.

The pharma man gasped and lurched into a sitting position. I sent silent encouragement to the nanobots, thinking “whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it.” The pharma man’s return to consciousness was apparently rather unpleasant, and between coughing jags he muttered numerous words which may be inappropriate for children under 13, and a few that I considered inappropriate for myself. But the risk of him dying, and therefore the risk of his nanobot-infested remains falling into Colloquillian hands, seemed to have passed.

I hadn’t thought about my studies of digital mysticism in years. It was almost as if, until moments ago, they weren’t part of my backstory. Could that be another clue? A theory took shape in my mind. Whoever altered my memory had tried to suppress everything related to my being a digital mystic, which must mean Ursula was connected in some way to that part of my life. Had she stolen my jacket, or my memories? Or both? Or neither? I patted the phone in my pocket. Whoever messed with my brain, they must have used nanobots. If I could transfer the ones from the pharma man into myself, maybe they could reverse the damage. It would be one weird trick to pull off.

Fleur nudged me in the ribs, and I realized that I had — again — neglected my diplomatic duties whilst lost in speculation. The ambassador had just said something that I only caught the end of: “… but I do look mighty cute in riding boots.”

“Checks out,” I said. Then, turning back to my wife, “There is an urgent matter that I must attend to around the corner. Excuse me.” And I strode off before she had time to object.

Once out of view, I took the phone back out and ordered the nanobots to march the pharma man over to where I waited. And waited. It clearly shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, so I peeked out to see what was going on. No one but the pharma man spotted my sneaky peeking, but he wasn’t moving. The only sign that he was being influenced by the microscopic implants under my alleged control was the way he kept looking furtively at me.

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As Luck Would Have It

  • by jenI should have warned you.
  • their color-coded jackets
  • supple lilac leather
  • as fascinating as they are adorable
  • took off her crown and started beating him with it

Tune in next time part 907       Click Here for Earlier Installments

As luck would have it, I am a seventh-order digital mystic. I should have warned you. I’m sure you’re surprised because digital mystics are known for their color-coded jackets which make it easy to tell the orders apart, and I never wear mine. I’d loved the supple lilac leather moto jacket I was awarded upon ascending to the seventh order — those things are as fascinating as they are adorable! — but, it was stolen from me years ago. I was attending a family function at the White House when my parents got into a heated argument. My father (the president) arrived late, with one of his many mistresses on his arm. My mother (then vice-president) took off her crown and started beating him with it. The brawl escalated quickly and I stepped in to prevent it from becoming (another) international incident. When I returned to my seat, my resplendent purple jacket was gone. I always suspected Jason of the theft, but now that I knew my memory had been tampered with, my suspicions fell on the mysteriously unknown Ursula.

My thumbs danced across the phone screen, forcing the nanobots to do a hard restart. The pharma woman was distracted by the cheese plate, so I surreptitiously pocketed her phone.

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WIP Read-Thru Results

The read-thru on Ghosts Book 2 went about like we expected. We really like what we’ve got so far, and we didn’t uncover anything drastic. There were a couple of minor things that we flagged, which mainly have to do with continuity.

In particular, there’s a location that gets described a bit differently in different scenes. This is not just the color of an armchair or which way the window faces. It’s an elaborate locale, which it must be in order to play host to weird and supernatural events that will come up later. We went out of our way to get this place on the page ahead of time, and to give the characters a chance to explore it. This also gave us a chance to invent the fiddly details that will come into play eventually, which we unfortunately seem to have reinvented when we described the spot the second time. This is most likely a case where Kent did one of the affected scenes and Jen did the other, and each of us approached it as if we were introducing the location.

But that’s okay! It just gives us a surfeit of good stuff to draw from when we deal with continuity bobbles during revision.

A writing partner can see things from another angle.