I Lost Count

  • by Kentmy hair color’s pretty unmistakeable
  • heart-shaped ravioli
  • looking at shirtless pics of dudes
  • roommates were not entertained
  • And those are just the women he married.

Tune in next time part 696      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I lost count of how many decks we climbed as Fleur frog-marched me up to the wedding. I tried to get more details about the couple, tossing off inquiries such as, “Is this husband-to-be someone who’d say something like ‘my hair color’s pretty unmistakeable‘?” but she ignored all my questions.

In keeping with Contrarian tradition, the reception was being held first. But because I was late, I got frog-marched right past my place setting with its bowl of heart-shaped ravioli. In the zeppelin’s wedding chapel, the bridesmaids huddled at the altar looking at shirtless pics of dudes on someone’s phone. Amazingly, not one of them was a mother to any of my children. I was the last groomsman to arrive, the others gathered here in a loose ring around the maids, craning for a glimpse of those pics. But they all wore bored expressions, like they were the shirtless dudes’ roommates and the roommates were not entertained by exhibitionism. Quite keen to look at the pics, though.

The priest came in with several Contrarian nobles. He seemed to be concluding a long story of some kind, saying, “And those are just the women he married.” The nobles laughed raucously.

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While Jim Waxed Rhapsodic about Agriculture

  • by jendo you really want to be the groomsperson to a deeply unreasonable person
  • spanked me on two nonconsecutive occasions
  • random forks lying around
  • glorious carnality, rapturous eroticism
  • so they can watch him peel his jeans off

Tune in next time part 695      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Jim waxed rhapsodic about agriculture, I was finally able to work my thumbs deep into the blue fur and release the child safety lock on the panda head. A prerecorded message came from a speaker somewhere deep in the panda suit, a woman’s calm voice saying, “Witnessing a surprise mascot unheading can be traumatic. Please make sure no children are in the vicinity.”

We were in a petting zoo full of children, and Jim couldn’t wait. He had to get that head off. The zoo staff were quick to react. They summoned all of the mothers, and together they formed a human wall to screen the children and all the baby animals from any view of Jim. And just in time! He popped the panda head off and dropped it to the floor. He was exceedingly sweaty. Esmerelda unzipped the fur suit and he stepped out of it, steaming and dripping.

The mothers of all my children suddenly inched closer, attentive. “Ah,” I thought. “Jim’s a good-looking guy. They’re doing that so they can watch him peel his jeans off.”

And that’s just what he did, in an act of glorious carnality, rapturous eroticism, and decadent sensuality.

Just then Fleur strode up. She kicked the chilled fork out of her way, and said, “Why are there random forks lying around the petting zoo? And why is Jim naked?”

“Would you believe me if I told you those things were related?” Jim asked with a smirk.

Fleur ignored him and turned to me. “Why aren’t you at the wedding? You’re supposed to be the groomsperson.”

“Wedding?” I asked. “Who’s getting married?”

“A man who spanked me on two nonconsecutive occasions.”

Before I could ask any questions she took me by the arm and marched me away from Jim and the women. I asked myself, “Do you really want to be the groomsperson to a deeply unreasonable person, the sort of person who spanks a warlord’s daughter?” The answer was no, I did not want that. But did I have a choice?

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Getting Up To Speed

You get a very different impression of a place by riding through it in a car than if you walk. This observation is usually intended to encourage us to slow down and really absorb our surroundings, which is a healthy thing to do. But sometimes you need to pick up the pace.

Your reader will be in a car, but you as the writer must go on foot. This gives you the chance to stop and smell the proverbial roses, to find the rich sensory details that bring your story’s world to life. But it also puts you at risk of losing touch with your reader’s perspective. Getting from page five to page fifteen might take days for you, but it’ll probably be a matter of minutes for someone reading the finished product.

This is one of the many good reasons to read your prose aloud. Cruise through it at the same speed that it’ll be experienced by the audience. It will help you make sure the focus is where you want it, and that it flows.

Don’t get wrapped around the axel of this automotive metaphor, of course. Not every journey is meant to be perfectly smooth, or follow the most efficient route. It could even be a good thing if you skidded right off the road. But, whatever your intended effect, you’ll only be able to tell if you’re achieving it by taking it out for a spin.

A writing partner is someone who reads the work-in-progress out loud so you can listen to the engine purr.

Mr Carousel Shouldered Esmerelda Out of the Way

  • by KentAs a qualified cybergoth
  • pizzeria organist
  • her husband’s dangerous career
  • after the whole hippo’s foot incident
  • drive tractors and plant potatoes

Tune in next time part 694      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mr Carousel shouldered Esmerelda out of the way and squatted next to Jim. “Any kind of monkeys you want, monkeys all day long.” He rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes. “But why am I telling you? It’s your brother I’m trying to negotiate with.”

“Not interested,” I said.

“Well,” Mr Carousel said to Jim, “can you skate?”

As a qualified cybergoth, Jim was prohibited from quite a range of activities, skating included. One summer when he wanted to earn a little extra money, the only job he could find that wouldn’t cost him his qualification was as a pizzeria organist. That pizzeria was a rough joint, and I wondered if Esmerelda knew about her husband’s dangerous career back in high school.

The parrot baker had found someone else to squawk at. It surprised me that any petting zoo still had such an exhibit, after the whole hippo’s foot incident at the lasagna palace.

Jim was trying to wave off the lab-coated maniac and Mr Carousel at the same time. “Not interested!” he yelled. “All this panda wants to do is drive tractors and plant potatoes.”

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“Don’t Listen to Him”

  • by jenvery, very politically embarrassing
  • certainly a bold claim
  • now is not the fucking time
  • doled out like gold nuggets
  • “Monkeys?”

Tune in next time part 693      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t listen to him,” Esmerelda said. “He’s jealous of Jim, and is trying to arrange a very, very politically embarrassing photo op.”

“That’s certainly a bold claim,” I said, “but since when does Jim care about what’s politically embarrassing?”

“If I may interrupt,” interrupted Mr Carousel.

I glared at him. “Now is not the fucking time, dude.”

“I was just going to say that in the Royal Contrarian Icecapades, monkeys are doled out like gold nuggets at the Fort Knox gift shop.”

“Monkeys?” Jim asked from inside his panda head. “Tell me more.”

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Working Title

Here at SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises we value secrecy, which is why we use placeholder titles for our novels and series on this blog. Rest assured that the Science Novels and the Music Novels have actual real titles. Pretty kickass titles, if we’re being honest, and when they’re published, you’ll get a chance to witness their majesty for yourself.

Alas, the Ghost Novels do not, as yet, have any sort of titles at all. They don’t even have cute little nicknames. When we talk about them between ourselves it’s just “The First Book” or “Ghost Book 4” or whatever. We don’t even have a name for the series.

Some of this is because we’re still so early in the writing process. Sometimes you have to meet the baby before you can name it. Also, it turns out that naming ghost stories is kind of tricky. It’s very easy to wind up with a title that sounds like a Nancy Drew book: The Haunted Placename, The Secret of the Thingy, The Ghosts of Blankety Blank. It would be a lot easier if no one else had ever written a ghost story before. Another factor is that we like for the titles in a series to sound like they go together. We’ve done that most elegantly with the Science Novels, which you’ll one day be blown away by. Trust. Meanwhile, we do have a few ideas for possible Ghost Book titles, but not any so far that lend themselves to a coordinated set of four.

“Writing Partner” is a great title for someone who is your partner in all things writing. Including coming up with titles.

I Knelt To Assist Jim

  • by Kentrunning towards us with a test-tube in his hand
  • just for the hell of it
  • with thick lemon frosting
  • remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue
  • and sequins in a plastic bag

Tune in next time part 692      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knelt to assist Jim with his panda-head, but just then I spotted a man in a white lab coat running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “Don’t remove that head!” he shouted. “The man in that costume is infectious.”

“That’s been said about my bonhomie,” came Jim’s muffled drawl. “Now unlatch this thing.”

I stalled, buying time for the lab-coated man to arrive. I wanted to hear him out. It didn’t seem he’d be charging around with a test-tube just for the hell of it.

At the same moment, we were accosted from the other side by a roving exhibit from the petting zoo. It looked like the set from a baking competition show had been converted into a parade float. A large parrot wearing a chef’s toque perched over a cake with thick lemon frosting.

“I baked a cake, I baked a cake!” proclaimed the parrot. “Pretty bird, remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue!”

The man with the test-tube skidded to a halt. “He was spinning around in circles, wasn’t he? That’s an advanced symptom. The test confirms the diagnosis!” He waved the test-tube around so violently I was amazed the stopper stayed in.

“But we already know what happened,” I protested. “It’s not contagious, and it’s under control. The chilled fork did the trick.”

“Ohhh!” the alleged scientist jeered. “That won’t hold for long. A permanent cure can’t be achieved without the proper therapy. And for that, you need nine pairs of used false eyelashes and sequins in a plastic bag.”

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All This Attention from Mr Carousel

  • by jenwhen I used to ride a motorcycle
  • tequila anyhow
  • imagine a new color
  • biggest mittens he could find
  • Nepotism!

Tune in next time part 691      Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this attention from Mr Carousel reminded me of when I used to ride a motorcycle. I was approached weekly by talent scouts, people who would offer me anything my heart desired if only I would sign on with the Asphaltcapades. They made so many promises: Bathtubs full of champagne! (Or tequila anyhow.) A new bike in any color I could imagine, a new color for my leathers, too. One particularly odd fellow offered to buy me the biggest mittens he could find if I would only sign a contract. I turned them all down, just as I was trying to turn down Mr Carousel.

“I’ve got to check on my brother,” I said, gesturing at the blue panda. Jim was trying to undo the child safety lock on his big blue head.

“Nepotism!” cried Mr Carousel. “I love it! That’s the perfect theme for your routine!”

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Continuity Gremlins

Reading aloud is something Kent does a lot of. At the end of each work session he offers a dramatic reading of the newly composed prose, which faithful readers already know. But he also reads to Jen while she cooks dinner. It’s his version of singing for his supper. Earlier this week we came to the end of the current read-aloud, and decided that instead of choosing something from our Shelf of Unread Books, we’d dive in and read through our work in progress.

Still Untitled Ghost Novel #1 is currently a hair shy of 35,000 words. That’s 65 pages single-spaced!

The first reading of a work in progress is, for us anyway, a real treat. It’s gratifying to see (or hear) how far we’ve come, and how well the pieces fit together. Of course, it’s not always perfect. There are a few times where our characters start talking about an item or event like the reader already knows a lot about it, when the reader will actually know nothing about it because we invented it. So we’ll need to flesh those spots out. And the opposite is true, too, where more than one character provide Intro to Subject X lessons. We’re making notes about those sorts of things, and we’ll fix them up later.

Where we’re noticing actual inconsistencies is in the descriptions of our main location. It’s a complicated, fancy place that we made up, and it’s a bit of a challenge to make the description of what’s in Jen’s head match up with the description of what’s in Kent’s head. We have a real-world inspiration site to draw from, and a Kent-drawn map to refer to, and we’re still not entirely lined up. We’re tripping over the details.

We have a pretty rigid prewriting process, and by the time we get to the actual composition part of writing, we know a lot of how it’s going to go. No matter how much we plan, though, there are always details we don’t know we need until we’re in the thick of things. Sometimes we’ll call a time-out and have a discussion, but we only like to do that when it’s a big deal, something that could impact the plot. If we paused for every minor thing we’d have no writing momentum and we’d probably end up killing each other. So we trust each other to make command decisions on the little things, and most of the medium things, too.  Usually it works out great. When Kent reads that day’s work aloud at the end of the session, we both make note of the new details and work with them going forward. For instance, if one of us has placed a clever bit of statuary, or described the hidden panel that controls the mood lighting in a certain chamber, then they’re canon. Provisional canon, at least. This is still a first draft! We mostly just scroll back through the manuscript to look up what’s been established, but we also keep printouts of that map handy, so we can add stuff, move stuff, and make rambling notations about stuff.

A writing partner is someone who provides another set of eyes. Sometimes that means they help you spot inconsistencies. Sometimes it means they’re seeing a different picture. A good writing partner is someone whose sky is generally the same color as yours.

The Storm Outside

  • by Kentcelebrate by dancing
  • left school at sixteen
  • “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.”
  • make the standard criss-cross pattern
  • just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean

Tune in next time part 690      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The storm outside threw the craft in the opposite direction, causing me to twirl and wave my arms to keep from toppling. Mr Carousel clapped, and exclaimed, “Everyone loves the tiaras, but few celebrate by dancing when I mention them!”

I just kept running, hoping Jim could hold out. Hoping the fork would still be cold enough. Wondering if I’d be in this predicament if my brother hadn’t left school at sixteen to travel full time with a waltz trio. I remembered the day he told Mother of his plans, her disparagement of the troubadour life. All Jim could say of the bandleader was, “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.” Mother hadn’t been impressed.

Finally I arrived back at the zeppelin’s petting zoo, where the situation appeared to be unchanged. Jim, in the blue panda suit, was still gyrating hectically with Esmerelda hanging onto the fur in his armpits, her body flung straight outward by centrifugal force. Cleopatra said, “Hurry! The nose, the panda nose. Use the fork to make the standard criss-cross pattern, like on a traditional peanut butter cookie!”

I edged forward, ducking under Esmerelda each time she swung by. With quickness and precision that a ninja would be proud of, I reached up with the fork on two successive revolutions, scoring the rubbery snout from different angles. On the next swing, Esmerelda landed in my arms. And after two more rotations, Jim stopped spinning and sat down heavily.

Esmerelda scrambled over to him, calling, “Are you okay?” The panda head was wobbling. She held it still and peered in through the eyeholes. “If you’re okay in there, just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean.”

“Splendid!” cried Mr Carousel. “We’ll make that the centerpiece of your act!”

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