The Sudden Lurch of the Zeppelin

  • by jenShut the fuck up, my dude!
  • (or, as he called it, “feesh”)
  • hide from him in the dark
  • flammable urine
  • Plus, we have tiaras

Tune in next time part 689      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The sudden lurch of the zeppelin could spell disaster for my rapidly spinning brother and his wife, or — if we were all very, very lucky — it might jolt them back to stability. I crossed my fingers and ran for the down escalator. Mr Carousel kept pace with me, dangling ever-more-exotic perks to entice me to sign an Icecapades contract.

“Shut the fuck up, my dude!” I barked, but he took no heed, explaining how, if I wanted, I could have a practice rink constructed over an aquarium so that my pet fish (or, as he called it, “feesh”) would never be left alone. I couldn’t help thinking that if I was Mr Carousel’s pet fish I would hide from him in the dark recesses of the sunken pirate ship decorating my tank.

“You want flammable urine?” Mr Carousel improbably said. “I can talk to the team bioengineer about getting you flammable urine. Plus, we have tiaras for all of our star skaters!”

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Vroom Vroom, Bitches

Kent is more tortoise, Jen is more hare. But don’t get cocky about wagering on this race.

When it comes to our writing sessions, the same dynamic plays out over and over. After our preliminary throat clearing and internet perusing, Kent gets right to work. He types steadily for the remainder of the evening, with occasional beverage breaks and brief research sidetracks. Jen on the other hand cogitates. She does some research. She does some more research. She gets sidetracked onto a mostly unrelated topic. She looks at inspiration photos of characters and locations. She studies maps and floor plans. And then she looks at the clock and feels guilty that Kent has been working diligently all this time while she fucked around, and she finally gets started. The dam bursts and the prose pours out and she ends up putting in as many (or more) words in the end.

It’s not a competition (as we often remind ourselves), it’s collaboration. We each have our own process, and we’re both quite thrilled with the results. Although we would probably finish a novel in about half the time if Jen could figure out how to blow up the dam as soon as she sits down at the keyboard. Maybe Kent should wear roller skates and install a jet engine on his shell.

A good writing partner is someone who lets you go at your own pace, and makes sure you cross the finish line together.

I Tamped Down My Temptation

  • by Kentinvolving a talking toilet
  • classic millennial sex pickle
  • wrinkled from being waterlogged
  • time thinking about my underwear
  • As balloons do.

Tune in next time part 688      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tamped down my temptation over the Icecapades deal and ran off to help Jim and Esmerelda. But Mr Carousel followed doggedly and kept talking about all the perks that would be written into my contract, more than one of them involving a talking toilet. He also promised there’d be “only top-shelf gourd, none of the flimsy gratifications you usually see today.” That piqued my curiosity enough to make me pause for an explanation. He told me there’d be a rider that my dressing room must always be equipped with a classic millennial sex pickle, good and wrinkled from being waterlogged for a thousand years. He winked at me. “Just like the golden age, eh sport? Course if you plan to wear it during the show you’ll need to switch from boxers to something with a more secure fit.”

Mr Carousel had already spent too much time thinking about my underwear and I’d only known him for 43 seconds.

Before I could express my distaste over this breach of protocol, the airship heaved sideways. We’d flown into a storm, and the vessel was going where the wind would take it. As balloons do.

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As Many of You Probably Know

  • by jenOh honey, *yes.*
  • They call me Mr Carousel
  • an almost imperceptible click
  • only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
  • large enough for a man to pass through

Tune in next time part 687      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As many of you probably know, ice is slippery. What you, like me, may not know is that Contrarian military dress footwear is polished with excretions from icicle slugs. Soles included. I whizzed and twirled across the hockey rink, pinwheeling my arms to keep my balance.

A man in the stands leapt to his feet and yelled, “Oh honey, yes.”

I spun into the wall and grabbed on to prevent myself from taking another slapstick lap. The frost-encrusted fork nearly went flying. My newest fan clambered over the seats and opened a door not far from me. He held out a hockey stick, and I used it as a lifeline to reach him and exit the rink.

“That was some amazing ice action,” he enthused. Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “They call me Mr Carousel. I’m a talent scout of the Royal Contrarian Icecapades. I would love to take you to the big leagues, baby.”

I gestured at my uniform. “I already have a job. And a mission.” I saluted him with my frozen cutlery and headed toward the exit. Here on dry land my shoes were only a little bit slippery, nothing I couldn’t handle. I made an almost imperceptible click with each step.

Mr Carousel wasn’t going to let me go so easily, though. “If you sign on with the ‘Capades, I can get you anything you want. You want a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle? I can get you a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle. You want chilled silverware? I can get it for you, chilled by professionals.”

His offer was tempting, but it would certainly take too long. By the time the lawyers hammered out all the details in the contract Jim and Esmerelda would be beyond help. And yet, I had always dreamt of a career in skates…

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Another Road Trip, Another Brainstorming Session

We just got home from a great concert, and regular readers of this blog know what that means: we used the time in the car to talk about our work-in-progress. This time out we were deepening the world-building.

Without giving too much away, it’s pretty dark. A lot dark, really. Let’s just say we delved into the practices of the cult in our story (one of the cults…) and when we got home and Kent was typing up the notes, he had some qualms about using his work email for the task. He hit send a while ago, and so far appears to still be employed!

We also wrote the central myth that the cultists’ worship is based on. There’s more to it than just “yikes! that is demented and gross!” It is demented, and a little gross. That’s just not the whole recipe.

A writing partner is someone who offers scintillating — and sometimes moderately disturbing — converstion to help make the miles disappear.

The Plastic Spoon

  • by KentI’d suggest finding a different doctor
  • co-stars a chimp
  • a creature of infinite melancholy
  • suggested that we wear each other’s shirts
  • new moccasins and snow-shoes

Tune in next time part 686      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The plastic spoon wasn’t having much effect on the ice entombing the only fork available to me on this airship. I needed to get back to the petting zoo quickly! So, I pried the whole frost-caked shelf out of the dessert case and dumped the pies onto the counter. The circus people’s eyes lit up when so many pastries landed before them, so I left them the spoon as well.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” I heard one of them say.

I ran out of the bistro, muttering, “I’d suggest finding a different doctor.”

Contrarian airships do not all have petting zoos. That’s a myth perpetuated by a classic TV series that co-stars a chimp astrologer and a creature of infinite melancholy resembling a flightless parrot. They solve mysteries together, visiting a different airship’s petting zoo in each episode.

Of course Fleur’s vessel had everything. Racing back with the chilled fork to help Jim, I took a shortcut across the ice rink. The referee of the in-progress hockey game tried to delay me and suggested that we wear each other’s shirts, a blatant ploy by the sports officials’ union to insinuate itself into military affairs. I laughed and kept moving. Because ice skates are the one sharp object that ever accidentally downed a Contrarian blimp, the hockey players weren’t allowed to wear them. At least they all had new moccasins and snow-shoes.

My shortcut proved to be a miscalculation, though.

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You’ve Probably Noticed

  • by jen(aka Slippery Eel)
  • eat all the candy yourself
  • said through giggles
  • we never were sentimental
  • I’ll bite down hard on a

Tune in next time part 685      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You’ve probably noticed my tendency to swear like a sailor. It’s an unfortunate habit I picked up during my time on the tramp steamer. While I usually have no compunctions about letting the profanities fly, I’ll bite down hard on a four letter word when there are children around. I’m not sure where my squeamishness comes from. In my family we never were sentimental about the innocence of childhood. I remember many, many times when the bluest language was said through giggles in the playroom. Any little thing would set my siblings off. All you had to do to be lambasted was change the channel on the TV while someone else was watching, or eat all the candy yourself on Halloween, or give someone a wet willie (aka Slippery Eel).

I mention all of this so that you’ll understand how difficult it was for me to not give voice to my frustrations with the ineffectual restaurant employee, the rude circus people, and the thick layer of frost keeping me from the frozen cutlery I needed to derail my rampaging brother and protect my myriad offspring.

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The Ghosts Make Their Appearance

We spent more time on planning and plotting for the Ghost Series ahead of the actual writing than on any previous project. Yet, when Jen wrote the first scene where the ghosts would show up, it turned out we hadn’t entirely agreed on how they should look. Many of their characteristics were decided, but some pretty basic stuff had gone unspecified without either of us thinking to bring it up.

It felt weird in the moment, and we had to figure out those details on the move, but the fact that this happened is a good sign.

First of all, no matter how diligently you outline, the prose should always feel alive while you’re working on it. Outlining isn’t meant to take away words’ ability to surprise you, just to get you moving in the right direction.

Secondly, this was a sign that all those hours of pre-writing had been invested in the proper things. We focused on mapping out the story and understanding the people in it, rather than being drawn to shiny objects.

We knew our ghosts were going to look cool. And they do! We needed to make sure we also knew that the plot wouldn’t become a haunted house of cards.

A writing partner is someone who’ll hold your hand when your ghost story gets scary!

It Was Too Late

  • by Kenton Jason’s Nike sneakers
  • ice cream karaoke trucks
  • were the consorts of kings
  • my nose made bitter complaints
  • bankers and wankers, babe

Tune in next time part 684      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It was too late to avoid being spotted, so I tried to act casual without giving off the air of trying to act in a particular way. It wasn’t something I had ever specifically trained for. Numerous courses and special projects I’d done at The Academy touched on it, but this moment made me realize it was a deficiency in the curriculum.

The circus people showed surprisingly little interest in me. I furtively wiped the fresh spittle from my fingers, maddened not to know where it kept coming from. It was while doing so that I noticed the tots both had on Jason’s Nike sneakers, his signature model that had only ever been sold in Japan.

Suddenly the teenaged employee reappeared. “Sorry,” he wheezed, holding out a plastic spoon. “This is all they left me. The good stuff all goes out on the ice cream karaoke trucks, so you hafta get here early.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I growled. “My brother needs my help.”

“Our brothers were the consorts of kings,” muttered one of the circus people. “Now would it be alright for us to order something to eat? In this restaurant? If you’re all done with your weird utensil-themed psychodrama.”

“Maybe you should see to them first,” I shot back. It was obvious from the way my nose made bitter complaints that the infants’ diapers needed changing.

“Hey!” yelped the teen. “Good news! There’s a fork embedded in the frost inside the dessert case. They must’ve missed it. You want me to start chipping it out for you?”

“Let me do it!” I cried, lunging in with the spoon.

“Ugh, no manners at all!” exclaimed the other circus person.

The first one nodded knowingly. “Generals, bankers and wankers, babe. They think they run the world.”

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I Burst into the Bistro

  • by jenchanged the course of music history
  • spoiled his dachshunds
  • it’s weird that neither of them is a llama
  • some circus people
  • arrived with two children

Tune in next time part 683      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I burst into the bistro. “Give me a chilled fork immediately!”

“Oh, wow!” said the wispy teen behind the counter. “You’re Jason!” Before I could correct him he said, “Your sick rhymes about prenuptial agreements changed the course of music history, and my mom’s second marriage. She married this guy who spoiled his dachshunds something awful, but thanks to your song she was able to force him to buy her some pets of her own. It’s weird that neither of them is a llama, cos llamas have always been her favorite, but she seems happy.”

“A fork dammit,” I demanded. “Chilled. Now.”

“Sure, Jason. Anything for you.”

While he went to the cutlery freezer the bistro door opened and some circus people arrived with two children. Two identical children who looked an awful lot like all the others on board, which meant they were probably mine. Was their mother one of the Russian contortionist sisters? Or Titania, the Crystal Clown? Or some other circus-adjacent woman altogether?

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