Daily Workflow Part 2 – AKA the Water Cycle

Last week we talked about what we do at the end of a work session, and this week we’re talking about what we do at the beginning of a work session. Those of you who are paying attention might notice that the beginning ought to come before the end, and wonder why we didn’t write these posts in the other order. We have our reasons.

Once we get settled in at our desks in the Writing Cave, or curled up with our laptops and dogs in the Auxiliary Writing Cave, there’s a certain amount of dicking around we have to see to. It’s union regs. Not optional. So we poke at Twitter and check on some web comics, read whatever articles are hanging out in our open tabs, and then we finally crack our knuckles and get down to work. And the first real bit of work that we do is to read through the previous day’s output. We do this separately, each reading our own work. (Kent gets to save his voice for later.) Any notes from last time get addressed first (aha! that’s why we talked about things out of order!). During this review we inevitably do a little fine-tuning of the prose, just little word picks to make the sentences clearer or prettier. Better. We find it’s a great way to warm up. It reminds us of where we are in the scene, and the fiddling around gets our fingers limbered up. And then all that’s left is to write for an hour or two, which then brings us back to Kent reading everything out loud. It’s like the water cycle.

A writing partner is someone who keeps you out of trouble with the union.

I Was Almost Positive

  • by Kentcall it “getting the twisties”
  • Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet.
  • one of the gents
  • Specifically, a chilled fork.
  • slanderous biography

Tune in next time part 682      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was almost positive it hadn’t been an Underduchess who slobbered on my fingers, but I didn’t see any nearby lambs or other baby livestock to take the blame. I wiped my hand on my pantleg, resolved to track down the furtive licker at a later time.

For now, there was the immediate concern of how to deal with my panda-suited brother. We huddled together on the sofa, expecting Jim to dance his way over. Dance he did, but on a chaotic, spiraling course. The impaired visibility and limited oxygen offered by the panda head combined with the sheer bulk of the costume were creating a syndrome. Mascots call it “getting the twisties” and speak of it in hushed tones. Legend has it that the Jousting Emu of Soiux Falls succumbed so totally that he’s twisting to this day, somewhere in the wilderness, and travelers who encounter him always give the same account: “Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet. Spinning around in a crazy circles and knocking shit over everywhere.”

We realized that Jim might be putting the children in danger. None of the gents employed at the petting zoo were on the scene, so it was up to Cleopatra, Esmerelda, and me.

Esmerelda, being married to him, thought she had the best chance of bringing Jim’s gyrations under control. But you can’t simply seize someone with the twisties to halt them — you’ll be drawn into the madness yourself. I was too slow imparting my warning, and Esmerelda found herself clinging for dear life to the whirligigging blue beast.

“I know what we need,” Cleopatra announced. “Cold silver. Specifically, a chilled fork. Run to the bistro above the print shop and hurry back with one!”

With a nod, I raced off on my mission. The only tricks I knew for dealing with Jim’s predicament had come from the slanderous biography of a mascot from a cricket team in far-northern Canada, so I had little faith in their efficacy.

As I ran, I had to wipe my hand on my pants again. The salivary sniper had struck a second time.

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So Far Nobody had Noticed the Three of Us on the Sofa

  • by jenmesmerizing fiddle music
  • he moved in a kind of circle
  • graced by his peacocking presence
  • upgrade your underwear
  • But who had licked them?

Tune in next time part 681      Click Here for Earlier Installments

So far nobody had noticed the three of us on the sofa, which was surprising given the garishness of my new uniform. But my sartorial crimes paled in comparison to those of the individual who strutted in behind the children, dressed in a blue panda costume. The panda went to the record player and managed, even with his big furry paws, to turn it on. From speakers all around the petting zoo came mesmerizing fiddle music, the sort often played at haunted carnivals. The panda clapped his paws four times to the beat while he moved in a kind of circle around the lambs. I knew immediately who was inside the costume. He’d been wearing one not unlike it on a blimp not unlike this one in the not-too-distant past. Plus, I’d recognize that dancing anywhere.

“It’s Jim!” Esmerelda whispered frantically.

That was the conclusion I’d come to, too. Jim. Her husband, my brother. The way he moved showed that he expected us all to feel graced by his peacocking presence.

Esmerelda tried to climb over the back of the sofa to hide, but Cleopatra stopped her. “It’s time to upgrade your underwear to big girl panties and talk to him.”

Panda Jim was still dancing his shamanic dance with the livestock. From the tilt of his head I thought perhaps he was eavesdropping on us.

Suddenly I noticed that my fingers were wet. I was so intent on reading my brother’s body language that I didn’t notice how it happened, but they were certainly wet, and it was certainly saliva that made them so. But who had licked them? One of the Svenborgian Underduchesses? One of my children? One of the animals? Or something worse?

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Daily Workflow, Part One

It feels good to be back in the actual stringing-words-together phase of writing. We enjoy the planning and scheming parts as well, but the rhythms of our work sessions during prose composition feel special.

We sit down together and we write. This is typically in the evening, after the day-jobbing and dinner-having. Eventually it’s really late and somebody points out that some of us have to get up in the morning, so we do our wrap-up ritual.

What each of us has written that evening gets read aloud. (By Kent. That’s the rule, apparently.) This serves a couple of valuable purposes. First off, it brings us up to speed on each other’s progress. But also, we can bring up any questions or concerns and chat about them. If there are notes, then fixing those things is usually what we tackle first in the next work session.

Reading your own stuff out loud is a really good way to detect more typos and grammatical irregularities than you will otherwise. If you trip over a sentence, it probably needs to be simplified. Hearing your stuff read out loud helps you spot things, too. It engages different filters.

A writing partner is someone who will (make you) read your stuff out loud.

I Stepped Out From Between

  • by Kentcan’t play water polo like everybody else
  • Thank god for vinyl upholstery.
  • creepy carnival music
  • a plaster model of the Eiffel Tower
  • I’ve got the waders on

Tune in next time part 680      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stepped out from between the sisters so I could keep an eye on them both. “Look, you’re not getting me onto that couch, not even getting me into the petting zoo, until you tell me what you want.” I left “and probably not even then” unsaid.

Cleopatra tsked. “Jack lamented that his son can’t play water polo like everybody else. That you have to be the big-time spy.”

Esmerelda said, “Oh, that makes more sense now. I thought he meant that his son rode a horse into the pool.”

I didn’t think my father even knew about that incident, but maybe not all of my nosy spy genes had come from Mother.

“This is a very important matter,” Cleopatra said. “And if you join us on that couch we promise we’ll explain the whole thing.” Esmerelda nodded.

Promises from these two were probably worthless, but they looked sincere. I let them lead me through the turnstile and past the ducklings to the strangest sofa I’d ever seen.

Esmerelda said, “It’s a challenge to find suitable furniture for what is basically a preschool barnyard. Thank god for vinyl upholstery.”

The sofa was indeed covered in vinyl — old LPs and 45s overlapping like fish scales. The records were all creepy carnival music, and they’d been heat-treated to warp them into shape. A turntable rested in the shelf halfway up a plaster model of the Eiffel Tower, waiting for someone to pull apart the seat cushions.

It was a surprisingly comfortable couch.

“Okay,” began Cleopatra. “Here’s the situation…”

She stopped speaking because we suddenly were not alone. The entire brood and all their mothers were trooping into the petting zoo. The infants seemed to recognize the place, from the way they looked all around and reached their chubby arms toward the animals. I heard Isolde’s voice saying, “I can be in charge of the goat pit today. I’ve got the waders on already.”

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I Narrowed My Eyes

  • by jenyours just happens to be immediately visible
  • we watched professional bowling
  • the bakers are in revolt
  • I’ve never been shushed by anyone other than my family
  • played German dodgeball

Tune in next time part 679      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I narrowed my eyes. “Everyone has ulterior motives, yours just happens to be immediately visible.” In truth I was sure only that there was an ulterior motive. The nature of it was anyone’s guess.

The sisters sighed in unison and stepped away from me. “He’s no fun,” they said to each other.

“If it’s fun you want, track down my dad. You seemed to have a good time with him.”

“With Jack?” asked Esmerelda. “We watched professional bowling, that’s all.”

“That wasn’t all,” I said. “I was there. I saw.”

“Don’t forget,” said Cleopatra, “we also talked about the dreadful state of the pastries. Esmerelda, you said, ‘It’s like the bakers are in revolt!’ and Jack said, ‘Actually the bakers are revolting.’ Remember how we laughed? That must be what he’s talking about.”

“I’m talking about how you were all naked and climbing all over each–”

“Shh!” both sisters hissed.

I’ve never been shushed by anyone other than my family. It startled me. If you’d ever been shushed by my family you’d know that it felt like you played German dodgeball for an hour. The precision and fury of their shushes was brutal and relentless, and often left bruises. But the shushes of these sisters were so different, so gentle. It was like a lover’s caress.

Which made it the perfect distraction. Why would they so vehemently deny their dalliance with my father when there was no one around to overhear?

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A Case of the Vapors

The Ghost Series spans a few different historical eras. While we do want the atmosphere of each age to come through, we decided early on that we’d be using modern prose. Dialogue is the main place where we have been giving things a more period slant, but even then it’s a balancing act. The line between authenticity and parody can be perilous.

It’s not just in the direct speech of the characters where we have such linguistic considerations. Even though we’re pointedly not adopting an antiquated style, we still need the story’s point of view to feel right. Which leads to debate now and then over word choice, particularly where the earthier words are concerned. English gives us lots of words to choose from, many having substantially the same meaning. But synonyms aren’t always completely interchangeable. Words give off vapor that affects the mood and the sense of place. (In the preceding paragraph, it originally said “… flavor of each age …” but it got changed to “atmosphere” to go along with our theme.)

Swearing gives off a very strong vapor, particularly when it occurs in the narrative.

People have used cuss words forever. When your great-grandparents were little kids, people swore. When their great-grandparents were little, people swore. (Not your ancestors, surely, but other people.) And, certain specific swears go way back. “Fuck” is centuries old, as is “cock” as slang for penis. So, it’s absolutely realistic to include such vocabulary in scenes set in bygone eras. Yet, adding it has a way of feeling anachronistic.

This perception probably comes from the disparity between how people really talked at the time and what it was historically permissible to publish. What’s in books, mostly, is a sanitized version of period speech. As a result, minced oaths like “balderdash” and “tarnation” sound olde-timey to modern ears, while actual profanity doesn’t. But in all likelihood, the words you’d have heard on a Victorian street would have been “bullshit” and “damnation.”

So, it’s something we need to feel our way through, and we’ll fine-tune it on a revision pass. A writing partner is someone to help you with your “cock” usage and adjust your “fucks.”

The Person In Front of Me

  • by Kentour love is so intense, it’s insane
  • They even had to rewrite the jingle.
  • Oddly enough,
  • dissolves on the tongue
  • couches can be cleaned. Reputations are harder.

Tune in next time part 678      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The person in front of me and the person behind me both let out throaty, sensuous chuckles. In unison, they said, “The intensity of our love is so intense, it’s insanely insane.” I shivered. Then I remembered when I’d seen these sisters last, and I shuddered.

Pulling myself together, I asked, “Does Gordon know you’re here?”

Cleopatra shook her head. “He’s not my problem anymore. Now he’s in cryptocurrency commercials. They wanted to cast a pelican, but Gordon just had that goose x-factor. They even had to rewrite the jingle.”

“What are you doing here?” I could imagine many scenarios where they’d pose a threat to this airship, which was full of my offspring.

“Rescuing you, dipshit,” Esmerelda said. “Or did you want to go where your wife is taking you?”

“Oddly enough, I do not. But I also don’t trust you two.”

Esmerelda wrapped her arms around me, while Cleopatra stroked my cheek. Cleo said, “Where I come from, we have a saying for times like this. Always remember that life begins at 40, psilocybin dissolves on the tongue, and couches can be cleaned. Reputations are harder.”

“This alcove has no couches,” I said.

“There’s one at the petting zoo,” whispered Esmerelda.

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“Is It Really You?”

  • by jencourtyards and catacombs
  • mesmerizingly sexy
  • “Bingo.”
  • “I wouldn’t dream of mocking you.”
  • and a throbbing hunger

Tune in next time part 677      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Is it really you?” I asked. The coy nod I received in reply didn’t entirely convince me. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t. The only way to be sure was to follow when they darted away.

My quarry led me on a merry chase through the many courtyards and catacombs of the Contrarian Royal Airship. I find this sort of cat-and-mouse game mesmerizingly sexy, and was almost disappointed when I cornered them in an alcove between the sauna and the petting zoo.

“Bingo.” I don’t know why I said it.

My embarrassment must have shown on my face because my cornered prey said, “I wouldn’t dream of mocking you.” And then I felt hot breath on my ear and someone behind me whispered something that left me with more questions than answers, and a throbbing hunger. But not for food.

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Our Enwordening Carries On Apace

Just a quick note to say that our accumulated prose for the first Ghost Novel now fills 30 pages — single spaced.

Also, a follow-up about how unanswered questions and unexamined assumptions can lurk: Jen asked Kent how big the ghosts’ manifestations are. She said, “Dont’ try to figure out what the right answer should be, just, when you see them in your head, how big?” Of course his answer was, literally, ten times as big as what she’d been picturing. It was something neither of us had verbalized until that moment, although we each had a definite mental image.

A writing partner is someone you should talk to, like, a lot.