What Will the New Story World Be?

We’ve begun the process of figuring out what we’ll write after we finish the Ghost Series. Technically we haven’t even started writing that series yet, so it probably sounds like we’re getting ahead of ourselves, but it’s good to have projects we can juggle so we don’t get burned out.

So far we’re still looking at our possibilities from a miles-high vantage point, a choice between two basic options. Will it be an extension of one of our previous story worlds, or something totally new?

We can see ways to add on to all three of the existing trilogies. In some scenarios this would mean continuation of the original narrative, while in others it would mean exploring uncharted sections within an established world.

We also have a few thoughts about how we could tackle a type of story we’ve never written before. That’s how the Ghost Series came to be — doing a ghost story was something we wanted to check off the list. There are myriad kinds of stories we haven’t done yet, but the tricky part is finding a way to tell that type of tale in a Rune Skelley type of world.

A good writing partner is someone who’ll invent whole new worlds with you, and then follow you to their ends.

Now That I Was No Longer

  • by Kentsounded like you were smothering a dolphin
  • during my ska phase
  • how to correctly poop in the woods
  • most magnetic tragedy
  • stoned to the bone

Tune in next time part 662      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Now that I was no longer stoned to the bone on icicle slugs, I wanted to take action and make my escape from these horrid islands as quickly as possible. Forging Jason’s signature was meant to expedite this, but now that they had a signed release the reality show people were less concerned than ever with my demands.

“Get some fresh slugs,” said the annoying overhead voice, “and we’ll pick things up when they come through the door.” The crew scampered to their places of concealment and Dr Ferguson beckoned me to take position. I folded my arms and shook my head.

“They need to reshoot,” she said with a shrug. “The data from the first take was lost due a freak power surge, which didn’t damage anything else but was probably the most magnetic tragedy that’s ever happened to their equipment.”

“Second most magnetic,” chimed in the disembodied voice. “Right behind losing the whole sequence when that Svenborgian royal demonstrated how to correctly poop in the woods.”

“How is it a reality show if you do stuff over?” I demanded. Numerous hidden production assistants failed to fully stifle their laughter. I rolled my eyes and stood my ground.

Dr Ferguson proposed that I might maintain my integrity — and help keep the production moving — by giving them a performance to use in place of the lost footage. She suggested I use the material I had developed during my ska phase, by which of course she meant Jason’s ska phase. Was she toying with me? I had no choice but to plunge into song.

“Cut! Stop!” yelled the voice in the ceiling. “We can’t use that. It sounded like you were smothering a dolphin with a bagpipe full of toads. Listen, if you want that plane ticket you’re going to have to do better than that.”

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“I Never Signed a Release”

  • “Is that typically what your family does?”
  • don’t worry about appearing déclassé
  • the entire point of having identical twins
  • allergic to paprika
  • the nine interlocking triangles

Tune in next time part 661      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I never signed a release,” I said. “And I never will. You can’t put me on your sordid reality show.” I duck-walked closer to the fire to warm myself. “My family’s lawyers would eat you alive.”

“Is that typically what your family does?” Dr Ferguson asked. “Sic cannibalistic lawyers on people?”

“Yes,” I said. The more lucid I became, the more convinced I was that the “blanket” I had been draped in actually belonged to moose I rode in on. After telling myself “Don’t worry about appearing déclassé — these people have already seen everything,” I tossed it aside and moved still closer to the fire.

As my buns toasted, a devious thought occurred to me. “On second thought, I will sign that release.” Or at least Jason would. If my family proved anything, it was that the entire point of having identical twins is so they can impersonate and incriminate each other. When even our own mother couldn’t remember which of us was allergic to paprika, there was no way Jason could prove it wasn’t him on the video. “And after I sign, you’ll take me to the airport. I need to get off this island.”

One of the many production assistants suddenly milling around handed me a clipboard, and I drew the nine interlocking triangles that were Jason’s signature. I chuckled to myself and thought, “Enjoy the notoriety, brother!”

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Some Good Writing Advice From Our Dogs

We’ve put in a ton of work on the ghost novels over the past nine months or so. And we got a lot accomplished! All four books are outlined, we documented the cast and the setting, created backstories and histories for all of that, devised the rules of supernature that we intend to play by, etc. It’s our most elaborate and thorough rainbow exercise ever, by far.

What we haven’t done for quite a while is actually write. And now it’s pretty much time to do that, assuming we can remember how.

As we hiked through the snowy woods the other day with our assistants, Lady Marzipan and the Bandit Lord, our conversation focused on returning to prose-mode. We reminded each other of what that feels like, and we must confess that we fretted a little about how out of practice we are. Both of us were thinking about the size of the job we’re about to take on, writing a tetralogy in an entire new story world and playing with tropes we haven’t used much before. It was feeling a bit intimidating.

Fortunately, the Bandit Lord had some good advice. He told us not to obsess about it, to just stay loose and let it happen. Lady Marzipan then pointed out that we had probably already talked about it as much as we ought to. We had psyched ourselves up, and we didn’t want to psych ourselves out.

They might not be much help with grammatical issues, but those two assistants of ours really do earn their keep when it comes to moral support.

A great writing partner is, sometimes, someone who licks your face.

The Shock of Regaining

  • by Kentcreepy little buddy
  • his “wild” state
  • the friendlier moniker Buttons
  • ominous, nameless narrator
  • to, in the common parlance, knock it the fuck off

Tune in next time part 660      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The shock of regaining my senses set me shivering, my skin clammy and raw. “Get him a blanket,” said the voice of the creepy little buddy in the ceiling. “But stay alert. We have scant data about how he behaves in his ‘wild’ state, and those slugs are wearing off fast.”

Another random person who had no business being here dressed like a crime-scene technician draped an itchy blanket over my shoulders. Gratitude vied with resentment in my battered pyche. “What is going on here?” I demanded hoarsely.

The tinny voice started never-you-minding at me. What an assclown, I thought, but then Dr Ferguson addressed it via the friendlier moniker Buttons.

“Pipe down, Buttons. Let me handle this.” She had put on a robe. She knelt beside me, where I was still crouching and shivering under the blanket that felt like an old piece of carpet. She laid her hand on my shoulder. “We’re shooting an episode of Slimy Passions, the most popular reality show in Contraria. The whole apartment is rigged with cameras and–”

A deeper voice cut in dramatically, booming, “We don’t just explore the seamy underside of love, we probe where we really don’t belong.”

Dr Ferguson shouted words I didn’t quite understand, but it was clear enough that she was telling the ominous, nameless narrator to, in the common parlance, knock it the fuck off.

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“Stop Crouching”

  • by jentie-dye crocs
  • witnessed his mother commit adultery in the back seat
  • at a depth of 500 feet
  • wasn’t in his mouth very long
  • hands of a stranger

Tune in next time part 659      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Stop crouching,” Dr Ferguson said. “It’s about as erotic as a pair of tie-dye crocs.”

The sweet warmth permeating my body felt extremely erotic. I knew it must be radiating off me, and it surprised me that Dr Ferguson couldn’t feel it, too. I felt like a man, like a sexual beast, and not at all like someone who once witnessed his mother commit adultery in the back seat of a private submarine at a depth of 500 feet.

I must not have stopped crouching, because Dr Ferguson sighed dramatically and joined me on the floor. As soon as she was close, I stuck out my tongue and licked her from navel to chin. “How’s that for erotic?” I said like Angela Tyrannosaure, my tongue thick with desire.

“Abort! Abort! He’s got the third slug!” a tinny voice cried from the ceiling.

I collapsed in slow motion, swimming through a flurry of sudden activity around me. Someone grabbed my head. “At least it wasn’t in his mouth very long,” that someone said as they wrestled with my tongue.

Behind me there was a pair of tugging sensations, and abruptly my skin felt cold and clammy, especially on my back. My eyes came into focus and I saw the trio of icicle slugs resting in the latex begloved hands of a stranger.

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Dust Off the Ouija Board

The first Friday post in January is traditionally when we talk about our writing plans for the upcoming year. Our current project is a series of ghost stories, so it only makes sense to consult the spirit world for some guidance. The sole Ouija Board we have is an adorable little tin box of mints, but we’ll make the best of it.

Oh Great Spirits, tell us: what does 2022 hold in store for us?

Now imagine the planchette gliding eerily across the board, painstakingly spelling out our message from the Beyond.

SpoooOOooOoooky!

 

The spirits say that we will begin by writing Ghost Book #1, mostly in the Writing Cave. But since it is darkest winter and there is no fireplace in that room, we might defy expectations and propriety and work in the Auxiliary Writing Cave several times a week. Even if it means we might need to endure snuggling with — gasp! — a corgi. Who are we to argue with the spirits?

Sometimes composition goes quickly for us, and sometimes it does not. The spirits cannot say how long it will take to complete the first book. They do say that when it is complete we will either steam right ahead into writing Book 2, or if we need to look away and recharge our batteries, we may switch to editing Sibling of Music Novel. The future is clouded and they cannot say for sure.

The spirits have one more prediction for us: we should be able to squeeze in the European trip we’ve had on hold since 2020. Fingers crossed they’re right!

My Current Situation

  • by Kenthow to conduct a toy dinosaur battle
  • They must be very cold.
  • Angela Lansbury doing a French accent
  • I did so by bouncing it off
  • and crouched while she drank it

Tune in next time part 658      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My current situation combined numerous unusual factors into a highly improbable whole, and like all such situations my Academy training had specific guidelines to address it. I recalled clearly the preamble to this section of the manual, the way it explained that how to cope with these circumstances was the same as how to conduct a toy dinosaur battle in the snow. The toy dinosaurs must be deployed strategically across the terrain. They must be very cold. Tyrannosaurus must speak like Angela Lansbury doing a French accent.

When I took Dr Ferguson’s hand and tried to lead her out into the soft, luxurious snow, she resisted and tried to lead me back to the bed. I wasn’t sure if I was a tyrannosaurus, so just in case I tried communicating in the proper mode. Dr Ferguson seemed more confused than before, though, and I realized that I had to remodulate my voice. I did so by bouncing it off the walls of the apartment, but even that didn’t make her understand. In the end I went outside only for a moment, to bring her a double-handful of the delightful snow. I put it into a mug and sang the Academy alma mater until it was all melted. Dr Ferguson seemed reluctant, so I sang some more until she took the mug, and crouched while she drank it.

Academy training guidelines are meant to be adaptable for conditions in the field.

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“Don’t Squish the Slugs”

  • by jenbut in that way dreams do
  • rubbing their fins against it
  • own personal golden spoon
  • some sort of cheesecake
  • you have to plan your moves

Tune in next time part 657      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t squish the slugs,” Dr Ferguson purred, refusing to allow me to lay back on the mattress. For a moment I thought I knew what she was talking about, but in that way dreams dodge from your waking mind, the knowledge was gone. My senses were overwhelmed. Dr Ferguson moved close, and her heartbeat merged with mine, sounding like two dolphins with a balloon, rubbing their fins against it. She kissed me and it tasted like using my own personal golden spoon to savor some sort of cheesecake. When you’re in bed with a virtual stranger, and you’re clearly under the influence, you have to plan your moves very carefully and in accordance with Academy training. I attempted to do that now.

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