I Blinked

  • by Kentso very cute
  • climbed into bed with her
  • with the ashen pallor and anxious charisma of a new and fresh heartbreak
  • a dying snake in a free road-side couch
  • didn’t need Arturo

Tune in next time part 656      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I blinked. My lashes brushed something in the dimness, and gradually I assembled meaning from the rough pressure on my nose and forehead. I was lying face-down on the carpet. I rolled onto my side and tried to remember how that had happened.

“Aw, he’s awake,” cooed Dr Ferguson. “You look so very cute down there, but you’ll certainly be more comfortable up here.” She patted the mattress. I crawled the few feet across the floor and then climbed into bed with her. She wore only night-vision goggles, and her nude skin glowed with the ashen pallor and anxious charisma of a new and fresh heartbreak.

We seemed to be alone. “What happened to Arlo?” I asked in a somnambulist’s mumble.

“You were, it seems, too much man for him. He will never return to me.” She laughed, but couldn’t hide her bitterness.

“Sorry,” I said. I meant it, for although getting any affection from the viscount would be like getting a dying snake in a free road-side couch, I didn’t like to be the cause of her current unhappiness. “You don’t need him. You never needed him.”

“You’ve already shown me that,” she said. Her goggles glinted in the filtered moonlight. “Thank you, truly, for showing me that I didn’t need Arturo.”

“Arlo,” I corrected.

She cleared her throat. “Right, Arlo.” Rosy overtones flowed across the pallor of her lithe form.

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Dr Ferguson Reached Again for my Waistband

  • by jenwhy would you ever need more than one cat
  • some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered
  • feeling each other up in your pantry
  • shiny because of bug secretions
  • “Who whistles for this long?”

Tune in next time part 655      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson reached again for my waistband. Before she could accomplish anything, I heard someone clear their throat. My eyes were focusing on things beyond this world, things in the realm of sensuality, and it was nearly impossible to scan the room for the mystery throat-clearer.

I wondered if it might be Deuce Pamplemousse after all, but the pale bald head suggested not.

In an outrageously accented, smarmy voice, he said, “Look at your back! Why would you ever need more than one caterpillar aphrodisiac? Is your manliness so meager?”

“Hello, Arlo,” I snarled. “They’re not caterpillars. They’re slugs, which means they must be related to you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” The viscount punctuated each word with a clap. “Very. Funny.” He positioned his pudgy body between Dr Ferguson and me.

“Arlo darling, you’re early,” simpered Dr Ferguson. “And you’re still dressed.”

“Some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered,” I blurted. What the hell was Dr Ferguson doing mixed up with the likes of this Svenborgian trash fire?

“Ignore him,” said Arlo. “Come with me, Fergie. I’d like to start by feeling each other up in your pantry. Your chest is so shiny because of bug secretions, it’s very enticing. I want to put my tongue on it.”

“They’re not bugs!” I said. “They’re slugs!” Whatever you called them, the warm, sweet pleasure they brought was overtaking my entire system. I doubted I’d be able to fight Arlo off if he took a swing at me.

“The double slugs are an experiment,” Dr Ferguson said in a babydoll voice, while running her fingertips around on Arlo’s bald head. “He’s my guinea pig.”

Arlo whistled a low note in appreciation of the plan. And whistled. And whistled. He just kept going.

“Who whistles for this long?” I grumbled, right before my consciousness drifted away on a current of pleasure.

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“Where Do You Want Them?”

by KentNorth Pole here we come! Each year during the thick of the winter holidays, we search out seasonally appropriate sources for our Stichomancy Writing Prompts. This year, we’ve chosen to pull random lines from that 1964 Rankin/Bass stop-motion classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Prepare to be festive!

  • Not if you don’t mind me being a dentist
  • Why weren’t you at elf practice?
  • “How would you like to be a spotted elephant?”
  • Shiny? I’d even say it glows.
  • I’m the king of jingling

Tune in next time part 654      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Where do you want them?” Dr Ferguson asked, brandishing icicle slugs at every sensitive zone on my body.

“Don’t rush me! I’m about to make history here, remember? Maybe give me a second to consider my options?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, but she did drop back a step. “Sorry. I hope you aren’t too upset that I’m an impatient ophthamologist who has certain needs.”

“Not if you don’t mind me being a dentist who never actually became a dentist.”

A smile softened her gaze. “That’s my favorite kind of dentist. But I am a little peeved that you dragged me all the way up here to find you. Why weren’t you at elf practice?”

I hadn’t attended any functions of the Elite League of Fornicators in years. In fact I’d only ever been to one practice, per se. How would Dr Ferguson even know about that?

“Quit stalling!” she scolded. “Position #34 awaits, so make up your mind about these beauties.” She proffered the glistening, transparent mollusks. While I was hypnotized by their waving eyestalks, with her other hand she tugged on the waistband of the crocheted trousers. Peering down into my pants, she crooned, “How would you like to be a spotted elephant?”

“On my back,” I blurted. “Put them on my back, please.”

Dr Ferguson waved bye-bye at my crotch and then circled around behind me. “Huh,” she said. “I hope they can make contact with your skin through all this hair.” A strange, warm sweetness told me they’d succeeded, and then the good doctor sashayed back into view. The remaining slug was between her breasts.

“Look how shiny the trail is,” she stage-whispered.

“Shiny? I’d even say it glows.” The sweetness on my back had already soaked through to my front, and I was no longer afraid of the icicle slug. I wasn’t afraid of anything. I wasn’t tired anymore. “Shall we?” I asked, lowering myself in preparation for the North Pole Vaulter.

“I’m afraid that with the slugs on your back, #34 will not work after all. You can’t lie back without squashing them. But not to worry, I am also fully certified for position #35.”

Ah, yes. The Ring-My-Bells.

“Are you familiar with it?” she purred.

“I’m the king of jingling.”

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I Stared at the Teeth in my Palm

by jenMandatory Festivity Alert! Each year during the thick of the winter holidays, we search out seasonally appropriate sources for our Stichomancy Writing Prompts. This year, we’ve chosen to pull random lines from that 1964 Rankin/Bass stop-motion classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Off we go to the North Pole!

  • I’d like to be a dentist.
  • better known as the North Pole
  • I’m cute! I’m cute! She said I’m cute!
  • square wheels on your caboose
  • you’ll go down in history

Tune in next time part 653      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stared at the teeth in my palm. “I used to think I’d like to be a dentist.” I dropped the horrible little things into a vase on Dr Ferguson’s mantel. “Right now I’m happy I’m not.”

“Stop stalling and put on the uniform,” Dr Ferguson ordered. “My orders are to start our encounter with Position #34.”

Position #34 is better known as the North Pole Vaulter, and that at least meant she’d be doing most of the work. I doffed my makeshift toga and stepped into the awful, scratchy pants. My copious body hair protruded through the crochet holes in a very unappealing fashion.

“Well don’t you look cute?” Dr Ferguson tried to suppress a laugh.

I feigned enthusiasm. “I’m cute! I’m cute! She said I’m cute!”

“Stop bellyaching and choose your slug.” She handed me the tray and finally took her coat off. She was naked underneath. After folding her coat into a neat square, she turned and placed it on the coffee table, and I spotted an unexpected tattoo.

“What’s with those square wheels on your caboose?” I asked.

“They were a gift from Chartreuse’s brother Deuce.”

“Deuce Pamplemousse? The disco artist?”

She nodded. “That’s who the third slug is for.”

I froze, even though I was standing practically in the fire. Dr Ferguson erupted in laughter. “I’m just kidding. He’s only here musically.” She tapped her phone, and hidden speakers in the rafters started pumping out the driving disco beat of “Hop on My Caboose.”

“Then who is the third slug for?”

“You! One for me, two for you. After tonight you’ll go down in history as the first person to use two icicle slugs at the same time!” She snapped on a latex glove and scooped up a pair of clear gastropods. “Well, maybe not history, but in the organization’s files anyway.

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As Predicted

Way back in January we made a writing plan for 2021. Let’s see how closely we followed it.

In true oxymoronic fashion, we wanted to start by finishing something. Editing the Science Novels was handily done, so — Check!

Next was plotting the Ghost Series, which gets another check.

And here’s where things fall apart a little. We were a smidge optimistic when we made our plan, and thought we’d have enough time left in the year to start the actual writing. Hilariously, we left open the possibility that we’d need to decide what to do after we finished the first Ghost Novel. Ha ha! Building four plot rainbows took longer than anticipated, and the actual composition hasn’t begun yet. But slow progress is still progress, and we’re very excited about what’s in store.

One other item on our To Do list that still needs to be addressed: deciding what will come after the Ghost Books. Extremely preliminary discussions on that topic have begun. A good writing partner is someone you enjoy having discussions with, no matter how preliminary they might be.

Dr Ferguson’s Gory Reminder

  • by Kentpromptly caught fire the very first time
  • , but he’s a chef,
  • I don’t recall hearing the astronauts mention
  • tacky crochet pants
  • understood both Shakespeare and the needs of her body

Tune in next time part 652      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson’s gory reminder brought up some things I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. Things I’d always believed were mere legends. Supposedly, the Academy and all its sister schools were linked to a precursor of the US space program. I knew that agency was real, because I’d been taken on a field trip to see their aerospace lab. It was where they’d built a moon rocket in secret, which had promptly caught fire the very first time the windshield wipers were tested.

“Is the Director still around?” I asked.

She nodded. “He’s very old, but he’s a chef, so there’s no telling how long we’ll be stuck with him. Here” She thrust something at me that looked like a folded afghan. “I want you in uniform. At least to start.”

“I don’t recall hearing the astronauts mention tacky crochet pants when I took the tour.”

“They’re itchy, too,” she replied. “But that’s minor compared to going through life as a woman seeking a man who understood both Shakespeare and the needs of her body. I have it on good authority that you don’t know much about the Bard.” The damn slug tray swung back into view. “But I also hear that I’m not going to hold that against you.”

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Icicle Slugs

  • by jengrueling toll on the mind and body
  • I clenched my teeth
  • Until then, I’m not interested.
  • does not give a fuck
  • spit two teeth into my hand

Tune in next time part 651      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Icicle slugs. Why did it have to be icicle slugs?

A life like mine takes a grueling toll on the mind and body, a grueling toll that my education at the Academy prepared me for. Mostly. I clenched my teeth as the shimmeringly see-through slugs oozed across Dr Ferguson’s tray, leaving slimy, crisscrossing trails.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the hype,” I said. “They don’t enhance the sexual experience anywhere near as much as people claim.” Truth was, they did, and I didn’t think I had the energy for it after my honeymoon with Hildegard. And why were there three of them? One for me, one for Dr Ferguson, and one for whom exactly? “Get rid of them. Until then, I’m not interested.”

Dr Ferguson said, “We work for an organization that does not give a fuck about whether you’re interested, or whether I’m interested. They warned me that you might try to weasel out of it.”

“I work for no organization,” I said.

Dr Ferguson balanced her slug tray on her fingertips, crossed to me where I stood by the fire, and spit two teeth into my hand. They weren’t my teeth (I knew from having so recently clenched them), and they weren’t hers either.

I looked up from those blood-stained molars, understanding dawning. “Oh,” I said. “That organization.”

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Toodles 2021

Pull up a comfy chair, dear reader, and together we’ll review what we blogged about over this past twelve-month. Are you comfortable? Would you care for an adult beverage before we begin?

We started the year by pontificating about Point of View. It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that we have strong opinions on the matter.

We closed out edits on our Science Novels as we closed out January, and our Ghost universe took over all of our work sessions. It involved a lot of brainstorming and plot-rainbowing. And we started watching Supernatural — an activity we’re still engaged in (there are a lot of episodes!).

And speaking of televisual entertainment, in March we offered up an incomplete list of our quarantine viewing material. And even now, 9 months later, we still haven’t braved a movie theatre. We enjoyed Only Murders in the Building, recently finished up the newest seasons of What We Do in the Shadows and the Great British Baking Show, and are almost done with Schmigadoon!, DreamCorp LLC, and Party Down. We recently watched Raiders of the Lost Ark for the umpteenth time (inspired by watching Raiders! The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made), and our most recent DVD was Harold and Maude (technically a rewatch, but it had been so long that Kent didn’t remember seeing it).

The dogs made a cameo appearance in April, then we went on to wax rhapsodic about our plot rainbow again some more. We were very proud of the concept we had for the ending, which has since gone through several further iterations. It’ll be interesting to see how much it further it morphs by the time we write it.

The joys and tribulations of plotting an entire 4-book series at once occupied much of May. And then our kids came for a visit!

The halfway point of all that outlining came in June, and that’s also when we started talking about redecorating the Writing Cave. We’re happy to say that the outlining is now complete. The Writing Cave reno, not so much. The big stuff is all done and the room is totally usable, but the finishing details are stalled.

In July we were a little hung up on how complicated our plotting process is, so we added a new member to our SkelleyCo writing team: our beloved white board!

When August rolled around we got started on Book 4 (the final Ghost Book for those of you keeping track at home). It’s kind of enormous, and we had to chop all of our paper squares in half so all the characters would fit on one side. We fretted that the 400 magnets we bought might not be enough. Fear not – we had a whopping 13 or 14 magnets leftover at the end.

September was light on blogging because we were shoulder-deep in the Writing Cave renovation, but we did manage to debate whether or not it was possible for a character to be too villainous. Conclusion: yes.

The end of plot-rainbowing was in sight in October, and we continued our passionate love affair with our white board. That thing is truly worth its weight in gold. And in addition to that we found time to update our Stichomancy Writing Prompt Generator.

In November we finally finally completed all the plotting for the whole entire Ghost Series.  But that doesn’t mean we’re ready to start writing just yet. When we aren’t hosting visitors or helping our children move, Kent is working on maps and Jen is typing up the world’s longest, strangest outline (the old-school kind with Roman Numeral and regular numbers,  and letters both capital and lowercase). The actual writing should commence soonish. Maybe in December, maybe in January.

And finally, in December we said a tearful goodbye to a beloved member of our critique group. It can’t be said frequently or forcefully enough: Fuck Cancer.

Snow Is Nice

  • by Kentthree little glittering, translucent things
  • with a reality television divorcée
  • like a spinning mouse
  • I’m not sure that’s the only rule
  • those who wallow in it

Tune in next time part 650      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Snow is nice to look at and can be enjoyable in person, but not so much for those who wallow in it with only flimsy spa slippers on their feet and nothing to cover their arms. I was shivering, and Dr Ferguson was determined to have her way.

“Alright,” I said. “You win. My only rule is that you must take me someplace warm right now.”

“I’m not sure that’s the only rule you’ll want to enforce,” she said with a chuckle. “You haven’t seen my toys, like a spinning mouse and a purring cat. But I’m hopeful that you’ll keep an open mind. After all, when else are you going to get the chance to go to bed with a reality television divorcée?”

I helped her onto her moose’s back. “You must have been busy since the Academy,” I muttered through chattering teeth as I mounted behind her. She flashed a grin over her shoulder as the animal moved ahead at a canter. I wanted to tuck my arms inside my improvised toga so they wouldn’t freeze solid and fall off, but I had to hang onto Dr Ferguson so I wouldn’t lose my balance and fall off. She encouraged this, stroking my forearms with her deliciously warm fingertips.

Her home was a modernist chalet atop a small hill, and it was warm, so my stipulation had been met. She used a voice command to activate the fireplace, and I toddled over to it immediately. I was just about thawed out when I heard her voice behind me. I expected to turn and find her in negligee, or in nothing at all, but she hadn’t even taken off her coat.

On a tray she presented three little glittering, translucent things.

“Aren’t those illegal?” I asked. Her only reply was her most devilish grin so far.

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