I Was Unfamiliar With the Style

  • by Kentfell upon it with great delight
  • couldn’t tell my nose was bleeding
  • threw her lipstick at me
  • poses rarely seen outside of fetish art
  • blow the lid off the whole thing

Tune in next time part 618      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was unfamiliar with the style of the music. I couldn’t even be sure that every member of the orchestra was playing the same piece, but whatever each of them was chasing, they fell upon it with great delight and impressive volume. They shook the theatre, the vibrations making the emcee’s wig writhe, or displeasing the raccoon atop his head, whichever was really the case. I clamped my hands over my ears to protect them from the assault. Another glance around the empty auditorium and I lost all curiosity about any sex secrets that might be revealed in the show.

I headed back outside, where the orchestra’s performance was still oppressively loud. I couldn’t tell my nose was bleeding from the horrendous sound, and so when someone tapped my shoulder and I turned suddenly, droplets of blood flew onto her. She screamed and threw her lipstick at me and ran away, so I’ll never know why she tried to get my attention. The only other people on the street were a pair of old men on the next block, who seemed to be having a type of argument that involved vile name-calling and poses rarely seen outside of fetish art.

One of the geezers suddenly pointed at me. “I told you!” he hollered. “He’s here to blow the lid off the whole thing!”

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“Say No More!”

  • by jenand things of that nature
  • has a living raccoon on his head
  • witchcraft-induced hair color change
  • losing sleep all week because of this
  • I will come and claim you

Tune in next time part 617      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Say no more!” the emcee chortled with an elaborate wink. “You are clearly a discerning gentleman.” He went on in a highly suspicious British accent, insinuating that I must have elaborate fetishes and fantasies, and things of that nature. It’s hard to take a man seriously when it looks like he either has a living raccoon on his head, or perhaps merely witchcraft-induced hair color change. What I’m saying is, the theatre would benefit from a higher wig budget. But it’s not like I’ll be losing sleep all week because of this, or anything: I’m not a theatre critic anymore.

I gestured for the show to continue, vaguely curious about the amazing sex fundamentals I had been promised.

“During intermission I will come and claim your winning ticket!” the emcee (or his wig) threatened with another lewd wink. “And now, on with the show!”

The orchestra worked itself into a frenzy.

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All Aboard!

We’re quite fond of our plot rainbow process, as regular readers of this blog will have no doubt noticed. We do tend to go on about it.

Despite its many shining advantages, there is one not-insignificant downside: it takes up a lot of room. A whole lot. And when you have members on your writing team as eager to help as Lady Marzipan and the Bandit Lord, it can be a problem. Our furry coauthors have learned that we don’t like it when they scamper around on the rainbow, scattering all the colorful squares willy-nilly, and they do a pretty good job of staying off it. But we can tell they resent it. They like to lay down riiiiight beside it and then casually streeeeetch their legs or shift their snouts into the danger zone. Lady Marzipan’s tail presents a whole other set of challenges. Plus, the two of them shed like they’re being paid to do it, and when the rainbow is spread out on the floor we can’t easily sweep or vacuum.

Terrible Beasties

So instead of wallowing in filth with resentful dogs, we took action. We bought a whiteboard. It’s magnetic, double-sided, and on casters. It’s also freakin’ huge. We’re talking 4 x 8 feet (which is a lot more impressive in person than it looked online). We were going to include a picture of it here, but, I mean. It’s a whiteboard. You know what those look like. It will look a little more exciting once we get the grid drawn on it to keep the rainbow neat and organized.

Our Writing Cave redecoration project is coming along nicely. Jen finally found her inspiration. It’s going to be very cool. We’re just waiting for some samples to arrive before we really dive in. The funny thing is that this amazing new whiteboard is not going to be part of that redesign. We do the vast majority of rainbow-related work in the Auxiliary Writing Cave, which is on an entirely different floor of the SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises HQ than the main Writing Cave, and have no interest in carting this beast up and down the stairs. It will live in the Aux Cave, and spend its off-season tucked beside the elliptical machine in the adjoining exercise room. We have other exciting ideas in store for the main Writing Cave. You’ll hear all about them, we’re sure, as we finalize our plans and do the actual work. And that project *will* be photo-worthy. We guarantee!

A writing partner is sometimes someone who will help assemble your new white elephant. Without complaint.

The colors are out of order? You’re out of order!

 

The Tunnel Ended

  • by KentThe sex fundamentals you’re about to learn
  • between musical numbers
  • knowledge of hidden things
  • “It is no longer open-faced.”
  • I’m sorry, I have a cold

Tune in next time part 616      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The tunnel ended at a flap of plywood held shut only by the dense layer of cobwebs I had to fight through to push it open. I got my first look at Twerkistan, and my first whiff of its brimstone-tinged smog.

I had emerged into a narrow alleyway, and all I could see at the end of it was the blazing marquee of the theatre across the street. Moving out onto the sidewalk I read the name of the show: “How To Do It.”

No one manned the box office. No usher asked me for a ticket. The theatre’s seats were all empty, but the performance was in progress on the stage. It sounded like I hadn’t missed much, as the emcee was still explaining the premise.

“The sex fundamentals you’re about to learn — in between musical numbers where the choreography should help to clarify some of the more abstract principles — will arm you with a knowledge of hidden things that will give you a frankly unfair advantage in the mating scene.” He gestured grandly all around, especially up to the vacant balcony. “Oh, and before I forget, I must announce a change from what is printed in the program regarding Antionette’s sandwich in the second act.” He paused, presumably allowing the imaginary audience to thumb through their programs. Finally he delivered the actual news about the sandwich. “It is no longer open-faced.”

The orchestra unleashed a swirl of brass and strings, heralding the arrival of a few dozen athletic dancers. I could discern nothing of an instructional nature in their movements, but so far no “sex fundamentals” had been revealed for them to dance about.

The emcee finally looked directly my way, saying, “It’s time to compare the final digits on your ticket stub to those of the person seated on your left.”

I shrugged.

“I’m sorry, I have a cold,” he said. “Try the person on your right.”

I shrugged more elaborately, making sure it flowed as far as my elbows. “And anyway,” I said with a furtive glance around me, “no one in the audience has a ticket stub.”

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The Gruff-Voiced Individual

  • by jenI like a good montage
  • I’m like, Hey! A little privacy here!
  • buckle the fuck up
  • the bird in the paper bag
  • his undershirts snap at the crotch

Tune in next time part 615      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The gruff-voiced individual appeared from behind the door of the minifridge and stood to his full height. He was wearing a fluorescent green wig and sharing a palm-tree-shaped bikini with another similarly bewigged man.

“Bandits,” Tessa whispered.

This underground adventure had been going on so long, it was getting tedious. I like a good montage from time to time, so I’ll employ one now.

Tessa gives me a taste of my own medicine by doffing her clothes and pouncing on Uncles Gramophone and Daguerreotype. I use the bathroom (I forgot to do that when I was in the actual outhouse) and get walked in on by a different set of Uncles, and I’m like, Hey! A little Privacy here! and they’re like, This is our bathroom, bub! Buckle the fuck up and get the fuck out! and I hurry out and find Tessa in the position we call The Bird in the Paper Bag, and Tessa tells the uncles not to be jealous because “his undershirts snap at the crotch” and I get so embarrassed I run down the tunnel without her, all the way to Twerkistan, while she just laughs and kisses all the uncles.

End of montage.

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Fjords

One of the neat things about how we use the rainbow is how it encourages us to really examine everybody’s through-line. We just study the whole thing color-by-color and it helps us make sure everyone’s accounted for.

Of course, we focus on the principle players first. That means by the time we delve into the second half of the cast, stuff’s pretty well defined. We don’t want to add padding, or make excuses to mention these characters. But we don’t want to just dismiss their arcs either. It’s tricky to find things that are worthy of inclusion and also won’t require us to revise our major characters’ actions too much.

Once all the big plot landmasses are established, the goal is to fit stuff into the crinkly bits around the edges.

As you’ve surely guessed, we are currently examining the parts of the rainbow concerned with not-so-major characters. One in particular, whose activities are severely constrained. The way he’s limited is interesting in its own right, but there are only so many times a reader wants to be reminded, “Yup, dude’s still stuck.” For various reasons, we knew it’d be a wrong choice to just skip his parts. It was a bit frustrating. But, we did eventually hit on a setup that ticks all the boxes. It dramatizes the central desires of this person, and intersects with the primary characters’ paths in a non-interfering way. Huzzah!

A writing partner is someone who loves doing all the crinkly bits as much as you do (and helps you remember where your towel is).

Tessa Ignored My Doorknob Question

  • by Kentapproaches nonrelatives with similar gusto
  • failed Peruvian rice scheme
  • spicy aromas
  • saying things like, “Nice, nice, nice,”
  • day the blacksmith died

Tune in next time part 614      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa ignored my doorknob question and started dragging me down the tunnel. I had to free myself from her grip and backtrack to collect my clothes. I lingered a few moments over the sight of my new favorite Uncles, dozing satiated in a heap. Apparently in the local dialect an “uncle” must mean someone with whom to share a bikini, and someone who approaches nonrelatives with similar gusto.

I had to lug my clothing because Tessa resumed dragging me away and this time she was not letting me slip loose. When we were far enough away that her voice wouldn’t wake them, she gave me some facts about these so-called local bandits. Her explanation was hard to follow, something about a commune founded on a failed Peruvian rice scheme. The green wigs meant something, it all meant something, but I lost track of it as I hopped and shimmied in her wake to get dressed without falling too far behind.

In another minute I had to overtake the Tessabot and shush her. I’d noticed spicy aromas wafting from up ahead, something she’d be unable to detect. We advanced quietly until we began to hear voices saying things like, “Nice, nice, nice,” unless it was, “Rice, rice, rice.”

When we were near enough to make out the table and chairs as well as the cluster of miniature appliances huddled against the wall of the passageway, we heard a gruff voice say, “Is that stuff ready yet? I ain’t been so hungry since the day the blacksmith died.”

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The Four Uncles

  • by jendrive your dreams!
  • huddling together for warmth
  • enjoyed a few hours’ sleep
  • wipe it on the doorknob
  • just like after a parade

Tune in next time part 613      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The four uncles gathered around me, purring and sweaty. It was a sight to drive your dreams! We did our cool-down exercises and ended up in a pile on the floor, huddling together for warmth. I dropped off and enjoyed a few hours’ sleep, but was awakened abruptly by the robotic facsimile of my true love tugging insistently at my ankle. I wanted to rub my eyes, but my hand was quite a mess.

“Why don’t you wipe it on the doorknob?” the grumpy Tessabot hissed. “Isn’t that what they taught you at the Academy? Like after prom, or after health class, or just like after a parade of debauchery you called Homecoming?”

I crawled gingerly out of the pile of uncles, doing my best not to disturb them. They must be at least as exhausted as I was.

“Why are you so mad?” I demanded. “You’re the one who used me as a diversionary tactic while you made your escape. And what doorknob are you talking about? There are no doorknobs in this tunnel.”

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Threading The Projector

The rainbowing for Ghosts Book 3 is coming along nicely. Hard to know just how close to done with it we really are, but we’re dealing with events near the climax now so it sure feels like we’re almost done. Thing is, there are colors of this rainbow that have so far received scant attention. It’s going to take a few more trips through the whole thing to get it sufficiently pinned down.

This saga has a lot of moving parts. As Jen put it, we need to figure out how to thread the world’s most complicated projector, but then we’ll get a really cool movie.

It’s a lot of work. We like to advocate doing that work up front, but the work’s still there all the same. We’d be lying if we said that a front-loaded process magically eliminates all the chores. What it does is protect us from writing ourselves into a corner. Sad experience is a great teacher: we don’t want to do that again. Being stuck for six months wasn’t fun. All this pre-writing might take just as long, but it is fun! We’re not stuck. We’re just enjoying the freedom to change our minds about who lives and who dies. (It’s a ghost story, so those words start to lose their meanings, but you get the idea.)

A writing partner is someone who’ll help you solve the puzzle of how to make your story the best it can be.

“We Saw Him First”

  • by Kentcompeting to see whose toolbox was bigger
  • There are rules
  • decided to do it confessional style
  • attempt adult conversation while
  • walking two dogs at the same time

Tune in next time part 612      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We saw him first, didn’t we Uncle Marigold?” simpered Uncle Gossamer. Between them and the other pair was me, feeling like a birdhouse being assembled by carpenters competing to see whose toolbox was bigger.

“Ladies,” I said, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. “There are rules for occasions like this.” None of the bandits knew about any such rules, and they weren’t letting me concentrate, but based on what little I managed to recall and articulate we eventually decided to do it confessional style.

I couldn’t imagine how this modus operandi earned them the moniker of bandits, and I had many questions about their customs and costumes, and about the two-dozen discarded wigs a little ways up the tunnel, but there was no reason to attempt adult conversation while our cries of pleasure echoed in the darkness.

“Oh!” squealed Uncle Periwinkle, “where did you learn this trick?”

“College,” I replied. By which of course I meant the Academy, but I didn’t trust any of them enough to mention it. Nor did I think it would be wise to mention just then that back at the Academy we called the trick “walking two dogs at the same time.”

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