Two Down, Two To Go

The plot rainbow for Ghost Novels, Book 2 is done. On to Book 3!

This is the second pass on each of these rainbows. When we first generated them, we were looking at things from a pretty high altitude, and this time through we’re zooming in on things. Rainbow number two doubled in size this time around. By the time we were ready to number the cards and pick it up to make room for number three, it barely fit in the Auxiliary Writing Cave’s designated Rainbow Assembly Zone.

Now we have number three spread out in the same spot, and it looks so dinky! But we know there’s a ton of info we haven’t incorporated into it yet. The next step is to review all our notes about this book, then we can start adding cards to enrich this rainbow with details. In all likelihood, this one will also end up straining the capacity of the Assembly Zone.

A writing partner is someone who builds rainbows with you, and then helps you make them bigger and brighter.

“Ugh, Another Sewer”

  • by Kentremained footloose and single
  • or at least his trust fund
  • after a couple glasses of Chardonnay
  • nice-looking doctor
  • I live for the eroticism.

Tune in next time part 604      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Ugh, another sewer,” I grumbled.

“He has a good point about the weather,” Tessa said.

“Push me!” John urged. He turned his head to eye me up. “Or is this going to be Weehawken all over again?”

That was a loaded question. I had an escapade with John in that town, tunneling into a bank vault, only we miscalculated and popped up in the self-help section of the public library. Thing is, I knew he and Jason also tried a heist in Weehawken. This had to be a test. But the only details I’d ever learned from my twin were that they tripped a sprinkler system, there was a bartender involved who took the fall but nevertheless remained footloose and single-minded about gin, and one of them had at one point impersonated the mayor’s son, Matthew.

Laying the lisp on thick, I asked, “Are you still in contact with Matt?”

“Oh yes,” John replied, “or at least his trust fund. And Trey got out last year and is back to slinging beers at the Happy Taphouse. He tells some amazing stories after a couple glasses of Chardonnay. Turns out his cellmate was this nice-looking doctor who got arrested for–”

“I thought we were in a hurry!” Tessa exclaimed, upending John into the toilet. He yelped and vanished into the blackness below. She said, “You next!”

Not wanting to find out what means of persuasion a ticked-off TSS-A unit might have at her disposal, I dove after John. But my shoulders are broader than his, and I immediately got stuck. The quick-thinking Tessabot began shoving on my buttocks in an effort to cram me through the opening.

“I think you like this,” I said.

“I live for the eroticism,” she replied, and shoved harder.

John thought I’d been addressing him. Grabbing my wrists and yanking, he said, “Guess I’m just a sentimental fool. But this is already better than Weehawken.”

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“Don’t Make Jokes About Poop”

  • by jen“It’s my one rule.”
  • Olga’s younger and more receptive sister
  • spider-infested genitals
  • an awfully big adventure
  • smelled like a liquor cabinet

Tune in next time part 603      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t make jokes about poop,” Tessa demanded. “It’s my one rule.” She slammed the outhouse door closed. “Now,” she said, turning her attention to John’s awkward situation, “what do we do about Olga’s younger and more receptive sister here?”

“We could dump him through the hole,” I lispingly suggested.

“I said no poop jokes!”

“This place has been abandoned for ages. Anyone who tried to use the toilet would wind up with spider-infested genitals. I’m sure that if we shove John down in there he’ll have an awfully big adventure, but not a terrifically stinky one.”

Below our tangled limbs, my trapped frenemy wriggled, trying to free himself. He worked up a sweat and soon the whole tiny room smelled like a liquor cabinet. I worried about the safety of using an oil lamp in such an atmosphere.

“Hey,” John’s voice resonated under the floor. “There’s a tunnel down here. It heads in the direction of Bumpengrynd. Push me through the hole and I’ll make my way there quickly, protected from the storm!”

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Twist the Knife

Our characters hate us. We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again. It’s a hazard of this job we’ve chosen, and it’s one we usually accept without complaint. But this time some of our characters are ghosts, and, well… we don’t want to be haunted, you know? Nevertheless we persist — for you, dear reader. It’s all for you!

We know that, intelligent and discerning bibliophile that you are, you don’t want to read a novel about pleasant people who experience nothing but joy. Apart from being unrealistic, it wouldn’t be very interesting.

So when we’re hammering away at the plot rainbow, and we reach a decision point like, “Should Istvan Von Rupert crash his custom zeppelin, or get food poisoning from eating raw snails?” the answer is usually “Yes.”

The above example introduces physical peril for poor Istvan, but in our books he’s actually more likely to face emotional or psychological turmoil. So, “Will his wife leave him, or will he lose his job?” might be a better illustration. And again, the answer is probably “Both.” No matter how much we might like Istvan (which really isn’t very much, but that’s beside the point), we need to complicate his life for our own amusement, and yours. The scuzzier the decision feels, the better it generally is. And anyway, aren’t ghosts supposed to have tumultuous backstories?

A writing partner is someone who will help with the exorcism that will inevitably result from pissing off the ghosts as much as we’re planning to.

 

“No Way”

  • by Kentmost frightful freckles
  • hand-drawn portrait of the Hamburglar
  • spreading rumors about him
  • Deeper is only better in oil wells and sword thrusts, my friend
  • the single hockey puck we own

Tune in next time part 602      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“No way,” I said to John, bracing to keep him from shifting me aside. I heard the wood creak as he renewed his efforts to barge in. Soon none of us would have any shelter from the weather.

“What would your old gang think?” I grunted. “Doing them proud, wrestling to enter an outhouse where you’re not welcome.”

John scowled at me, but he relented. The gang I was referring to was the “frightful freckles” and as far as he knew only Jason was aware he’d ever been one. But like most frightful freckles, he had his photo tacked up in the post office between a hand-drawn portrait of the Hamburglar and a public notice from some public nuisance threatening a lawsuit if the Freemasons don’t stop spreading rumors about him.

During my vivid recollections, John ducked under my arm and managed to cram himself inside the crowded structure. His face ended up poised over the bowl. “Careful,” I said, laughing, “that looks pretty deep.”

His reply resonated underfoot. “Deeper is only better in oil wells and sword thrusts, my friend.” He tried to straighten up but was pinned under my arm and Tessa’s left leg.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “While you’re looking around in there,” I spluttered, “see if you spot the single hockey puck we own!”

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“Still Want Me to Frisk Him?”

  • by jenrotate your thumbs
  • we turned it on
  • “By Europeans, yes.”
  • one of my favorite activities abroad
  • futile attempt to dislodge me

Tune in next time part 601      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Still want me to frisk him?” Tessa asked.

“Yes,” I said with a half-hearted lisp. “And be sure to rotate your thumbs into every conceivable crevice. This one’s wily.”

John sighed. “Can I at least come in out of the snow?”

“There’s hardly room for the two of us, let alone three!”

“This reminds me,” John said, “of that time in Dusseldorf. Do you remember, Tessa? We were having trouble squeezing everyone into the phone booth until we turned it on its side. Such ingenuity!”

“Ingenuity.” Tessa nodded. “By Europeans, yes.” I could tell that she was not the Tessa who had participated in this caper with John. “Cramming people into phone booths is one of my favorite activities abroad.”

“I realize this isn’t a phone booth,” John said. “But the same principle applies. Scoot over,” he said, shoving me in a futile attempt to dislodge me from my position beside the oil lamp.

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Picking Up The Rainbow

Last weekend was a little bit busy and a whole lot wonderful, because both of our offspring came to visit — because we’re all vaccinated! And they brought their significant others! And their pets! We had quite the houseful.

All of this meant that the Auxilliary Writing Cave was needed for other things, which necessitated putting away the rainbow. We’re able to keep making headway on the story even in its absence, but will soon need to lay it out again.

Because not all the columns are filled for every row, laying things back down accurately can be a challenge. Eventually we’ll number the cards, but if we do that too early we end up re-re-renumbering them and that gets messy. The solution we’ve come up with is to pad everything out with blanks before we gather it up. That exercise also puts a point on those columns that have a lot more blanks, which sometimes is just the way things go but can indicate that we need to pay more attention to certain cast members.

A writing partner is someone to help you keep your rainbows in order.

The Big Six-Oh-Oh

It’s another milestone for everyone’s favorite chain story. This one. We’re talking about this one. The one you’re currently reading, which has reached its epic 600th installment. Some might say we need a hobby, but the joke’s on them — this is our hobby!

To celebrate such a grand achievement, Jen and Kent will be working on today’s entry together. Jen will go first and write until she manages to work in the first prompt phrase, then she’ll hand the keyboard to Kent. We’ll alternate until we hit the bottom of the list, then we’ll hit the showers.

Through the years we’ve accumulated a small collection of writing advice and style guides, and various and sundry reference books. We’ve drawn today’s prompt phrases from a handful of them: The Deluxe Transitive Vampire, Woe is I, The Writer’s Journey, Writing Better Lyrics, and American English Compendium.

Tune in next time part 599 & 600      Click Here for Earlier Installments

  • Frisk whoever enters.
  • moped in my boudoir
  • don’t always land gently
  • Certainly there is magic in the briefcase
  • rose to his haunches
  • aeronautical engineer could give a more precise description
  • ghosts of dead rules and spirits of imaginary taboos
  • where one style maven sees UFO’s
  • American slang and colloquialisms
  • vintage macho expression

For the next hour, while my horny necromancer costume dried, I regaled Tessa with stories of Jessamin’s terribleness.

“I get it,” Tessa said. “Your sister sucks.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, but before I could explain we heard a commotion outside. I pulled my still-damp pants on and told Tessa, “Frisk whoever enters. We don’t want any surprises.”

The noises outside grew more distinct as their source got closer to the door. I could only make out one voice, which sounded angry, mingled with enough crashing of branches and crunching of sleet-crusted snow to suggest a whole brigade. The angry voice said, “I suppose she’d have been happy to have moped in my boudoir all weekend, but I had places to go.”

I recognized the voice, and so did Tessa, judging by the look she threw my way. It was a look that said she was ready to land some punches, and we all know that a robot’s punches don’t always land gently.

The knob jiggled once and stilled. The voice outside shouted, “I know about the briefcase! Certainly there is magic in the briefcase, that’s not even the issue anymore!”

Why John thought I had the briefcase was anyone’s guess. I hadn’t seen that thing in years. The door flew outward and there stood my onetime partner/ofttimes nemesis, in the teeth of the storm. The snow rose to his haunches and was plastered to his clothes so that he resembled a yeti. The wind and ice had sculpted his hair into a lopsided wing, of which I’m sure an aeronautical engineer could give a more precise description. All I could think was that if his head were an airplane it would be doomed to fly in circles.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he boomed. “You’re going to say you can’t give me the briefcase, and you’re going to say your brother has it, and you’re going to cite all these ghosts of dead rules and spirits of imaginary taboos, and all that other Contrarian shit. And I’m sick of it, Jason. Sick. Of. It.” After a few seconds he raised his phone to his ear and muttered, “I’m going to have to call you back.”

Tessa and I exchanged a look. Her eyebrow quirked in a very lifelike manner, and I thought I knew what she meant. I knew our game plan. But then I looked at John again, at that hair, and I was mesmerized. It was as if he’d used a time machine to visit a salon in the 80s where one style maven sees UFO’s and translates them into coiffure.

“Have you misplaced your flock of seagulls?” I asked.

John’s confusion contorted his face beautifully and I had to suppress a snort of laughter. “You know I don’t understand all of your American slang and colloquialisms,” he said. “And it’s rude of you to use them around me.”

But it wasn’t long before the confusion on his face shifted rapidly to a vintage macho expression, a confident smirk, as he said, “You, ‘Jason,’ seem to have misplaced your lisp!”

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A Ghostly Outline

The rainbow for Book 2 is proving to be a lot of work, but we’re certainly glad to be identifying all these gaps now rather than later. With as many times as we’ve done the rainbow process, the challenges of this series have been something of a surprise.

We think a big part of it is the fact that all four books are in play during this pre-writing stage. It means that when we lay out the rainbow for any one of the books, we’re also aware of the other segments that make up the whole, giant thing. It’s like the ghosts of the rest of the books haunt the discussion.

Too bad we don’t have a room in our house that’s big enough to lay out the entire tetralogy-spanning Bifrost. The Auxilliary Writing Cave is sufficient for only one at a time. On previous projects we’ve spread out rainbows on the dining table or down the hallway, but those aren’t wide enough this time around. Oh well.

A writing partner helps you keep track of hundreds of colorful paper squares and the supernatural realms they represent.

“Okay,” Tessa Said

  • by Kenteven his flaws have flaws
  • can’t spell his own name
  • they let me hang out in my speedo
  • fighting and fighting and fighting and fighting
  • document his many niggles

Tune in next time part 598    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Okay,” Tessa said, “I know to expect someone a bit odd. But I knew that already, if he’s a member of your family.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s weird and broken, even his flaws have flaws. Usually he’s so drunk he can’t spell his own name.”

“Such condemnation for your own brother. What do people do to get in your good books?”

“Well for one thing, they let me hang out in my speedo.” I swiveled my hips to draw her attention back to my giraffe-print undies. She smirked and emitted a robotic little chuckle. “I blame Mother, naturally,” I went on. “Growing up she always had us fighting and fighting and fighting and fighting and–”

“I get it,” Tessa interrupted. “So it’s only natural for you to spot all your siblings’ flaws. Where this brother is concerned, you feel compelled to document his many niggles.”

“When we run into him, you’ll understand. But let’s not forget that Jessamin is the main worry for us now.”

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