Brandita Gathered the Chapstick Tubes

  • by jenHe is a stupid fool
  • copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach
  • all he kept was the duffle bag
  • elbows tight against my sides
  • , and the dance begins

Tune in next time part 577    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brandita gathered the chapstick tubes we’d been using during the Baron’s demonstration, and placed them reverently back in their ceremonial box. All the while, the Baron stared at the postcard, crossing and uncrossing his eyes, blinking one and then the other, and otherwise making a great show of squinting officiously. He is a stupid fool, I thought, at least when it comes to codes. Even with so many clues he still could not decipher the message.

Tessa tapped her foot impatiently. “Are we getting off this island, or what?”

Von Dimpleheimer sneered at her. “The man who built you should have realized that copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach, but it seems that when god was handing out engineering smarts, all he kept was the duffle bag.”

“Hey!” I said. “There’s no reason to be rude!”

The Baron swiveled his head to me. He arched one bushy eyebrow. “I am not insulting your lovely robot, just the man who made her. All TSS-A Units are adept cryptographers. The feature is supposed to be well-hidden, but is actually easy to access.”

He directed Tessa to stand close in front of me, arms around my waist, elbows tight against my sides. “And now,” he said, “the music starts, and the dance begins, and the TSS-A Unit’s linguistics operations are mine to exploit.” He turned the crank on his victrola. “I’ll have that postcard decoded in no time.”

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Smite! Smite! Ice Cream, Sunshine… Smite!

Within the world of the story, the author is God. You plant all the trees, paint the clouds in the sky, and breathe life into every inhabitant.

And then, you smite.

Your job is not to win the adoration of the creatures you create. It’s to make them hate you. If you let them fall in love, you must also tempt them to stray, or place vast distances between them. If you give them fortune, it cannot bring them joy. Okay, fine, they can get a taste of happiness now and then, but you can’t let them stay that way.

In the Writing Cave, as we discuss how to make some character’s fate more interesting, we know we’re on track when they give us the stink-eye and a sarcastic, “Gee, thanks.”

There is another side to this omnipotence gig, of course. If you grind everything down until it’s all just a gray paste, that’s just as boring as across-the-board sunshine and leisure. Monotonous suffering or monotonous bliss, either way is bad from the readers’ vantage. You have to let some characters off easy, relatively speaking, to give your hapless creations hope. Maybe they’ll be one of the lucky ones who doesn’t die in a fire! Maybe theirs is a love that can really last!

Well, maybe. Maybe not, though. Letting them hope is the key to making them really despise you.

A writing partner is someone to plot with against your own creations.

I Opted to Continue

  • by Kentcrawling all over me
  • there were a good many inches of him
  • healthy squid population
  • must train their eyes
  • “Put your chapstick away.”

Tune in next time part 576    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I opted to continue affecting utter nonchalance. I handed the card back and said, “It’s not signed. What’s it to us, anyway?”

The Baron’s lips curled into a nasty smile, making it feel like frozen caterpillars were crawling all over me. “You probably think I want you to rescue the poor bastard. No. I need to make sure he doesn’t come back. With your position at that very fortress, you’re ideally situated to help me with that.”

I scratched my chin, as if mulling it over. It was plain that the Baron knew I recognized the handwriting. He wasn’t taking the bait on that. But, equally plainly, he didn’t realize the message was in code. My problem was that I couldn’t pin down exactly which code it was. The mention of a t-rex costume could signal the use of the Fossil Cipher, in which case the aerial photo was the real message and all the other text should be discarded. Knowing who had penned it, I was inclined to believe as little of it as possible — there were a good many inches of him, and every one a liar. For instance, the Jurassic costuming statutes are almost never enforced, which the Baron probably didn’t know.

But the other candidate code couldn’t be ruled out. I noticed how the “W” in “Winter” on the face of the card lined up perfectly with the “W” in “wedding” on the back, which suggested a far more complex style of encryption. I would have no hope of cracking such a message without knowing, among other things, if the nearby waters held a healthy squid population.

In neither scenario was it very likely that the writer was actually at Enigma Fortress, but as long as the Baron didn’t figure that out, he’d happily arrange for me to get home.

Brandita cleared her throat, and the Baron patiently awaited whatever she had to say. She appeared nervous about it, but finally she mumbled, “Those who want the truth must train their eyes to see it.” And then she crossed hers.

While the Baron tried to cover the awkwardness by reminding us about proper cold-weather lip care, I covertly studied the postcard again. By allowing my eyes to defocus slightly I discovered the “truth” that Brandita had been talking about. The photo was a stereogram, hiding a symbol. This was the real message, and it chilled me.

The failure of my disinterested facade made the Baron look again at the card himself. He gasped, then turned his gaze to us. “Put your chapstick away.”

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I Dearly Wanted to Get Off this Island

  • by jenIt was fine.
  • crude message printed almost illegibly
  • It’s winter 9 months of the year here!
  • not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding
  • with the snake venom outside of your body

Tune in next time part 575    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dearly wanted to get off this island, but I tried to play it cool with the Baron. Like I didn’t care either way. It was fine. I was fine. We were fine. I was wary of looking too eager before I heard his full proposal.

“I see you are a shrewd man,” Baron von Dimpleheimer said. “And she is a shrewd robot. Allow me to lay out my proposal.” He crossed the room to a refrigerator made from a large, upturned treasure chest. Stuck to the front with a starfish-shaped magnet was a postcard with a crude message printed almost illegibly on the back. He brought the missive to me. On the front was an aerial photo of Enigma Fortress where I was supposed to be stationed. Emblazoned across the snowy landscape were the words “It’s winter 9 months of the year here!” in a jaunty font. I flipped it over to read the chicken scratch on the back.

“Dear Mum,

Today I learnt that in the Paradoxica Mountains it is frownt upon to not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding. I have been arrested by the Royal Contrarian Fashion Police and am being held in this fortress. Please hire a fashionable barrister to argue my case.”

The card was unsigned, but I recognized the terrible handwriting, and it left me with that feeling you get when you are bitten by a clumsy snake and you experience the pain of the fangs, but with the snake venom outside of your body, sizzling on your skin.

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Nothing Is Ever Wasted

As we recently mentioned, our brainstorming for the ghost series has been very fruitful. The process of organizing all those notes into a single, coherent narrative was a sizable task, and not all of the notes found a home.

In the beginning, we were still trying to figure out what this ghost story was going to be about. We came up with lots of ideas. We’re good at generating ideas. Many of these ideas were even good! But, they tended to be a bit random. They were, in fact, parts of different stories.

These leftovers are a valuable byproduct. They’ll help us start the ball rolling the next time we develop a new series.

The Front Door Was Opened To Us

  • by Kentthe Baron rumbled
  • What do I win?
  • the bedspread and the baby quilt
  • like a prisoner with a ball and chain
  • I’m lucky to have met you

Tune in next time part 574    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The front door was opened to us, and we were shown into a cramped study overfilled with bulky furniture. All the pieces were made out of treasure chests, sailcloth, and cannons. A tall man with long, glossy black hair in curls beckoned us to be seated.

Brandita had asked to do the talking, but it didn’t seem like she had anything to say. After an uncomfortable silence she finally said, “You were right, Baron von Dimpleheimer.”

“Right about what?” the Baron rumbled.

“Svenborgia’s alliances,” Brandita said.

The Baron stroked his drooping mustache. “Oh goody. What do I win?”

“Well, I’ve brought these new recruits.”

“Whoa,” I interjected. “I’m already a Contrarian general, so I hardly think I have time for whatever this is.”

More mustache fondling, while the Baron’s icy blue eyes glinted at me. “Brandita, you simply have no knack for finding presents. Last year it was just dumb luck that the bedspread and the baby quilt coordinated perfectly with those new ruffles I had already found. I’m telling you, anyone with a gift from you is like a prisoner with a ball and chain. Now you’ve dragged these random strangers into things, one of them a military official at that. How am I meant to feel about this?”

The Tessabot harumphed. “It’s not like I feel I’m lucky to have met you,” she said just loudly enough to be heard.

“No, I don’t suppose you would,” the Baron said with a chortle. “But perhaps I can change your mind. How would you like to get off this island?”

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Brackish Bay Being on a Remote Island

  • by jenanother elderly woman
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • more gullible than other persons
  • the man you’re about to meet
  • German power ballad

Tune in next time part 573    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brackish Bay being on a remote island, we were nowhere near Denver. We weren’t even anywhere near Denveristan, a Contrarian coastal village. There was no way I would accompany this specter halfway around the world for some unknown errand. Before I could explain that to him, he launched into a German power ballad. The lyrics were badly translated into Svenborgian, but Jeff had a decent voice.

Brandita took a sharp right off the paved road onto a steep goat track. I bounced around in the bathtub-sidecar like popcorn in the popper, collecting a good many bruises. Over Jeff’s warbling I heard Brandita speak.

“The man you’re about to meet is more gullible than other persons generally are, but not as gullible as we might wish he were. Let me do the talking.”

She swerved around a large gorse bush and braked to sudden stop. I peeled myself up off the bottom of the tub and clambered out in time to offer my hand to help Tessa dismount.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Jeff said. “The paperwork to expand my haunting grounds beyond this bathtub hasn’t been approved yet.” He recovered his shiny silk hat from the drain hole and fitted it atop his shiny bald head. “When you get back we’ll talk more about Denver.”

Brandita led the way through a patch of overgrown shrubbery to a gate guarded by an old woman with a metal peg leg and a nasty sneer. She nodded to Brandita and stepped aside. Further down the path we met another elderly woman, this one with scimitar where her right hand should be.

I wondered what was up with all the retired pirates, and stuck close to Brandita.

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Science Series Editing Complete!

The astute Skelleyverse blog reader will have read last week’s post about constructing a preliminary plot rainbow for the Ghost Novels and surmised that we are done editing the Science Series. Good surmising! We did finish, right at the end of January.

Grandson of Science Novel came in 5,200 words lighter than where it started, which is about a chapter’s worth of words. Maybe a chapter and a half. We didn’t remove any large chunks of prose, and (unlike the middle book in this series) we didn’t even need to rearrange anything. We tell the same amazing tale, just more efficiently.

Our year of editing is over. It’s time to put away our flensing knives and sandpaper and turn our attention to a new project. And honestly? We’re relieved. Editing is hard work.

A coauthor isn’t just a writing partner, but an editing partner, too.

I Rode In Silence

  • by Kent“Paperwork?”
  • How much yuckier? This much:
  • if in fact it was inspired by an actual human
  • the reason we do what we do
  • you guessed it — Denver

Tune in next time part 572    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I rode in silence for a few miles, racking my brain. The lack of molasses was really making it difficult to envision how Transylvania Homicide Detective Regis St Oink Oink would approach this situation. I decided to take an oblique angle to begin.

“Have you heard from your brother lately?” I asked.

“No, but he’ll soon hear from me. I just have to file the paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Well, yeah. You think life is annoying, afterlife is far yuckier. How much yuckier? This much: there’s a form for everything, and they all have to be completed in triplicate.”

“Who are you talking to?” the Tessabot asked over the roar of the engine.

The ghost of Viscount Jeff laughed. “That’s a fine simulacrum of a human female, if in fact it was inspired by an actual human.”

“It was.” I shook my head. “She was. She is.” I huffed. “Look, I know your name is Jeff, and I can help you get revenge. I’m quite good at vengeance, it’s 90% of the reason we do what we do.”

“Who are you talking to?” the Tessabot repeated.

“Revenge?” the ghost said. “Huh. Hadn’t occurred to me.”

“But you said your brother would hear from you soon, and you used an insinuating tone and turn of phrase.”

“Well, now that it’s been brought up I will consider it. Might be fun. But first I need you to come with me to — you guessed it — Denver.”

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The Guy in the Clawfoot Sidecar

  • by jenQueer, that.
  • I knew right then it was the same person
  • Jeff’s hairless coconut
  • bent at the elbow
  • fed them molasses

Tune in next time part 571    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The guy in the clawfoot sidecar looked quite solid, even though he claimed to be a ghost. Queer, that. He also looked quite familiar, especially his bald head. Brandita revved the throttle impatiently. Baldy gestured again to the deep end of the tub. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

His words made me think of wedding invitations, and of the ceremony I’d participated in a few hours earlier, and of the Viscount whom I had impersonated during that ceremony, and of a photo I had once seen of that Viscount and his missing brother, Viscount Jeff. I knew right then it was the same person in the photo and in the bathtub. This was the ghost of Arlo’s brother. But why on earth was he haunting this plumbing fixture?

I finally climbed into the tubcar and stared at the wound on the back of Viscount Jeff’s hairless coconut. Brandita gunned it and we tore down the driveway. As we sped through the night, I transferred my studious examination from Jeff’s head to his arms. Particularly the left one, which was bent at the elbow in entirely the wrong direction.

I tried to think like my favorite fictional investigator, Transylvania Homicide Detective Regis St Oink Oink, who, before questioning a suspect, always fed them molasses by the bottleful. I had no molasses, but if I questioned Jeff properly, I might be able to get Arlo arrested for murder. And then I’d never have to deal with that dick again.

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