Why Even Bother With The Rainbow?

All of the semi-serious content on this entire blog could be boiled down to “we believe in the process.” We pretty much never shut up about it. Of course the process has evolved over time. It’s workflow, not dogma. But in our Friday posts we’ve really hammered the point that we think it’s important, and of all the steps it comprises probably the one we’ve nattered about the most is the rainbow.

Recent experience has further solidified our confidence that the rainbow is effective. Because, you see, we almost decided to skip it this time.

The ghost story is something we’ve been brainstorming about for quite a while, long enough that we really feel we’re getting to know the characters. We have tons of notes, which Jen has somehow collated into a synopsis that doesn’t contradict itself. Reading that made us so excited about the story, it was tempting to jump ahead to outlining, or maybe even start generating prose.

We didn’t always have the rainbow. Way, way back when we began writing novels together, we had nothing like our current process. But we did have some guidelines and rituals. For example, we originally did our first drafts longhand, and the act of typing them up created the second draft. We don’t do longhand drafts anymore. Even though it seemed important at one time, we came to see it as unnecessary.

Maybe the rainbow would fall into that same category. Maybe it was time we outgrew it?

Fortunately, we stuck to the process. Converting the information about our story from one form (synopsis) to a different form (a grid of colorful paper squares arranged on the floor) in this case revealed major gaps in the plotting. But, it didn’t turn into a major problem for the project. All it took was a little unscheduled brainstorming and we got the pieces to fit.

Would it have been a disaster if we’d skipped over the rainbow? Probably not. We probably would have seen the issues when we got to that part in the writing, and we still could have devised a solution. Of course, fixing it would have required rewriting a bunch of scenes, and reluctance to make so many changes might have made us less willing to consider taking the best approach. And, when you’re head-down cranking out prose is not the best time to notice large-scale issues. It’s quite possible that we wouldn’t have caught a problem like this until an entire draft was written. Ouch.

We like having a process that keeps us on track. Another thing we clearly remember about our very earliest collaborative experiences is the months-long droughts we would fall into because we’d written ourselves into a corner. Getting stuck might be a sign that your process is letting you down.

The Tessabot’s Data Included

  • by Kentthe good luck shoes
  • to address The Bathroom Issue
  • just two guys sitting in a tub
  • my temples throbbing with excitement
  • same process was repeated with the pillowcase

Tune in next time part 570    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Tessabot’s data included entries on the Delilah/Brandita situation, naturally. With a careless glance at the motorcyclist’s feet, she said, “I see she kept the good luck shoes, but it’s hard to imagine why.”

Brandita smiled, but it looked painful. “Let’s just say without them I would never have been able to address The Bathroom Issue.”

The lucky shoes were steel-toed workboots, and The Bathroom Issue was a suspected haunting. Brandita (for by then we had broken up) had addressed it with a complete renovation.

I looked again at the sidecar. It was a bathtub.

Brandita noticed my reaction. “Not just any bathtub, pal. The bathtub.”

“Hop in!” said the passenger, scooting up to the front of the vessel. Then he laughed. “She can’t see me. Neither can the sexy robot. But I knew right away that you and me would hit it off.” His smile dimmed. “Don’t let the spook thing bother you, man. We’re just two guys sitting in a tub. What could be more natural?”

Tessa slid onto the pillion seat behind Brandita. They were waiting for me, my feet leaden and my temples throbbing with excitement or a record-setting case of heebie-jeebies. Brandita carefully adjusted her goggles, and the same process was repeated with the pillowcase the wore tied over her hair, presumably in lieu of a helmet.

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Brandita Wasn’t Her Real Name

  • by jenWhat is the good of the love of a woman when her name must needs be Delilah?
  • learned how to play the accordion
  • ravaged by scurvy
  • like an eggshell
  • color combination was a bold one

Tune in next time part 569    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brandita wasn’t her real name, of course. She’d changed it after a failed teenage romance at the Academy when her callous beau said, “What is the good of the love of a woman when her name must needs be Delilah?” He was an ass, but Delilah took his proclamation to heart. She started calling herself Brandita, learned how to play the accordion, joined up with a band of pirates (the musical kind of band — she had no interest in going to sea where she might be ravaged by scurvy), and got her new name tattooed on her neck, colorfully, like an eggshell on Easter. The tattooist was either colorblind or high, because the color combination was a bold one. I hadn’t seen her in years, not since I baroquely insulted her given name so we would break up and I could pursue Tessa.

Could I trust her not to hold a grudge? And who was the fellow in the sidecar?

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A Ghost By Any Other Name

We thought we were all set with names for our ghost series, until we started watching Supernatural. We’re about a decade and a half late to that particular party, but better late than never, right? The problem is that we were going to have a character named Jensen. And he was going to be peripherally involved with our ghosts. And for those of you who, like us, spent the past 15 years living under a rock, one of the stars of Supernatural is named Jensen Ackles.

Nothing against Mr Ackles or the character he plays. They’re both quite handsome, and we’re definitely enjoying the show. The issue is that our Jensen wasn’t going to be much like Dean Winchester. But with an uncommon name and a similar occupation, we were concerned that readers would immediately picture Dean/Jensen. We didn’t want to fight against that. It would be like having an archeologist in your novel and naming him Harrison. Everyone would expect him to wear a fedora and fight nazis.

So our Jensen has a new name now. And we’re mostly used to calling him by it. Jen is tickled by the idea of naming a dude character after herself, so Jensen is filed away, waiting patiently for a different story world. One in which he will be free to be himself without a bunch of preconceptions.

A writing partner is someone to enjoy old TV shows with, and brainstorm new names for your characters as an indirect result.

Brady Grabbed My Arm

  • by Kentmy last chance to win the woman I loved
  • NSFW reindeer games
  • tapping impatiently upon the polished surface
  • woman was identified as “Brandita”
  • in a guttural sing-song

Tune in next time part 568    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brady grabbed my arm. “You think I’m gonna just let you run off on me, again?”

I glanced at Tessa, whose impatient lurking was losing what little subtlety it ever had. This felt like my last chance to win the woman I loved, even if it was really just a lark with her robotic facsimile.

I yanked my arm free. “Yeah, Brady. I think that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” I jogged over to the Tessabot and she fell into step beside me as we vamoosed from the wedding reception.

“Did you notice the ninjas?” she asked casually. I shook my head. “There was one in the punchbowl, and of course the cake was a disguise. These are shadow warriors, not shadow bakers. All the sylistic hallmarks of the Ninja Society for Furtive Warfare, and I think they might have been hazing new members.”

“You know, I’m just as happy that I missed out on those NSFW riendeer games.” I had to lengthen my stride to keep up with the tireless Tessabot. She still seemed keyed up, even in the strange mechanical sounds she made when she ran, like there was an officious little ballpoint pen tapping impatiently upon the polished surface of the inside of each of her kneecaps.

We were running down a gravel drive that curved through a grove of enormous trees, and as we rounded the last part of the bend we came upon a motorcycle with a sidecar blocking our path. A man sat in the sidecar, a woman astride the bike. The woman was identified as “Brandita” by her neck tattoo. She revved the engine, its blasting noise like a cannonade delivered in a guttural sing-song.

“Need a lift?” Brandita’s companion asked.

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I Sipped My Martini

  • by jenfinger communicated a nervous quivering
  • a thrill of hatred
  • undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire
  • kissing my ass ever since
  • I don’t know anything about weather

Tune in next time part 567    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I sipped my martini and kept my eye on the exits, exuding as much swaggering braggadocio as was humanly possible in order to sell my Jason impression. It was going really well. Only my left little finger communicated a nervous quivering to those observant enough to spot it.

Jason slipped out of the bathroom, and a thrill of hatred ran through me at the sight of his ridiculous red wig. He ducked into the elevator to go up to the honeymoon suite and check out the bathroom. Would he first don the aquatic version of Arlo’s undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire, or just dive in naked?

I noticed that Tessa was dancing her way toward the patio door. Trusting that she would make her own escape and meet me outside, I threw back the rest of my martini and ducked through the fire door.

And ran straight into Brady, whom I’d last seen at the fountain when I’d first arrived on this pirate-infested island.

“There you are!” he said. “Kabbadan Scrim has been kissing my ass ever since you ran off with the nurse and that bear, trying to get me to tell him the secrets of my weather control machine, but you and I both know I failed meteorology. I don’t know anything about weather control!”

“Then you picked the wrong scam, Brady.” I spotted Tessa lurking impatiently near the corner. “Good luck. I really have to go.”

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POV 2: Whose Do You Use?

Operating with multiple POV characters means that sometimes you have more than one of them in a scene. This presents you with a choice: whose eyes should we watch this through?

Of course, the answer is “it depends,” but that doesn’t mean you have nothing to go on. It might be easy. If one of your POV candidates carries vital knowledge that the others lack, it probably makes sense to go with them. Probably. On the other hand, maybe it would be richer for the reader to share in dawning realization, to hear the news with innocent ears.

The weight of what’s revealed or discussed in the scene might not fall evenly on those involved. Any given big moment is probably bigger for one character than for the rest. So, if you use that character’s POV you can spell out their inner state. This works well when the emotional reaction isn’t exactly what might be expected, or when the character’s surface response doesn’t give much away. If it’s the key gut-punch moment in this person’s arc, then using anyone else’s POV would be a missed opportunity.

But again, there’s no single correct approach. Using one of the other POVs creates a chance to observe how the primary recipient takes the news. Even if it is a crucial turn for that character, you might want to show it from one remove. This can allow tension to be prolonged or escalated, creating anticipation for circling back to their POV.

There’s nothing stopping you from rewriting the scene from a few different vantages to see what works best. Experiment.

A writing partner is someone who’s always ready to offer you another point of view.

Did You Ever Have That Dream

  • by Kentmade up his own version
  • an alien noise emerging from my mouth
  • “You wouldn’t forget him.”
  • an absolutely filthy martini
  • like a skintight diaper

Tune in next time part 566    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Did you ever have that dream where you’re the guy who impersonated his twin brother, the guy who forgot the words and just made up his own version of that twin’s trademark rap in front of a bunch of wedding guests who were mostly snotty, entitled royalty from the snottiest, most entitled country on the planet? I wished I was having it right then, instead of all that being what was really happening to me. I danced under the floral arch on the stage, an alien noise emerging from my mouth in hopes that the audience — who no doubt knew the lyrics — would subconsciously fill in the proper rhymes.

By the time I found a way to end the performance, I was drenched in sweat. I stumbled to the bar amid a hemi-demi-semi smattering of applause. I felt bad for what this was likely to do for Jason’s career.

I overheard one of the wedding guests asking another if she’d ever met Viscount Arlo. She said something noncommital, to which the first replied, “You wouldn’t forget him.”

The bartender told me that whatever I wanted would be on the house, as part of my rider. I smiled. “Make me an absolutely filthy martini. I want it to be like a skintight diaper of a beverage.”

While I awaited my drink, I watched the Tessabot twirling amid the Svenborgians, wondering how we were going to get out of here.

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The Hand-Painted Pornographic Butterflies

  • by jenfigure out where to put my fingertips
  • “You’re in trouble Kemosabe,”
  • trip to Hot Topic could sort you out
  • he would learn of my sexuality
  • your feet were just innocent bystanders

Tune in next time part 565    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The hand-painted pornographic butterflies flitting around my head were such a distraction I had trouble picking up the microphone. I couldn’t figure out where to put my fingertips, or my thumb. Svengorgian AV equipment is very confusing.

“You’re in trouble Kemosabe,” Tessa said with a smirk.

My palms got sweaty, making the microphone even harder to grip. “You’re in trouble, Kemosabe” was Jason’s fastest, most tongue-twisting rap, and now that the bride herself had requested it there was no way I could get out of performing it. Why was she being so devilishly cruel?

I launched into it. “A trip to Hot Topic could sort you out. You could freshen up your wardrobe without a doubt. The clerk — he would learn of my sexuality, and, Kemosabe, he would give you all those clothes for free!”

That was the easy part. The warm up. I started to feel the flow, and was rapping smoothly until I got to the part about trying on boots and forgot what rhymed with “your feet were just innocent bystanders.”

I tried to improv it, but the whole wedding crowd was staring at me. Which they had probably already been doing since I was performing on stage, but I couldn’t be sure. Did they look more hostile than usual?

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The Rune Skelley Theory of POV

We like to tell big stories, with lots of characters. And we like to give lots of those characters point-of-view. And by “lots” we mean, like, eight or so POV characters in a novel. We don’t do first-person or omniscient, but a very close third. We let the personality, diction, and knowledge of the POV character seep into the narrative.

Not every cast member gets that honor. Of course someone needs to be interesting to be considered for the job, but all of our characters are interesting. (Honest!) So, that’s no help in narrowing things down.

One of the few actual rules we stick to is that nobody’s allowed to have just one POV scene in a book. Once we take a ride in someone’s head, we’re committed to doing it at least once more. Having this rule has seldom been an issue, but sometimes it seems convenient to slide into some secondary character’s thoughts just for one particular thing. This is a temptation that must be resisted. It’s lazy, and leads to too much head-hopping and a disjointed narrative. If you have only one scene revealing someone’s interior, how can you craft a journey for them?

When a singleton arises, we have two options. We can find a way to convey the info from one of the established POVs, or we can write more scenes — legitimate scenes that earn their wordcount — from this new one. Over the years, we’ve taken both approaches. It all depends.

Just because we have a rule doesn’t make it the only right way to do things. There are surely fine books out there that break this rule. None come to mind, but YMMV.

A writing partner is someone who doesn’t let you take shortcuts.