While We Awaited the Arrival of the Dessert Goose

  • by jenlike a bar of soap full of dead ants
  • I’m not particular
  • However, a pirate named
  • but you have a job to do
  • Oh, fork your sister.

Tune in next time part 557     Click Here for Earlier Installments

While we awaited the arrival of the dessert goose and my twin, the pastry chef presented us with something she claimed was our wedding cake. It looked like a bar of soap full of dead ants. I’m not particularly picky when it comes to sweets, but this looked utterly vile.

“What the hell is this?” I whispered to Tessa, eyeing the disgusting trifle.

“Svenborgian tradition dictates a fruitcake be served at weddings,” she whispered back. “However, a pirate named Jorgensen raided the kitchen last week and stole all the raisins.”

“That doesn’t entirely answer my question.”

“It might look a little questionable, but you have a job to do. And that job is cutting this cake with me and eating a bite. You have to act the part of the Viscount so no one gets suspicious. My sister Titania will be on the warpath if she finds out this is all a ruse.”

“Oh, fork your sister.”

“I believe you already did.”

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Happy Winter Holiday of Your Choice

Happy Solstice! And Hanukkah! And Christmas! And Kwanzaa! And Boxing Day! And Yule! And Diwali! And Saturnalia! And Festivus! And every damn holiday this month! Why not celebrate them all? 2020 has been a slog, and now it’s finally limping to a close. We all deserve a bit of festivity, even if we have to celebrate alone. Be kind to yourselves and others. Stay home. Enjoy a special dish or drink. Read a good book, watch a good movie, listen to some good music. Look forward to next year’s holidays when things should be back to normal.

I Delivered the Traditional Malediction

by KentDuring the holiday season we like to choose our stichomancy prompts from festively themed sources. This year we’ve opted for Dickens’s classic A Christmas Carol. We wanted to avoid as many humbugs as possible, so these lines might not be instantly recognizable. But for us that’s part of the fun.

  • a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner
  • died seven years ago, this very night
  • so he said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang
  • The bell struck twelve
  • went to fetch the goose

Tune in next time part 556     Click Here for Earlier Installments

I delivered the traditional malediction upon the chef, remembering to imitate Arlo’s sniveling accent. “Give to us a suitable feast, though you be a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner. It will probably taste like the corpse of your predecessor, who died seven years ago, this very night, but pray that these fine guests will overlook its horrid stench and gritty texture.” While memorizing these lines, I learned that this chef was, indeed, coming up on his seventh anniversary of employment. I tried to avoid the man’s sorrowful eyes, pushed the distressing tale from my mind.

But that story was the only topic of conversation at the high table. The hapless previous chef’s offering had been rejected at a reception much like this, the groom taking his duties quite seriously and hurling the cook into the allegedly ceremonial grave. The grave in that case had been equipped with a lid, and the groom’s mouth was still full of the vile cuisine, so he said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang. The narration always left off at this juncture, never revealing the poor man’s eventual fate. I had to assume they never let him out, and wonder if the food could possibly have been that bad.

Our fare did not resemble corpseflesh in any way that I noticed, which came as a huge relief for several reasons. Also, the PSLM² finally took the stage and drowned out the morbid gossiping at our table. Unfortuately, they also inspired numerous ungainly Svenborgians to get up and dance.

The bell struck twelve. That was Jason’s cue, but he didn’t appear. I leaned over to the Tessabot and asked if she knew the reason for the delay.

“He went to fetch the goose for the dessert.” She frowned thoughtfully. “He should be back by now.”

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With Both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms

by jenHappy Solstice! During the holiday season we like to choose our stichomancy prompts from festively themed sources. This year we’ve opted for Dickens’s classic A Christmas Carol. We wanted to avoid as many humbugs as possible, so these lines might not be instantly recognizable. But for us that’s part of the fun.

  • Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!
  • “What, the one as big as me?”
  • pointed from the grave to him, and back again
  • had smelt the goose
  • They were not a handsome family

Tune in next time part 555     Click Here for Earlier Installments

With both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms on hand for entertainment, I assumed that Tessa meant we would be dancing to a recording of Metallica. I was wrong. We entered the reception tent to a raucous live metal band. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!

“We have to dance over beside that amplifier,” Tessa shouted.

“What, the one as big as me?” I shouted back. “Or the one twice as big?”

The band was incredibly loud. On our way past the buffet table I snagged some marshmallows to use as ear plugs. The strobe light began pulsing as we reached our designated dance floor, and Tessa led me to dance the Robot for what seemed like hours.

Finally, the band waved goodnight and sauntered offstage. While the roadies scurried around, packing up the instruments and readying things for the PSLM², dinner service began. As is Svenborgian tradition, a ceremonial grave had been dug beside the buffet table as incentive for the chef to do a good job. As groom it was my job to threaten the poor man with death should the feast be unsatisfactory. He stood there in his toque and apron, holding a platter of roasted fowl, while I pointed from the grave to him, and back again, reciting the ancient verse.

Our ravenous guests had smelt the goose, and gathered around, impatient for me to finish the rite. They were not a handsome family, largely being Arlo’s relatives, and hunger did not do them any favors. I hurried to complete my speech before things got ugly. Or rather, uglier.

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Hindsight is 2020

Every January we like to make a writing plan for the year, and when December rolls around we reread it and laugh. Except not this year. Somehow our 2020 prediction was pretty spot-on. We planned to quickly finish up the first draft of Sibling of Music Novel, and we did. We planned to spend the rest of the year editing our various other first drafts, and we did. We perhaps didn’t get quite as far as we expected, but we’re close. I guess the pandemic was good for something.

The other thing we hoped to do was get a good start on brainstorming our Ghost Series, and we even managed to do that despite a near total lack of road trips. Generally we use car time for lengthy conversations about our works-in-progress (it’s not like there’s much else to do), but this year lockdown kept us home. Lucky for us we have a couple of fuzzy roommates who insist on daily walks, and don’t care what we talk about while we’re doing it. We logged many many miles on the streets of our neighborhood, and have many many notes about ghosts and the humans who love them. Or is it fear?

As this year limps to a close we’ve started talking about our goals for next year. We’ll share our plans with you in January when they’re more solidified.

So many people struggled this year with loneliness and boredom. We’re so thankful that we have each other and this all-consuming pastime we can share. Our writing projects kept us sane and busy and fulfilled, and they brought us a lot of joy in a really shitty time. Things are finally looking promising for the world. The vaccine is coming. The new administration is coming. Just a few more months until the world starts to get back to normal. We might not mind too much being cooped up in our Writing Cave, but we’re really looking forward to that.

After Scampering Back Up the Aisle

  • by Kentspend most weekends making genitalia-shaped cakes
  • psychedelic funk band frontman
  • conventional menswear expectations
  • “I shall blackball the notion if it ever comes up.
  • as strobe lights flash and Metallica plays

Tune in next time part 554     Click Here for Earlier Installments

After scampering back up the aisle amid a fusilade of fishing lures (thankfully sans hooks) we were detained in the foyer to take part in a sort of receiving line. I started sweating. The uninvited rattled their chains as the other guests filed out of their rows via the opposite ends and converged on us.

The first man to step up grabbed my hand and pumped it vigorously, yelling, “Congratulations!” He was shouldered aside by his wife, who also shook my hand while saying, “I imagine your first year will fly by like all newleweds’, and you’ll spend most weekends making genitalia-shaped cakes and weeknights sleeping with each other’s shoes on.”

It seemed these people didn’t actually know Arlo all that well. They flashed us big smiles, but their opinions of the ceremony and us as a couple weren’t all raves. I heard one lady muttering about how even a viscount shouldn’t be allowed to dress like a psychedelic funk band frontman during his wedding. A moment later, a lanky man in a periwinkle three-piece suit voiced this sentiment directly, albeit more diplomatically.

“You’ve successfully thwarted conventional menswear expectations,” he said in tone of faux mockery. Or was it so faux? “Will such attire become de rigueur for grooms henceforth?” he went on.

With a chuckle, I said, “I shall blackball the notion if it ever comes up.”

Even once the temple held only the uninvited guests howling for release, I and the Tessabot were not yet free either. We couldn’t duck away, and found ourselves stuffed into the limo bound for the reception. She filled me in on what to expect. “This is an older crowd, so it’ll be a sedate affair by Svenborgian standards. We will dance as strobe lights flash and Metallica plays ‘One’ on a loop.”

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We Rejoined the Officiant

  • by jena number of uninvited guests
  • her attempt at a music career
  • and the tackle box she’d filled with
  • utter his fearful guttural warnings
  • My tradition isn’t weird

Tune in next time part 553     Click Here for Earlier Installments

We rejoined the officiant and finished the walk to the temple where the ceremony was to take place. In accordance with Svenborgian tradition, a number of uninvited guests were chained to seats along the aisle. That kept the invited guests, the ones who actually knew what the Viscount whom I was impersonating looked like, further from me. I might actually be able to pull this off.

We looked quite astonishing. Tessa wore only a clunky gold Rolex, and black lingerie, barely concealed by the flimsy scarf she’d wrapped around herself. It reminded me of the stagewear from her attempt at a music career, back during college. I also looked something like a musician in my mountaineering pants, boots, and vest with no shirt. My chest was much more impressive than the real Arlo’s but there was nothing to be done about that. I adjusted the curly red wig to obscure as much of my face as possible.

The officiant placed tiaras on both of our heads, then led us to the altar upon which was arrayed a collection of stamps, ink pads, Arlo’s passport as well as Tessa’s, and the tackle box she’d filled with rubber worms for the guests to pelt us with as we exited the temple, as they do in Svenborgia.

We stood side by side, our backs to the audience, and listened to the officiant utter his fearful guttural warnings. This is what passes for a wedding ceremony in Svenborgia. I know that every culture thinks “My tradition isn’t weird,” but Svenborgians are wrong. Their traditions are very, very weird.

I stamped the Tessabot’s passport and prepared to be pelted with rubber worms.

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Looking Back at 2020 aka The Darkest Timeline

We here at SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises are ready for 2020 to be over. So ready, in fact, that we’re starting our year-end review now, a couple of weeks early. Who’s with us?

Remember the Beforetimes? When there were things worth celebrating? We started 2020 on quite a high note. Renovations wrapped up on the Auxiliary Writing Cave, complete with hidden bookshelf. We wrapped up the first draft of Sibling of Music Novel. We were planning a trip to Romania and Hungary. Things were looking so rosy.

We spent February rereading our Music Series, and practicing the mystical art of placing chapter breaks and perfecting pacing.

In March we lamented our missed vacation (spoiler alert: still on hold), explored how many reminders readers need versus how many they appreciate, and debated the difference between villains and monsters. In 2020, Covid is the main monster. There are many, many villains.

By April we’d started actually editing the third Music Novel, the biggest bad boy who ever bad-boyed. First we made it bigger, then we made it smaller. It was a whole thing, and we got quite philosophical about the whole process.

May brought more editing, and a cryptically described disagreement between the two of us. So cryptic that we don’t actually recall what we were at loggerheads over. Which is a good sign for our partnership, both marriage-wise and coauthor-wise.

No summer vacation for us! In June we just took innumerable walks around the neighborhood with the dogs, using the time to dig into our next project. It has the incredibly creative working title “Ghost Series.” You’ll never guess what it’s about.

By July, we were done with both Son of Music Novel, and the minor touchups we wanted to give Sibling of Music Novel. And we watched Hamilton.

The rereading and editing of the Science Novels started in August. Kent’s voice got quite a workout, because when we wasn’t reading the trilogy aloud, we were still talking about the Ghost Series on our daily walks. We wrapped up the month discussing how much of a character’s backstory an author should know.

It seems we didn’t have a lot to say about editing the second Science Novel in September, because all of our posts are about how excited we are about brainstorming the Ghost Series. We did spare a few minutes to talk about the joys and wonders of a good Goose Wrench.

Fittingly, October was also a time to talk about our ghosts. We even had a spooky encounter on one of our nighttime walks. We updated our writing prompt generator, and dealt with a minor case of burnout.

November had Jen finishing her edits on Son of Science Novel and starting in on Grandson. Kent followed not too far behind. We had Quarantine Thanksgiving without our kids, and engaged in a little bit of self-promotion.

Which brings us up to the present day. Kent is getting his geek on, drawing a cutaway view of a major setting in Son of Science Novel (standard floor plans are for chumps!), while he lets Jen get a little further ahead in her edits of Grandson. He’ll soon have to put his shiny toys away and pick up his flensing tools.

Looking back over this past year, we were surprised to see nary an update to our chain story’s Dramatis Personae, so look for that sometime soonish.

2020 was certainly not the year we wanted it to be, but it wasn’t all bad. Even spending all day together every day since mid-February, Kent and Jen still actively enjoy each other’s company. May you be as lucky in your choice of spouse and/or writing partner.

All I Wanted To Do

  • by Kentundercover as a vagrant
  • singing the national anthem of an imaginary country
  • “I would say I was decapitated,”
  • doing it very nicely, thank you
  • might as well quit bellyaching

Tune in next time part 552     Click Here for Earlier Installments

All I wanted to do was reassure the Tessabot about my real identity, but unfortunately I had to remain in character as the very viscount whom she had mistaken me for. I hadn’t experienced so much stress over being found out since I went undercover as a vagrant and to keep up the act ended up singing the national anthem of an imaginary country very loudly in a dumpster. The officiant said, “Perhaps we should take a minute so you two can talk through…” He drew vague circles in the air, vaguely in the region of my face. “Whatever this is.” He spun away and disappeared into the trees, leaving me alone with Tessa.

I yanked off the red wig. “It’s me! Look! Remember our plan?”

She took the wig out of my hand. She stared at it for a long time, then said, “I would say I was decapitated,” and gave it back.

“Great,” I muttered as I put the soggy thing back on my head. “Apparently at least one of us needs to be a gibbering moron at all times. Is it your logic module? Or your speech processor?”

“My logic module is logicking,” she said, “and doing it very nicely, thank you. And it’s not my speech center either. The short circuit is much deeper than that, and you won’t be able to fix it, so we might as well quite bellyaching and get married.

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“It’s Ceremony Time!”

  • by jensibilance stretching the second word
  • can’t spell his own name
  • part of a movement referred to as “goth”
  • engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK
  • label was in his handwriting

Tune in next time part 551     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“It’s ceremony time!” announced the officiant, an odd sibilance stretching the second word.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to marry a man who can’t spell his own name,” the Tessabot raged.

The officiant looked at me askance. He wore as much eyeliner as those teens who are part of a movement referred to as “goth” by the press.

“I can spell my name,” I assured. “My betrothed is merely experiencing cold feet.”

“Cold feet!” Tessa barked. “Cold feet! I should have known what a dick you are the first time I saw the medallion you always wear upon which is engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK.”

As I suspected, her short circuit had her confusing me with the real Viscount Arlo.

She whispered conspiratorially to the officiant, “To make it all just too perfect, the label was in his handwriting.” She shook her head. “His OWN handwriting!”

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