I Wanted to Say So Many Things

  • by Kentcemented to the top of my mouth
  • Or maybe you do
  • technique I call “Goldfishing”
  • People were actually pretty impressed when I told them
  • caused by “human error.”

Tune in next time part 544     Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wanted to say so many things, things I should have said to Tessa years ago. Things I should have said to the real Tessa, and this wasn’t her. But it didn’t matter, because when I tried to speak it felt like I had a bald snow tire cemented to the top of my mouth. From her smile, I could tell that the Tessabot was pleased with this post-hypnotic outcome.

“You don’t know what trouble you’re about to cause,” sniveled Arlo. “Or maybe you do, and you just don’t care.”

Trouble for you can only be a good thing, I thought. I thought it real loud, because I still couldn’t talk. With a bit of patience I knew I’d overcome the mental block through a technique I call “Goldfishing” that I taught myself when I was in detention at the Academy. People were actually pretty impressed when I told them I’d used the time so productively. It certainly helped to divert suspicion about the bus accidents befalling faculty members who assigned me detention, all of which were officially said to have been caused by “human error.”

But for the time being, I was mostly under Tessa’s control. The Tessabot, who couldn’t feel love. What she had me do next came as quite a shock.

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“I’m Plenty Sleep-Deprived”

  • by jenmy French is *shocking*
  • could give you a turnip
  • basically moving garlic juice around my mouth
  • denied that he had any plans to leave his wife
  • short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble

Tune in next time part 543     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’m plenty sleep-deprived,” I said.

Tessa told Jason to hang onto Arlo’s ankle, then faced me and stared into my eyes. She started murmuring in French, and while my French is shockingly bad for someone educated in a boarding school, I was able to follow most of what she said as she adjusted her alpha waves to sync up with mine. It was oddly hypnotic.

Or perhaps actually hypnotic. The next thing I knew, I was awakening from a trance and Tessa was smiling like a cat who could give you a turnip, but has chosen not to. Obviously she had deciphered the secret message in her memory banks. She gave me a wink, and then turned to the viscount who was still writhing in the damp grass.

“Arlo, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but kissing you is as enjoyable as basically moving garlic juice around my mouth. And I’m allergic to garlic.”

Arlo sniveled, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for him!” (indicating me). “He’s married, you know, and he has frequently denied that he had any plans to leave his wife!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tessa said. “Because I’m a robot, and short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble with the laws of reality some other way, I don’t have to worry about petty human emotions, such as love.”

Even knowing this wasn’t the true Tessa, it hurt to hear her say such things.

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Sweat Equity

When we extended the Science Novel into a trilogy, we wrote books two and three all in one big push. These are not small books, and by the time we wrapped up the last one we were completely drained. Recalling those last couple of weeks is unpleasant, because we felt so burned out.

It’s possible that we’re slow learners, because we are now doing the edits on those same books all in one big push. (Maybe. We might break it up.)

Considering that we know we were not at our best when this writing was done, we had some worries about what we’d find when we returned to it. Jack Torrance staring out at us? But, it’s really good. There are no telltales in the prose to indicate that the author was on mile 26 of a marathon.

There is, of course, editing to be done. We aren’t suggesting that total burnout is the secret to flawless prose composition. But there were no obvious placeholders or even scenes that felt sketched-in. It’s all fully fleshed out, the events are in the correct order, the pacing is good, the tension rises to the finale, and there are plenty of sparkly sentences. We’re really quite pleased.

And in a year like 2020, it’s really nice to have something work out better than expected. A writing partner is someone who will celebrate the little victories with you.

“Hang On,” Jason Said

  • by Kenta rainy, thundery night
  • we had the wrong mutagens
  • “How long can you go without sleep?”
  • eating pasta barehanded
  • if you call out his name

Tune in next time part 542     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hang on,” Jason said, still staring at his thumb. “I think a little of the color did come off.”

Arlo squawked as the Tessabot wrenched his foot upwards so she could study the tattoo on the sole. “At higher magnification, multiple layers are apparent. The underlying design does appear to be a real tattoo, with a durable marker of some kind used to apply the lyrics over it. The original tattoo is also writing of some kind, but tiny.”

“You’re hallucinating,” Arlo grunted. “It’s just the wedding rap lyrics.”

“Tessa,” I interjected, “tell us what it says.”

She emitted a descending warble that ended with what was unmistakably, “cha-cha-cha.” She cleared her throat. “A direct translation from Low Svenborgian might not be possible. To summarize, it’s a fable concerning a sort of genie. They say that if you call out his name thrice while eating pasta barehanded he will appear and grant you seven half-wishes.”

“This has to be a coded message,” I muttered. From the shifty looks both Jason and Arlo threw me, I knew I had muttered too loud.

But Tessa nodded. She asked me, “How long can you go without sleep?”

“Never made it more than four days. Why?”

“She wants the half-wishes for herself!” Arlo snarled. “Don’t listen to her.”

I shook my head at him. I looked to Tessa and waited.

“It’s not a message,” she said. “It’s a key to something stored in my memory, something that should now be fully accessible to me but I guess we had the wrong mutagens in the lab the night they were encrypting that data. It must have been a rainy, thundery night.” She stared into the middle distance, still hanging onto Arlo’s ankle. “Anyway, there is still a chance to unlock it if I can sync up with someone’s alpha waves, which is easier to do when you’re sufficiently sleep-deprived.”

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The Lyrics Tattooed on the Bottom of the Viscount’s Foot

  • by jenhalfway around the world
  • Shouldn’t you be working?
  • all but impossible to achieve with paint
  • my new sex buddy
  • give a really miserable look

Tune in next time part 541     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The lyrics tattooed on the bottom of the viscount’s foot were from one of the many songs Jason performed at my wedding to Fleur. The ceremony and celebrations had lasted two weeks and taken place halfway around the world at the White House. I didn’t remember the viscount being present, as he claimed, but there had been quite a large crowd.

“Shouldn’t you be working? On new lyrics?” I asked Jason. “Instead of critiquing these old ones?”

“I don’t think that’s even a real tattoo,” Jason said. He licked his thumb and scrubbed at the words on Arlo’s ticklish tootsie, but they did not smear. It was the sort of effect that is all but impossible to achieve with paint, implying that it was truly inked there.

Between squeals of laughter, Arlo pulled off his wig and threw it at Jason. “Buy a guy a drink first! The way you’re massaging me makes you seem like my new sex buddy!”

That comment made Jason give a really miserable look to his thumb. “Anyone got any hand sanitizer?” he asked.

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Calling a Timeout

On Team Skelley, Jen is the project manager. That means she’s the cheerleader, or the taskmaster, depending on your point of view. She’s the one who sets deadlines and holds our feet to the fire. Except that last week she started not doing that. And if Kent tried to step in and direct us toward the Writing Cave, she’d find excuses not to go. (And when those excuses are ice cream sandwiches, it’s hard for Kent to argue with her logic.)

Turns out that editing multiple large manuscripts back-to-back can get a bit wearisome, and Jen was ready for a break. It took Kent by surprise, because Jen is almost never ready for a break. But here she was, actually suggesting that we set the current project aside for a couple weeks and work on something else (and yet also somehow make the deadline she pulled out of her butt for editing this plus the third Science Novel, and had neglected to tell Kent about). Clearly something was up.

We wrote the second and third Science Novels back-to-back, and by the end it was like a death march. We vowed never to do that again. Yet somehow we thought that editing three novels in a row would go smoothly.

We are very smart people, honest.

So we took four days off (in a row!) and let our brains unwind a bit. Kent proposed that we spend some time in the Cave on Sunday and see how it went, and it went well. Since then we’ve been back at it. A mini-break might be all that was called for. That surprise deadline might be reachable after all.

A writing partner is someone who helps you keep your sanity. And feeds you ice cream sandwiches.

The Tessabot Hauled Off One of Viscount Arlo’s Boots

  • by KentHow delightfully ugly you are
  • couldn’t hear any sounds inside
  • gave the metal pole a firm kick
  • cupped a hand over her mouth
  • “I’m being misquoted.”

Tune in next time part 540     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Tessabot hauled off one of Viscount Arlo’s boots, which were in fact Henry’s boots, and flung it in our direction. He was apoplectic, but she calmly spoke as she focused on the second boot.

“How delightfully ugly you are with only one foot uncovered,” she lilted. Although her words were clear enough to me, Arlo thrashed and gibbered as if he couldn’t hear any sounds inside his crooked wig. He scrabbled for a handhold and managed to grab the leg of a swingset near the bungalow. Jason jogged out from the front porch and gave the metal pole a firm kick, jolting Arlo loose. In that same moment the Tessabot obtained the second boot, but rather than toss it over for Henry she dropped it and cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Jason, look!” she exclaimed. “The viscount has your lyrics tattooed on the sole of his foot.”

She held the squirming viscount’s ankle still in her unbreakable grip so Jason could study it. He huffed. “I’m being misquoted.”

“Untrue!” howled Arlo. “I was at that wedding! I was there when you rapped those words.”

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Henry Blinked at the Quarter in his Palm

  • by jen“I want you to know something.”
  • cheerfully retorted
  • stop looking at your hand
  • harken back to the bygone days
  • grotesque and uncomfortable

Tune in next time part 539     Click Here for Earlier Installments

Henry blinked at the quarter in his palm. Without looking at me he said, “I want you to know something.”

I waited, but he did not continue. “If that’s all, then get a move on,” I cheerfully retorted. But he stood still, eyes riveted to his palm. “Hey, Henry, stop looking at your hand. It’s getting a little weird.”

“I’m an accountant you know,” he said in hushed awe. “But everything is electronic now. Coins like this harken back to the bygone days of my youth, back when money was a promise, not the grotesque and uncomfortable thing it is now.”

“Speaking of grotesque and uncomfortable,” I said, pointing to the Viscount where he lay in the grass, red wig askew, bleating at Tessa not to take his fancy footwear.

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A Spooky Realization

Wait, what? Ghost stories are supposed to be eerie? Maybe even scary? Why weren’t we told this at the beginning!

We kid. Sorta. We’ve been happily getting to know the characters and exploring the plot and devising the physics engine that will run the whole thing, and not worrying too much about genre conventions. It is coming along great, we gotta say. It’s just that every couple of conversations, one of us will point out that our goal when we set off was to “write a ghost story,” and remind us that there’ll be an expectation of more than just alluding to the occasional spectral visage in the fog.

So we’re putting more focus on the atmosphere for a while. The story will be a Rune Skelley tale first and foremost, and a ghost story also. This is no different from the approach we’ve always taken with science fiction, but we never seemed to need reminders about putting in enough sci-fi.

We’re also upping the amount of horror in our diet. We’ve never really gone in for the slasher stuff or heavy gore, but there’s so much great material out there with a more cerebral take. Thinky can still be scary!

A writing partner is someone to hold your hand during the scary parts.

The Groom-To-Be Stood

  • by Kent— who the hell are you praying to?
  • red, very curly, chin length
  • STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, WIG-HATER!
  • thigh-high boots
  • pressing it into his palm and reminding him

Tune in next time part 538     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The groom-to-be stood in the damp grass several yards away, and at first I didn’t recognize him. But then he spoke, his nasal, sneering tone unmistakable as he hectored a kneeling attendant. “None of this looks right! Do it again — who the hell are you praying to? the god of non-suckitude? — on your feet and get to work!” That guy is such a dick.

I hadn’t immediately realized it was Viscount Arlo because of the lustrous hair, red, very curly, chin length, that covered his head. The attendant had yet to arise, stammering beseechingly for details about the problems. “STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, WIG-HATER!” Arlo bellowed, and the man scrambled away.

“That’s mine!” Tessa hissed, pointing to the wig.

“And those are mine!” Henry aimed an accusing finger at the thigh-high boots hugging Arlo’s legs.

“Shush!” I hissed at both of them.

“It’s okay,” Tessa said with a grin. “I got this.” She cleared her throat and strode toward the viscount. “How about a little bad luck, you dick.”

Arlo whirled her way, gasping. The red wig spun an extra quarter-revolution to obscure his face. “Why aren’t you dressed!” he screamed through the curls.

“I’ve had a reboot,” Tessa yelled back, “and now so! Will! YOU!” She lunged for his feet, hauling them aloft and dumping Arlo on his ass as she stood back up.

“Looks like the show’s going to be canceled,” I muttered to Henry. “But on the other hand, maybe you’ll get your boots back. You should call the rest of your crew and give them a heads up.” I took a quarter out of my pocket, pressing it into his palm and reminding him that there was a pay phone in the hedge maze.

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