Strange Corners

Now that we’ve taken the Ghost Story all the way through to an ending (of sorts) it’s time to circle back to the beginning and take a second look at the people and events that kick the whole thing off. And it’s turning out that these people are much more interesting than we realized.

It’s like this is a place that we’d driven past on the freeway, which allowed us to spot a few landmarks but not really get the feel for it. So, this time we took the exit so we can tool around some of the neighborhoods. It’s allowing us to look around lots of corners, and we’re seeing unexpected sights down many of these side streets. On our next visit, we’ll get out of the car and wander around, really soak up the atmosphere.

Our main point of original inspiration for the Ghost Story was, as it happened, characters who figure in the middle-to-late portion of the saga, so as we sketched in their history it led to sketching in the histories of the preceding generation, and then sketching in their ancestors’ stories. So stuff was getting pretty sketchy.

Thing is, what we knew initially about those earlier characters was just what our later characters knew of them — or, thought they knew. Once we focused on them we discovered  that the most interesting moments from their lives were the ones they were least likely to tell their nieces and nephews about. They tell us, though. If we give them the chance.

The biggest worry at this point is that the timeline will keep growing backwards and we’ll never be able to pick a starting moment for the story. When all the history was sketchy, it didn’t feel like we had to incorporate much of it. But now it’s more vivid, and we want to tell that part of the story. Which means we need to sketch in a deeper layer of backstory, which we’ll want to enrich, and then the temptation will be to tell that part, too. And deeper down the well we could tumble.

A writing partner is someone who’ll go deep with you, but who’ll also guide you back to the surface when it’s time.

“Stick Around, Henry”

  • by Kentsomething tells me that I shall soon know
  • drinking Beer® brand beer
  • bedecked in neon and pleather
  • used as an occasional base by murderous pirates
  • begin to giggle audibly

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“Stick around, Henry,” I drawled. “This young lady needs our help.”

Henry dropped the armload of panties and bras and sidled closer, his spurs jingling. “Shouldn’t we just run for it? From what I just heard, she’s just a robot.”

A robot, yes. But not just a robot.

I stooped to start untying her left boot. “Get the other one. You know,” I said, “something tells me that I shall soon know if I’m quicker than a cowboy at taking off a bride’s fancy footwear.”

Henry bent to his assignment, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Not really. I’m an accountant.”

At that moment, the Tessabot’s reboot sequence completed. She smooshed down her frilly skirt to get a look at the men molesting her feet. “Henry!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d be somewhere drinking Beer® brand beer until you forgot all about us. Then there’s you,” she addressed to me. “Why aren’t you bedecked in neon and pleather, limbering up your embouchure so you don’t sprain anything during the performance?”

“Hey,” Henry said, “you do look a lot like Jason. What are you doing in Brackish Bay?”

I held a finger up to my lips. Having the bot confused about my identity could give me an advantage. But I was glad he’d blurted out where I was, even if it meant I would have to find my way home from a remote island used as an occasional base by murderous pirates.

At last the boots were unlaced, and Tessa helpfully stepped out of them. The stockings were made of ornate lace with gaps through which I could inspect her toes. As I searched for the override buttons said to be between the cute little digits, I heard the Tessabot begin to giggle audibly.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “This self-destruct mechanism seems rather ticklish.”

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Two Tessabots, at Least

  • by jenemitting sad noises
  • ear-penetrating intensity
  • virtually impossible to do it with just one person
  • the glacier that once covered New York City
  • very individualized

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Two Tessabots, at least. Who knew how many there could actually be? I stood guard over her as she rebooted, emitting sad noises as I contemplated whether I would ever see the real Tessa again. Whether there had ever been a real Tessa.

The robot before me beeped three times, and then played an alert message at ear-penetrating intensity. “This TSS-A Unit will be online in 29 seconds. The automatic self-destruct requires a double manual override, and it is virtually impossible to do it with just one person, so good luck.” The alert voice was well-known to me, and covered my heart with a layer of icy dread as thick as the glacier that once covered New York City back in the 80s. This Tessabot was sent to me personally, a very individualized form of revenge.

“Two of the override switches are between her fourth and fifth toes,” the alert continued. “But I’m not going to tell you where the other two are.”

I looked in dismay at the intricately laced high-heeled boots adorning Tessa’s feet.

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Do You Prefer Tetralogy or Quadrilogy?

Both terms refer to a series of four books, and it seems like that might be where our ghost story is headed.

Our writing output so far consists of three trilogies. A trilogy of trilogies, if you will. It’s all very tidy. But now that the prose outline for our spectral saga is nearing completion we’re faced with a story that seems to want to break neatly into four pieces. And we’re not sure how we feel about that.

Our main work sessions are currently devoted to editing the Science Novels. Since we’re only brainstorming this spooky bad boy part-time, we still have a lot of detail to fill in, but the parts that we do know (and are quite attached to) include four momentous events. The sort of events that would make resounding, satisfying finales. It’s certainly possible that one of them could be adjusted and made into a tentpole moment, the sort of mini-climax that shows up in the middle of a novel to keep readers on the edge of their seats, but we’re hesitant to jump right to that.

We’re still exploring the story and interrogating the secondary characters for exciting backstories. This new story world is expansive and the last thing we want to do is hem ourselves in prematurely. For now we’ll keep talking during our nightly dog walks, and keep expanding everything. By the time we’re ready to make this project our main focus, we’ll have oceans of material to work with. At that point we’ll be better situated to tell whether there’s enough material to fill the spaces between those four big events and make our first Tetra/Quadrilogy.

Let’s hope we don’t have to figure out the word for a series of five.

In This Life I’ve Learned Not to Be Easily Shocked

  • by Kentanything from mimes to
  • your allergies are getting worse
  • put your finger down my throat
  • felt slick and slippery
  • stealing her underwear

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In this life I’ve learned not to be easily shocked. There could be danger around every corner, anything from mimes to ninjas to — shudder — my family. Yet, seeing that dress on Tessa shook me. I forbade myself tears, but couldn’t prevent myself from sniffling.

Tessa patted my shoulder. “I can tell your allergies are getting worse,” she said softly. I saw in her eyes that she wasn’t really fooled. She peered into my own eyes, surveying the aftermath of the earthquake inside. “This is going to sound like a strange request,” she went on, “but, put your finger down my throat and press the button back there.”

I drew back.

“There isn’t much time,” she begged. “He’s on his way, and if he gets the ring onto my finger I’m doomed. Unless you can reach the override.” She opened her jaw wide, too wide, waiting for me.

“Are you a…” I stammered. “A new Tessabot?”

She nodded, and flapped her hands impatiently.

I reached in, fitting my whole hand inside her mouth. Everything felt slick and slippery and alive, not robotic in the least. But when I probed her uvula and the vicinity, she didn’t gag. And sure enough, I found a button. I pressed it firmly and withdrew my hand.

Tessa’s head resumed its normal configuration, except that her eyes rolled back to show only whites. I kept a lookout while she rebooted, which is how I discovered Henry the bogus cowboy stealing her underwear.

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It Had Been So Very Long

  • by jenmagic in the mouth
  • uttering an exclamation of surprise
  • sing like an alien
  • used to be a rodeo champ
  • say 53 more hilarious things

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It had been so very long since I saw her. I was awestruck anew by her beauty.

“Tessa,” I breathed, and her name was like magic in the mouth.

She said my name like she was uttering an exclamation of surprise, and yanked me into the bungalow by my lapels.

“I should have known you’d show up,” she said, cupping my face in her hands and staring into my eyes. “Wherever there is karaoke, there you are, ready to sing like an alien who used to be a rodeo champion on his home planet.” She went on to say 53 more hilarious things about my passion for the art of the empty orchestra, but I was too stunned to make note of them all. Tessa — my darling Tessa, love of my life — was wearing a wedding dress. It was for her reception that the PSLM² were rehearsing, her reception at which Jason was going to rap. Henry the faux-cowboy was here to win her back. But who was she marrying on this fateful day?

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Ghosts Have Become Less Theoretical

By which we mean, our Ghost Story is becoming more concrete. A preliminary prose outline is taking shape. Jen has taken point on this initiative, and is so far going at it bare-brained. Later, we’ll peruse all our notes and use them to fill in where appropriate.

At this point, the outline covers roughly 25% of the saga that we’ve generated and recorded in a mixture of typed and hand-written notes. The thing about the notes is, they reflect the chronology of our brainstorming sessions, not the saga itself. And they’re riddled with continuity bugs, because we’re still brainstorming.

Even at this early stage, though, arranging our facts into this more refined structure is providing us with new insights. (Insights about fuzzy plot logic, sadly.) Brainstorming is fun, but to do it right you have to be sort of willfully negligent about how any of the shiny ideas could be useful or if they even fit together. So, after several weeks of brainstorming, we’d become a bit attached to a vision of the narrative that’s just not feasible. Oops. It’s much harder to persist in magical thinking when all the pieces are lined up in the correct order. That’s what this prose outline has already begun to help us with. And it’s much easier to put something on the docket for the next dog walk once you know it’s there (or, not there, as is more often the case).

A writing partner is someone who helps you mend the holes in your plot.

“Yes, I’ve Heard of Jason”

  • by Kentit was fully two hours before she regained consciousness
  • lips that asked to be kissed
  • my breath is minty
  • cold sweat stood out from every pore of my body
  • looked quite majestic

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“Yes, I’ve heard of Jason,” I said, looking around. “You know, on second thought maybe it wouldn’t be right for me to disrupt your sound check. Tell Henry good luck for me.”

“He’ll need it,” the double-ersatz cop said. “Her new groom is tough to beat. Rumor has it that when they first made love, it was fully two hours before she regained consciousness.”

“That sounds…” I looked all around again. The last thing I needed was for Jason to learn my whereabouts. “Um, very romantic. And not at all like he roofied her.” It occurred to me that maybe it’d be handy for me to learn my own whereabouts. “Say, can you tell me the quickest way to Pittsburghistan?”

“Henry doesn’t know, but I asked her out once myself,” the faux fuzz went on, and I realized he wasn’t even listening to me. “She had lips that asked to be kissed, except for when she actually spoke and those lips asked me to step back. I always make sure my breath is minty, yet she pushed me away.”

A lisping voice called from the edge of the clearing, “Those Bumpkin Spice Cheese Puffs better yield the stage, because it’s time for Jason to rant and rage. About weddings.” Cold sweat stood out from every pore of my body. I walked unhurriedly to the front door of the bungalow and tried the knob. Locked! I pressed the button for the doorbell, and while the elaborate carillon chimed inside, I studied the ornamentation around that button. Enamel and semiprecious stones made up the design, which looked quite majestic there on the wall of this quaint, colorful little house.

The door opened. “You!” I exclaimed.

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The Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms were Legends

  • by jenjust hit the Slip N Slide
  • it was a luxurious bungalow
  • volcanic sunsets
  • the wife in question was, at least in an abstract sense, *his* wife
  • otherwise it might jump out of your hand

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The Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms were legends on the professional karaoke circuit. Excellent as I was at belting out crowd favorites, if I was going up against the PSLM² (as they were known to their fans), I might as well forfeit and just hit the Slip N Slide. But these dudes were not the real PSLM².

“I’ve met the PSLM²,” I said. “The PSLM² are good friends of mine.” This was an exaggeration, but I was trying to make a point. “And you, sirs, are no PSLM².”

They all froze. The cowboy’s eyes got wide, and he suddenly turned and ran, disappearing behind a nearby building. It was a luxurious bungalow painted the color of volcanic sunsets. The rest of the imposters looked sheepishly at each other.

I fixed them with my most intimidating General’s stare. “Explain yourselves.”

The imposter imitation cop said, “It was all Henry’s idea. He’s the cowboy you just scared off. You see, there’s this wedding reception, and the wife in question was, at least in an abstract sense, his wife, at least until she met this new fella. And so Henry thought that if he could just get into her wedding reception, maybe he could win her back. And the rest of us are just his coworkers at the accounting firm.” He wrung his hands together. “Please don’t report us.”

I softened my glare. “I’m not going to report you. Relax your grip on that microphone, otherwise it might jump out of your hand. All I want to do is sing YMCA and I’ll be on my way.”

“That’s great news,” the construction worker said. “Because we have limited time to finish our soundcheck before Jason gets his turn. I’m sure you’ve heard of Jason. He’s America’s #1 wedding rapper!”

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Goose Wrench Revisited

Our writing armory is fully stocked.

Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to…

Nah. During brainstorming we mainly use the Monkey Wrench and the Goose Wrench. The Monkey Wrench is the tool we reach for when things are going a little to smoothly for our characters. It helps us find ways of causing them trouble. The Goose Wrench is a little more nebulous.

The very nature of brainstorming is for things to be loose. There are no bad ideas (except when there are). Use the Monkey Wrench to your heart’s content and throw everything you can think of into the mix. But eventually you have to start making decisions. Each decision narrows the field of options that can follow, which is what you want. You’re only going to be writing a single narrative (unless you’re doing something experimental), so you need a single plot. At each decision point you make a choice, then you get out your Goose Wrench and tighten it down. But not too far. Until you’re very close to done with your outline, you want to leave a little wiggle room. You want to leave things loosey goosey, which is where the Goose Wrench gets its name. As you continue working, things will start to take their final shape, but until then you want to have some slack so you can take some unexpected turns. And sometimes you’ll discover that you’ve written yourself into a corner (except that since this is all during prewriting, you’ve saved yourself a ton of time and work). You might need to go back and rethink some of your earlier choices, like flipping back in a Choose Your Own Adventure Book, and choosing a different path.

As we talk about the Ghost Novels, we’re making liberal use of the Goose Wrench. How many squid attacks will there be? We originally thought there would be three, but maybe it would be better to change things up and make the middle one an ambush by sharks with frickin’ laser beams. Keep it fresh.

A writing partner is someone who helps you choose your adventure.