Furry Boots Could Have Learned About Jason’s Tongue Tattoo

  • by Kentchandelier hanging from a brass pole
  • the more exotic and outlandish the names
  • they believe that their teeth would fall out
  • except for their own wives
  • unlimited foot massages

Tune in next time part 504      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Furry Boots could have learned about Jason’s tongue tattoo in any number of ways, or just guessed. It proved nothing. But her use — well, misuse — of the bog-roll cipher showed that she did have some connection to the biz. I had to find out more about her.

“What’s your angle?” I asked her.

“Timmy and Mabel swung on the chandelier hanging from a brass pole,” she recited confidently. It was another code, of course, and again she was taking liberties with deploying it. According to protocol, there should be an actual chandelier present, with nametags dangling among the crystal beads. The message itself is conveyed in the tags, and the more exotic and outlandish the names the larger the squad of assassins targeting the recipient. Being in Timmy-and-Mabel danger didn’t worry me too much.

I opted to turn the tables. “Colloquillian men never cross their eyes, because they believe that their teeth would fall out if they did.” Would Furry Boots be able to decode my message?

She replied, “And they won’t look at anyone’s feet, except for their own wives‘, which they gaze at all night long.”

I looked her up and down. Her response was, at best, inconclusive. The proper countersign would have referenced toenails, but she had seemingly grasped that I was talking about the traditional Colloquillian wedding vow of unlimited foot massages.

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I Did Not Kiss the Yeti

  • by jendude deserves a crown
  • should have been written on toilet tissue
  • be a couple publicly
  • “I actually looked at it
  • , not just snow.

Tune in next time part 503      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I did not kiss the yeti.

I would have been willing to if it would make the damn auction move faster, but the yeti wasn’t into it. She recoiled. While she argued about propriety with the furry-boots woman, I ducked under the buffet table and retrieved her headband. She snapped it back in place and stomped off. The furry-boots woman said to me, “If she’s married, dude deserves a crown for putting up with her.”

I froze. It was a coded message that should have been written on toilet tissue and passed discreetly between dance partners. Hearing it spoken aloud I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it just a coincidence, or was this woman really saying that she wanted to be a couple publicly with me? I’d never met her before, but perhaps she and Jason were engaged in a secret romance.

Furry Boots herded me into the corner. “I can tell by your tongue that you’re not Jason,” she murmured. “I actually looked at it really closely and saw the golden tattoos.”

I didn’t want to admit to not being Jason. “How do you presume to know so much about the tongues of my brother and myself?”

“I know so much about Jason’s tongue because he licks many things off of me, not just snow. Jason’s tongue has a blue tattoo, but none in gold.”

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A Ghostly Rainbow

It’s hard to refine and improve on something without a sense of its shape. So, to help us visualize our stories we lay them out on multicolored paper squares. It’s become an important part of our process, and some of them have been 15 or 20 feet long.

Fittingly, the first take on a rainbow for the Ghost Story is as pale as bleached bones. And — so far — it fits on the dining room table. Rather than festive notepaper squares, this one uses index cards (which make Kent uneasy, but in this case that just helps set the mood).

The main reason Jen set it up was so we could look at the timeline. It’s a multigenerational epic with a sizable cast (which seems to grow every time we take the dogs for a walk) so there’s a lot to keep track of, and doing it all in our heads was becoming a challenge. We had to make sure that when we put all the events in order, they actually were, you know, in order. Also, we needed a gut-check on how old everybody was when it was time for them to do Significant Things.

So, yeah, technically this wasn’t a rainbow. We didn’t refract the plot threads into different colors and line them up in parallel with each other. It isn’t time for that just yet. But when it is, we’ll give it as much space as it needs so we can bring our ghost tale to life.

I Moved Through the Crowd in the Cavern

  • by KentThe one thing I think I know about German
  • I’m not fucking Rembrandt.
  • enough sharp medals to slit my throat
  • did not have a telephone herself
  • “Go ahead, kiss her.”

Tune in next time part 502      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I moved through the crowd in the cavern, trying to look casual and avoid stepping on any toes either figuratively or literally. My climbing boots could do some real damage.

The reason for the lackadaisical bidding revealed itself as I mingled. The auction of my brother Jim was, for many attendees, merely a pretext under which to meet for other forms of business. I overheard arms deals, drug deals, and stolen-art deals. The one thing I think I know about Germany’s art scene, I learned by eavesdropping on two men who were both wearing eyepatches and monocles. And that thing is, German collectors will never give a fuck about my paintings because I’m not fucking Rembrandt.

Even in my uniform, wearing enough sharp medals to slit my throat if I sneezed wrong, I felt a bit underdressed in this crowd. But not compared to the next individual I bumped into, the yeti midwife who was no longer even wearing her rainbow headband. In fact, that was what she was looking for, somehow recognizing me from our chat in the break room even without my yeti costume. She didn’t seem too mad, maybe a bit embarrassed to be interrupting me about it, explaining that she would have called but she didn’t know my number and actually did not have a telephone herself. I stalled, trying to work out what was going to happen when she looked under the buffet table. Could I just flat-out tell her, since the discarded costume apparently wouldn’t matter to her? It felt risky.

So, my conversation with the yeti midwife continued awkwardly, each of us seeming equally flustered and unsure of ourselves, until a woman in a green satin gown and thigh-high furry boots leaned over to me and said, “Go ahead, kiss her.”

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My Yeti Costume was Uncomfortable and No Longer Necessary

  • by jengiven as a a gift to assorted emperors
  • playful gleam in his dark eyes
  • you are rubbing your shin
  • hardly the strangest or rudest
  • only one manservant

Tune in next time part 501      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My yeti costume was uncomfortable and no longer necessary now that Tatiana had given birth. Everyone here thought I was Jason anyway. I wiggled out of the sweaty fur sheath, which was a difficult thing to do underneath the buffet table. I snatched up my mountaineering boots and put them back on, then crawled to the far end of the table and emerged surreptitiously from my hiding place.

The bidding was up to $2,256,004, and creeping higher.

I heard a very pompous voice that I recognized as King Woody say, “Gherkins like these were given as a gift to assorted emperors and empresses, such as my mother Empress Holly.” He had a playful gleam in his dark eyes, and was standing far too close to Maxine.

“Excuse me,” Maxine said. “But you are rubbing your shin against my thigh and I would like you to stop.”

Woody laughed. “I’m sure it’s hardly the strangest or rudest thing to rub up against you, my dear.”

Maxine alerted a yeti security guard, and it took only one manservant to escort the rude, blustering royal from the auction.

With one fewer bidder, maybe things would move more quickly now.

“Two million two hundred fifty six thousand and five!”

I sighed.

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Naming Follies

The Ghost Story is beginning to materialize as we discuss it during walks with our loyal assistants, pictured below: Lady Marzipan and The Bandit Lord. (They should form a band, that’s the best band name evah!)

Speaking of names, we ran into a bit of a problem with the Ghost Story’s dramatis personae. A new cast member showed up, who is really cool, and we gave her a really cool name. But the more we explored her arc, the more it became clear that she was going to have a lot of shared page-time with a certain other character and that their names were too similar. So, something’s gotta give.

The new character’s name was cool for assorted reasons. It just sounded cool, plus it gave us a desireable, subtle association to a relevant historical person. But in the end, that wasn’t enough to save it and we picked something else.

Why? Because it wasn’t just those two names. The new person’s name actually formed a bridge between two formerly unconnected names.

It was like we already had a Tina and a Will. That’s fine, nothing confusing about it. But then we dreamed up this new character, and discovered that her name should be: Willemina! And we blithely had numerous chats about Willemina, getting to know her better, meanwhile forgetting about Will and Tina. Until we noticed Tina glaring at us.

Willemina’s new name is also cool, and we’re getting used to it. (We still call her by the old one pretty often, though.) We’re glad we straightened this out early in the process.

Another Way You Can Tell

Our weird and wonderful writing-prompt chain story journey has reached an exciting milestone — our 500th episode! If you’ve been around here a while you know how we approach these centenary increments: Jen and Kent share the keyboard and alternate the prompt phrases. Also, we choose a specific source for the prompt rather than using our awesome generator. (You should really check it out!)

In honor of hitting the half-thousand mark, this time out we’ve extracted all the prompt phrases from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which we watched again on our most recent night off. The movie provided us with tons of fodder, so much so that Jen had to winnow it down to just ten items. Kent randomized the order, and here we go!

  • this outrageous accent
  • carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock
  • quite indefatigable
  • you have to know these things when you’re a king
  • shrubberies are my trade
  • farcical aquatic ceremony
  • exciting underwear
  • this isn’t my nose
  • silly knees-bent running about
  • nibble your bum

Tune in next time part 499 & 500      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Another way you can tell Troy and Trent apart is by their toes. Trent’s toe muscles have this outrageous accentuation from his years of ballet, and looking at the toes of the faux-yeti standing before me as he scratched himself, I knew instantly that it was Trent pretending to be Troy. His beefy foot-digits traced the words of Oksana’s manifesto, carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock of the cavern’s floor.

While I pondered my brother’s toes, the bidding continued at a leisurely pace, creeping ever higher. As an auctioneer, Oksana was quite indefatigable. From my station beneath the table, I overheard someone pompously remarking to John, “Sometimes it takes a week to finish the bidding on the first item. Doesn’t do to rush in right at the start, dear boy.” John muttered something I couldn’t hear. But the reply was, “Mother warned me, while I was still a prince, that you have to know these things when you’re a king.” He slurped loudly from a beverage.

“And what are you king of?” John asked.

“Boxwoods, my dear boy! Boxwoods! They call me King Woody. Shrubberies are my family legacy and shrubberies are my trade.”

“Well,” John huffed, “if it takes as long as you say, the spring thaw will make a farcical aquatic ceremony of things in here.”

“But it will be worth it,” King Woody assured drunkenly. “Rumor has it that Jim has some very exciting underwear beneath his fashionable trousers.” The table over me lurched as John used it to keep his balance. King Woody’s laughter drowned in another slurp from his drink, then he said thickly, “I’ll bet you’ve got a nose for such things!”

“But this isn’t my nose,” John said levelly, moving around to Trent’s side of the table.

If I didn’t want to spend the remainder of the auction trapped under the buffet table, I had to get John and Trent to move away. If I did the snowcock cry again, John would undoubtedly start his silly knees-bent running about routine, but did I dare risk the chance that Trent would look under the table in search of the bird?

Luckily, King Woody seemed to pick up on John’s subtle hints. He shuffled away, trying to save face by exclaiming, “I’ll leave the rest of the crudités for you, then, so you can nibble your bumpy gherkin and imagine how demeaning it will feel to lose this auction to me!”

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Pour One Out for Josh

As we stand athwart the midpoint of Son of Music Novel edits, we bow our heads in a moment of silence for Josh.

Josh was a minor character (so minor he never even had a last name) who has fallen prey to our ruthless editing knives. Don’t feel too bad for him, though. While he no longer has any lines, he still gets namedropped. And even though the only time he’s mentioned is on the worst day of his professional career, he gets off really light in the grand scheme of things.

Also removed from the novel? Over 9,000 words. The bit with old Josh up there accounts for a couple hundred of them, and is the biggest single cut so far. We already looked the whole novel over on a scene-by-scene level, and we’re pretty confident that what’s in there now is all stuff we need. But as we work our way through using the finer tools and the higher magnification, we’ll find a few things like Josh. He came to the Writing Cave with stars in his eyes, but unfortunately for him, his big break came at the end of a chapter, and he didn’t really contribute much. His dreams of stardom ended up on the cutting room floor in service to tighter prose and a better chapter hook.

So really, dear reader, it’s your fault. We did it all for you.

A writing partner is someone who helps you make the tough calls, even when they shatter an innocent character’s dreams.

“And Why Are You Barefoot?”

  • by Kent“There was, like, a big puddle.”
  • It is a crepuscular melange
  • questionably fashionable folk costumes
  • and octopus finger
  • no need to dress up

Tune in next time part 498      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And why are you barefoot?” John demanded of Troy.

“There was, like, a big puddle.” Several seconds passed in silence before Troy continued. “So, like, my yeti feet got all wet. I wouldn’t have walked through it, but I needed to take the shortcut so I wouldn’t miss the crepes suzettes. The ninja union gets these guys really good craft services, especially for breakfast. I saw the descrtiption of it posted in the breakroom — ‘It is a crepuscular melange of sweetness to greet the dawn.’ But you have to be near the front of the line to get any.”

“Two million two thousand two hundred and twenty!” John yelled. To Troy he said, “These renegade garrisons and their questionably fashionable folk costumes. The fur is simply impractical.”

“It’s great for keeping warm in the snow,” Troy disagreed amicably. “The catering for lunch is good, too. Stuffed pork wings and octopus fingers.”

“Shut up about the food,” John snapped. “Let’s just finish this job and go home, and there’ll be no need to dress up like creepy alpine apes anymore.”

“I might stick with it,” Troy said, using his left foot to scratch his right ankle.

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An Expensive Snakeskin Jacket and a Notoriously Bad Memory

  • by jenon her face and neck
  • “Look at that thing, man.”
  • strange suction-cup-shaped marks
  • sees my face
  • nickname was Cookie

Tune in next time part 497      Click Here for Earlier Installments

An expensive snakeskin jacket and a notoriously bad memory? There was only one person John could think he was talking to, my brother Troy. Troy, whose nickname was Cookie, looked exactly like his twin Trent, but he didn’t look much like me. “As soon as John sees my face and its total lack of strange suction-cup-shaped marks, he’ll know I’m not Troy,” I thought. “Or Trent for that matter, but Trent is known for his exceptionally sharp memory and his ludicrously expensive but little-worn crocodile skin jacket. It’s easy to tell them apart.” Worse than John discovering that he was not talking to Troy would be having John discover he was not talking to Troy by discovering the real Troy. I needed a distraction so I could get away from John and observe from a distance.

“Look at that thing, man.” I pointed to a woman on the other side of the cavern with a large tattoo on her face and neck. When John turned away, I ducked under the buffet table. And none too soon. Almost immediately a pair of bare feet approached, sticking out of white yeti pants.

“Why are we bothering to bid on Jim?” Troy asked. He didn’t even try to do a yeti voice.

John’s voice was exasperated. “We just talked about this! Your memory is a shambles!”

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