Despite the Crowd and the Chaos

  • by Kentskin contact and elderberries
  • strenuously heterosexual
  • That’s intense.
  • Walking on tiptoe
  • Ugh. Fuck. Off.

Tune in next time part 490      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Despite the crowd and the chaos, it wasn’t hard to ascertain that none of the yeti in the cavern were wearing headbands.

“She’s not around,” I said to Tatiana.

“Then go FIND her!” Tatiana snarled through her next contraction.

John’s antics were dying down. In a few more seconds I’d lose my chance to slip out unnoticed. Reaching the corridor, I barely had time to wonder how I would avoid being spotted away from the auction when a yeti-ninja bumbled into me. Thirty seconds later he lay incapacitated and I had donned his woolly costume, granting me unlimited freedom to roam Oksana’s little subterranean kingdom in search of a midwife.

My conscience twinged at that. My mission was to save my brother, and Tatiana’s problems were of her own making. Except, well, it had taken two to tango on that throne.

I grumbled to myself, “Ugh. Fuck. Off. With. The. Moral. Dilemmas.” Sending the midwife in the right direction seemed the least I could do for Tatiana, but first I had to find her.

The fourth corner I turned led me into a break room of sorts, and there at a table by the soda fountain was a yeti wearing a colorful band around her head. His head? Its head. No matter. Walking on tiptoe, I approached the yeti reputed to be skilled at delivering babies. Such a manner of walking allowed me to blend in with the other occupants of the break room, because, being so-called ninjas, they liked to act sneaky.

“Hey there,” I said. “One of the auction guests is in active labor and could use your help.”

“That’s intense.” The voice was gruff. The band-bedecked head angled my way. “Too bad I’m on break.”

The midwife was a she, I was now sure. For in addition to being able to imitate the call of any bird or beast, I am also strenuously heterosexual (at least most of the time) and thus adept at noticing subtle things, such as the fact that the utterly naked, hairy biped speaking to me had female genitalia.

“I think it’d be best if you finished your break later,” I said. “She’s pretty far along.”

“Why don’t you go handle it?” the midwife said, turning back to her coffee. “It’s easy. Just remember: skin contact and elderberries.”

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During Our Senior Year at the Academy

  • by jenbecome a Sasquatch king
  • the adults took turns
  • I wish I could sing like that
  • well, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy
  • multicolored headband

Tune in next time part 489      Click Here for Earlier Installments

During our senior year at the Academy I was voted most likely to become a Sasquatch king, largely due to my ability to imitate any bird or beast. John was offended. He felt that a yeti sighting during his childhood in Tibet gave him an affinity for all cryptozoological creatures. He filed a formal contestation of the election results. Our fellow students watched with bated breath as the adults took turns recounting the ballots, and cheered when I was formally declared the winner. Fat lot of good his “affinity” did him now. He was attending an auction staffed almost entirely by “yeti,” who would presumably do his bidding, and yet he was completely unmanned by a single Himalayan Snowcock cry. In my opinion, the Academy students made the right choice.

John careened around the cavern, knocking down trays of champagne glasses, and gibbering.

Tatiana grasped her belly and let out a bloodcurdling wail.

“I wish I could sing like that,” said Maxine. Then she raised her hand and yelled, “I bid two million and eleven dollars!”

“Two million and twelve!” came a voice from deep in the crowd.

“This will take all night,” I said. “Let’s just sneak out the back while John has them distracted.”

Tatiana said, “The stars predicted that if I conceived my children in a cavern I would give birth to them in one, too. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy in that case,” I said.

After another contraction, Tatiana said, “Find the yeti in the multicolored headband. She’s their midwife.”

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Weasel Hunting

One particularly efficacious way to tighten prose is via the systematic removal of the so-called weasel words that tend to infest one’s writing. Digressions that add little to no new meaning should be avoided. Be clear and concise, rather than cluttering your page with rambling verbiage, and cut out extraneous and superfluous modifiers.

Every author has their own bad habits of wordiness. Could be stating and then restating ideas. Could be tacking on cliché figures of speech to puff things up with faux-authoritative air. Could be excess jargon. Could be lists that go on too long.

For us it’s qualifiers. It’s been a sickness, honestly. We made a list of specific crutch words, and we use the software’s search function to comb through looking at them. It used to be, in our first drafts, nothing ever quite actually was anything. It was “almost” or “seemingly” something. All. The. Damn. Time. Our other bad habit was redundant modifiers. “Crept slowly” was a favorite, as if there is any other way to creep.

We do a much better job these days of keeping that stuff out of the prose from the start. Not that we’re completely cured, just that we see it when it’s happening now and rein it in. But that doesn’t mean our first drafts are perfect. We still need to revise them and tighten things up, it’s just that there’s less low-hanging fruit to be harvested. It used to be we could count on about a 5% reduction in word count from weasels alone. But not these days.

It’s a good problem to have. We’re feeding a higher grade of ore into the smelter, so the purity of the metal coming out is that much greater. (On our planet, low-grade ore is that which contains too many weasels.) A writing partner is someone who’ll take a turn pumping the bellows on your weasel smelter.

“Let Us Begin the Bidding at a Million Dollars!”

  • by Kentcalled “wildlife” for a reason
  • not a single one of us
  • legs tightly crossed
  • what do our bodies sound like?
  • rubbing her stomach

Tune in next time part 488      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Let us begin the bidding at a million dollars!” Oksana proclaimed. Tatiana’s hand shot up, along with many others.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the Crystal Clown’s proxy?” I muttered.

Tatiana stood there rubbing her stomach like she was very hungry. “Let me worry about her,” she said. The rubbing intensified, and she said, “I wonder, as new life springs forth from us, what do our bodies sound like?”

She was now grasping her bulging belly in both hands, legs tightly crossed and a puddle around her feet.

“I think they sound like that,” I deadpanned. “You should probably call for your helicopter or whatever to take you to labor and delivery.” I could commandeer it and take us back to Enigma Fortress instead.

Tatiana shook her head. Her voice was strained as she said, “Oksana has made it clear that not a single one of us shall be allowed out until the auction is complete.”

The bidding was up to two million dollars, and not really slowing. I couldn’t think of a way to hurry it along, but I did have an idea for disrupting it. Even if it would probably blow my cover. I watched John, and just as he was signalling a bid on behalf of Viscount Arlo, I did my Himalayan Snowcock impression as loudly as I could.

John let out an even louder scream of panic and began running about and flailing his arms, heedless of the people around him. The closest he ever came to telling me the reason for his terror of those birds was when he whispered tremulously from the darkness as we lay in our bunks at the Academy, “It’s called ‘wildlife’ for a reason.”

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Oksana Switched on her Microphone

  • by jensqueezed between so many
  • lick your palm
  • big clown shoes to fill
  • more smock than frock
  • just weeks before the baby was due

Tune in next time part 487      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Oksana switched on her microphone and stepped up onto a dais to begin the auction. She gestured, and Jim was brought to her, squeezed between so many yeti-ninjas there was no chance of him escaping.

“Thank you for the warmup act, Jason,” she said. “I’ll be around later to lick your palm, as we say in Colloquillia.” Addressing the whole crowd of international spies and ne’er-do-wells, she went on, “Today’s merchandise has such big clown shoes to fill, and such tiny feet to do it with!”

Two yetis lifted Jim, and a third pulled his shoes off. As one, the crowd gasped.

I felt a knot in my stomach. Which clown was Oksana talking about? The Crystal Clown, perhaps? The auctioneeress kept up her patter, describing my brother’s many features and body parts.

Tatiana appeared at my elbow. She was usually a very stylish woman, but today’s garment was more smock than frock, a shapeless sack that hung from her shoulders, skimmed over her pregnant belly, and was barely long enough to cover her panties. It was a daring amount of leg to show just weeks before the baby was due. Or babies, as was more likely the case with me as the father. I thought back over the past several months and tried to calculate the number of children I might have on the way.

Tatiana whispered, “Let’s pool our funds. I’m sure Titania will let you have Jim when she’s done with him.” She chuckled. “Or what’s left of him.”

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Macro Level Editing

We like to edit from big to small. It would be silly to spend a lot of time polishing up a scene, only to decide later to remove that scene entirely. So, as we mentioned recently, the first editing pass is to determine if any scenes get cut from the first draft.

You might not be surprised to learn that we have a methodology for this process, or that it involves a spreadsheet. Making the decisions would be all but impossible if we tried to just wing it, especially with two of us who have to agree. It’s not a judgement of whether the scene is “good,” because if it’s “bad” it can always be fixed. The question is, does the scene earn its keep?

We name our scenes as we’re writing, which is handy for building the spreadsheet at this stage. Going down the line, we discuss each one and make notes. What you want to do is document what each scene does to move the story. What information is conveyed? What events take place? How is character developed? Are there other scenes that do exactly the same job? Ideally, most of your scenes will be contributing more than just one significant element. But it’s not a points system. Scenes that only do one job aren’t necessarily weak. And if you eliminate the moment where a vital clue is revealed, that’s not helping.

Look over your list. Be critical. You probably don’t want to be the writer who says, “I can’t cut that scene, it’s the one where the main character has breakfast!” Notwithstanding that it might be the most important meal of the day, most readers will find other events more captivating. Unless this breakfast is thematically charged, becomes a crucial moment of clarity for the protagonist, is attended by a vital ally, etc. In which case, those should be the things on the list.

You know what your story wants to be. The stuff that doesn’t help with that is what you should take out. Even if it’s good stuff, it might not be in the right story. (When you cut something, you don’t have to burn it. And you won’t hear us saying “kill your darlings.” Just, you know, lock them up in a folder or something until you find the right project for them.)

A writing partner is someone who helps you look at the big picture before you dive into the details.

“So,” Maxine Quipped

  • by Kentnot puking or weeping
  • casting frightened glances back over their shoulders
  • Not stylish, but do-able.
  • changes temperature or vibrates
  • unbelievable in this day and age

Tune in next time part 486      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“So,” Maxine quipped, “that look on his face means imminent rapping? You sure it’s not puking or weeping?” Her voice’s naturally grating tone was worsened by the acoustic properties of the cavern, and her outburst sent other bidders fleeing, casting frightened glances back over their shoulders as they went.

Tatiana laughed. “I should let him off his leash!” She gave me a devious squinchy-faced look. “Give her a taste. Just one quick rhyme to let her know who she’s dealing with!” And without waiting for my response she began beat-boxing. The echoey cavern amplified and expanded the sounds, turning all heads our way. I really had no choice but to play along, because Jason would most certainly jump at such a chance to ad lib in front of a crowd.

I pumped my knees to the beat, putting a cocksure expression on my face while my mind raced to find material that was good enough to pass for Jason’s. As I stalled, Tatiana reached the sixteenth bar and felt compelled to break things down. So, her make-believe drum solo bought me a few extra seconds to come up with:

“We need more energy sources for the world that are renewable.
Gigantic windmills in your yard? Not stylish, but do-able.”

I wanted that to be the total of my performance, but now everyone in the cavern was clapping, even the yetis. So, I improvved a few dozen couplets about eco-friendly power generation. It went over pretty well. Maxine indeed started dancing, but her bulky coat prevented me from determining if it produced the promised jiggling and swaying. She did hoot and drop me a wink when one of the lines I tossed out included “when it changes temperature or vibrates.” I got a nice round of applause from all the bidders and henchmen, and several came up to shake hands and agree vehemently with me that continuing to burn coal was unbelievable in this day and age.

But I still couldn’t remember where I had heard of Maxine before.

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With Great Effort

  • by jenin the bathroom blowdrying her hair
  • still the only one to know
  • newly engaged couple
  • not gonna let you do that to Maxine
  • cause her bosoms to jiggle and sway

Tune in next time part 485      Click Here for Earlier Installments

With great effort I kept the disgust off my face. Of course I knew what medicine bottles this madwoman was talking about. I’d seen them on my mother’s nightstand when I searched her bedroom right before I moved out of the White House for good. Mother was in the bathroom blowdrying her hair at the time, and I never mentioned what I found to anyone. In fact I’m still the only one to know that terrible secret. I should have done something at the time, but Fleur and I were a newly engaged couple, just hours away from our lengthy wedding ceremony and I had bigger things to worry about.

Tatiana swooped in beside me and said, “Jason! I can tell by the set of your eyebrows that you’re about to burst into rap, and I’m not gonna let you do that to Maxine with no warning. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from dancing, which would cause her bosoms to jiggle and sway. It would disrupt the entire auction.”

So, the puffer coat woman was Maxine. It was a name I had heard before.

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Smallerizing

Last time we talked, we were in the midst of embiggening Son of Music Novel. As of last night we’re switching to the shrink ray. We already looked at the work on a macro level and decided that there were no entire scenes that were superfluous, so Jen started on page one, working line-by-line to tighten things up. Kent has a few pieces of side-work to finish up, then he’ll make his own pass through in Jen’s wake and see what further fat there is to trim.

With two of us working, this part of the process can be a bit tedious. Every change gets marked for approval, no matter how minor. That’s not how every writing team operates, but it’s how we like to work. We enjoy the discussions it sparks. At least usually.

We’ve set ourselves a target — we’d like to get this beast down to 150,000 words. Is that feasible? It’s hard to say at this stage. What we do know is that this editing pass won’t be the last one. After surgery the patient will rest while we turn our attention to a different project, then later we’ll come back for another attack, this time with finer tools.

A good writing partner is someone you like spending quarantine time with.

I Knew Tatiana Was Trying to Upset Me

  • by Kentwhispered her name in my heart
  • up to your tits in frogs
  • and on the back of your neck
  • dipping his testicles into a container of salsa
  • work involved screwing

Tune in next time part 484      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knew Tatiana was trying to upset me, but it was her sister I couldn’t stop thinking about. I envisioned Tessa in my mind and whispered her name in my heart. Plus, I was pretending to be Jason, so it was Jason she was trying to upset and it hardly phased me.

The cavern was now beginning to fill up as the time of the auction drew nigh. A short woman in a pillowy turquoise puffer jacket greeted Oksana. They acted like old chums, but all I could overhear was “… moved out of that room! Last time I saw you you were up to your tits in frogs, and had moss growing in your armpits and on the back of your neck.” It was unclear how literally to take any of that.

The next wave of bidders filed in, all of them wanting to exchange pleasantries with the hostess, but the puffer-coat woman was still holding forth. “And then Clarence dipping his testicles into a container of salsa but shying away when I came after him with the corn chips!”

Oksana swiveled to face one of the new arrivals, abandoning the puffy turquoise person, who glanced my way and caught me smirking at her. “I don’t know what you’re so happy about, Jason,” she said. “I’m going to win this auction and put your brother to work.” She stepped closer. “Just like I put you work.”

I tried to keep the surprise off my face. This woman was a family connection I knew nothing about.

“Do you remember your indenture, Jason? Do you remember what the work involved?”

I looked away, feigning anguish.

“Say it!” she demanded.

I swallowed. I tried to read the correct answer on her face, but she was implacable. It had to have been something unsavory, something demeaning. “The work involved screwing,” I muttered.

“Caps onto medicine bottles, that’s right. And you did well, Jason. I would put you back to work any time.”

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