The City That Doesn’t Sleep

As previously mentioned, it’s been roadtrip season for Rune Skelley. Our most recent jaunt took us to the Big Apple for a little research, reconnoitering and relaxation. While there, we went to our favorite Turkish restaurant, did our part to revitalize the retail sector, and took in three shows, but none of those things were the highlight of the trip.

The coolest part was when we got to meet our agent, Trodayne Northern! Our visit lined up with his schedule and we got together for an early lunch. When we reached the restaurant we had picked, it needed another half an hour to open, but we rolled with that and popped into the vintage poster gallery across the street to chill and peruse artworks until the eatery was ready to provide us with sustenance. It was really breakfast for Jen and Kent (so of course Kent ordered a cheeseburger).

We hung around for a couple of hours, never running out of stuff to talk about. Trodayne, if we made you late for your meeting we are sincerely sorry.

I Barely Had Time to Get Back Into Uniform

  • by Kenta little tune about banana bread
  • Finding a skull, picking it up,
  • heels of my new boots
  • “A fox, it’s called.”
  • but you have a job to do

Tune in next time part 428      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I barely had time to get back into uniform before the zeppelin docked at Enigma Fortress. Yolanda kept smiling at me in a most unprofessional but endearing manner, and the pilot continued to pretend he could neither see nor hear us, as he’d been doing for the entire journey.

As I strode out onto the gangway extending from the zeppelin’s gondola to the wall of the fortress, an honor guard raised ram horns to their lips and blew me a rather brown-sounding fanfare. Then the fortress’s resident Yodeler, a corporal by the name of Yancy, began the official welcoming ceremony by singing a little tune about banana bread. There was a dance to go with it, which I was expected to perform. I scrambled to remember all the steps. It is a dance that tells a story, a symbolic reenactment of the birth of the entire Contrarian Military-Industrial Complex. Finding a skull, picking it up, then grinding it to powder under the heels of my new boots. Contrarian defense contractors like to focus on dealing with foes who have already been flensed.

My dance moves earned me another inauspicious blast of the horns, and then Yancy led me to my quarters. I pushed open the door and spotted a red blur as something vanished under my bed.

I turned to Yancy for some insight.

“A fox, it’s called.”

I made the universal circular hand gesture for “go on…”

“They’re good luck. Also, if you make friends with it, warm and cuddly in long alpine nights. I’m sure if you’re persistent you and the fox will bond, but you have a job to do so you might not have that kind of free time.”

“Perhaps I have all the luck I need, and the fox can go.”

“All due respect, General, look where you are. I wouldn’t turn down any extra luck in your position.”

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For Four Days My Military Zeppelin Soared Through the Sky

  • by jengreat unconquerable natural wonder
  • grow weary of having a whimsical name
  • stories of properly requited love
  • crystal crown
  • like two cats with their tails tied together

Tune in next time part 427      Click Here for Earlier Installments

For four days my military zeppelin soared through the sky toward Enigma Fortress, and the entire time my libido was a great unconquerable natural wonder, despite the best efforts of Yolanda the Yodeler. She went about the gondola scantily clad, and insisted that I call her YoYo. I myself would grow weary of having a whimsical name like that. It’s good that my moniker is so sensible.

When we were still one day out from the fortress, the Paradoxica Mountains appeared below us. YoYo became desperate to have her way with me, and I must admit I found her frenzy both flattering and arousing. I had become quite accustomed to frequent releases and my four day dry spell felt interminable.

As I held YoYo at arms’ length I asked her why she was so desperate. I needed to know what it was that made my fluids so exotic and desirable. She pouted and told me stories of properly requited love, implying that it was me she coveted and not the substances my body produced. She knocked the General hat from my head and replaced it with a crystal crown, declaring me the king of her heart. I could resist her charms no longer, and we made love in the Contrarian fashion. Instead of doggy-style, it’s like two cats with their tails tied together. It’s quite ritualistic, and took most of the rest of our flight time.

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Every Word Counts in Word Counts

Our current WIP is going to be long. Very, very long. Like, probably too long.

We’ve come to this realization as we’re working. On the one hand, hey, a story is as many words long as it takes to tell. It’s not like some numbers are better than others for word count. On the other hand, we need to be reasonable. And because we really do want this book to fit in with the others in the series, there’s a practical upper limit which we’re almost certainly going to exceed.

So, having come to this realization, what did we change? Nothing. We’ve pressed onward, adding yet more words.

Are we demented? We are not. (Actually, we sorta might be, but not about this.) Our goal is to produce a complete draft at a consistent level of pacing and detail, which will put us in a good position for editing. Were we to make adjustments on the fly in hopes of dialing in the proper word density for the finished (edited) book, well, we’d be off by whatever amount anyway and now the remainder of this draft would be all second-guessy and have a different flavor from what we’ve already done.

There might not be one right number of words for books in general , but there’s an optimal length for each book individually. We know we’ll end up cutting this one down, which isn’t going to be fun sometimes. Thing is, it’s not just quantity. We want to make sure that all the right words go into that final number, and one of the best ways to do that is to let the words flow at this stage. Which means, we need to obsess a lot less about the word count. And boy, that is one thing we do enjoy obsessing over.

Having a writing partner means there’s someone to strategize with and help keep you on course when it counts.

I Looked the Yodeler Up and Down

  • by Kentcertainly knew about DNA
  • Over. And over. And over again.
  • vibrating sensuously
  • I do more than flip burgers
  • really good cocktail party music

Tune in next time part 426      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I looked the Yodeler up and down, keeping my face blank. It seemed that despite the limited number of people aboard the zeppelin, at least one of them was indeed after my semen. But for what reason? I would have five days to find out.

The Contrarian educational system placed little emphasis on science, but even so she certainly knew about DNA. Not that I knew with any certainty that the special component rumored to inhabit my fluids was the DNA. All I knew was that various factions had extracted samples from me. Over. And over. And over again.

“The hum of the propellers drives me a little wild,” she said, her voice vibrating sensuously. “Without release, I might go mad before we reach the fortress.”

“I’m still tired,” I said. “Ask me again in a little while.” The fact was, I wasn’t tired at all. Being knocked out by cobra yoga had given me the best sleep I’d had in ages. My plan was to let this woman become desperate, at which point she’d be more likely to reveal information.

She turned away and went to the cockpit. I felt pretty proud of myself for coming up with a plan so quickly. As we used to say at the Academy, I do more than flip burgers — I also know how to choose really good cocktail party music.

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My Yodeler Companion Looked at Me Askance

  • by jencreep to his side unseen
  • give their marriage a second chance
  • I suppose it’s very nice
  • their Dresden-china type of prettiness
  • Who’s jealous?

Tune in next time part 425      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My Yodeler companion looked at me askance. “I don’t know how it is in the military of your backwards country, but Contrarian Generals are expected to be skilled oneiromancers. How else will they plan effective battle strategies? The subconscious is like a man, a man who speaks through dreams, and a Contrarian General knows how to creep to his side unseen and eavesdrop, thereby gaining valuable knowledge.”

That explained an awful lot about Contrarian military strategy.

“I’ll read up on the topic before we land,” I said. “Are there any messages for me? Something from my wife perhaps?” I wanted to know if my trip to the Paradoxica Region was a permanent exile.

“Indeed there is, General. Shall I deliver it?”

I nodded.

She stood up straight and clasped her hands together in front of her chest, then began to yodel. It was very loud, and I took a step backwards. Instead of the standard nonsense syllables, her ululations contained words. “General, I hope this message finds you well. The children are all roly-poly and adorable, but not as roly-poly as Isolde. Her pregnancy progresses apace. The soothsayer is sure that she’s carrying triplets at least, possibly more. Isolde and Harry have gone into counseling to give their marriage a second chance. Harry’s such a jealous tit about the whole proxy marriage. Most women would not tolerate his childish behavior. I suppose it’s very nice for him that Isolde is crazy about him. Assuming that Enigma Fortress has not been carried away by an avalanche I will visit you there when it’s time to conceive our next children.” The yodeler fell silent, her final words echoing around the gondola for a few seconds.

“Any other messages?” I was hoping for orders of some kind, an idea of my mission.

“That’s all,” said the Yodeler. She sighed. “Your wife and her sisters are all so beautiful, with their Dresden-china type of prettiness. And you’re so ruggedly handsome.”

“It sounds like you’re jealous.” She had no reason to be, as she was quite a looker.

“Who’s jealous?” She stepped closer and murmured in my ear, “Your wife may be beautiful, but she’s not here on this zeppelin, and I am.”

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Being In Tune

When we reached the end of a recent writing session and Kent read aloud what he had written, Jen said, “I like when you approach things from angles I never would have thought of.” The feeling is mutual, and that’s kind of the whole magic of writing with a partner: the synergy that comes from aiming two imaginations at a challenge.

Of course, in another recent Writing Cave conversation someone made a comment along the lines of, “Good to touch base before running too far ahead, in case your vision and mine turned out to be totally different.” There’s a famous song lyric about words having two meanings sometimes… the point is, just because you’ve talked it through and think you’ve agreed on how things should go doesn’t mean you’re really in sync.

There’s no magic pro tip for ensuring a perfect mind-meld between partners. You just have to practice. There will be misunderstandings and disagreements from time to time. Ironically, the better you are at processing disagreements, the fewer of them you’ll end up having.

Here are some non-magical tips that might help, though.

  • talk to each other about the story and the characters, a lot — what would take hours of rewriting to fix is often fluid and instantaneous in conversation
  • err on the side of more structure in your process, rather than less — spell things out thoroughly in the prewriting phase
  • maintain a win-win mindset — unexpected ideas from your partner are a good thing!

A writing partner is a source of frequent pleasant surprises.

I Didn’t Need the Spyglass

  • by Kenttwitch in her palm
  • you’re holding a pair of scissors
  • trickles from its point
  • with a horse trainer’s eyes
  • something tells me that I shall soon know

Tune in next time part 424      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t need the spyglass to see that we were still over open water. I extended it anyway, to look for ships or islets or anything else of interest.

The woman who’d awakened me came to my side at the window. I saw by her garb that she was in the Mountain Garrison Messaging Corps, commonly known as the Yodelers. I thought she was about to finally tell me her name, but she launched instead into a description of a dream that she was reminded of by the twitch in her palm.

“It was the type of dream where you’re holding a pair of scissors and everyone who sees you points and screams, then runs away. And when you look down at the scissors you see that a blue liquid runs down one blade and trickles from its point. And you hold a jar in your other hand, with a horse trainer’s eyes in it, bobbing about in blue liquid among a hodge-podge of combs and more scissors. It was not that exact dream, of course, just one of that general type. General. Do you know what such dreams mean?”

“No,” I said, “but something tells me that I shall soon know.”

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While I Did Not Recognize the Person Shaking Me Awake

  • by jenwhen two famous people fight
  • nourishes from the inside
  • the extraordinary nature of his luggage
  • where the mercury often freezes in the thermometer
  • an extending spyglass

Tune in next time part 423      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While I did not recognize the person shaking me awake, her accent was Contrarian through and through. “Ah! You are awake!” she said. “But your eyes, they are bouncing all around. They are like when two famous people fight. Ha ha!”

That was far from the first time someone had said that about my eyes. I’d heard it a lot growing up. It’s the sort of warm childhood memory that nourishes from the inside. I smiled involuntarily.

As I gathered my senses, I realized that I was no longer in the laboratory atop the peak on Disco Island. The buzz of propellers and the view of clouds out the window told me I was once again aboard a zeppelin, but not my wife’s. This was a more rugged airship, lacking such fineries as grand pianos and wet bars.

I sat up, pleased to find that I was no longer bound. I wore my general uniform, complete with hat. Beside me was a heap of rucksacks and duffle bags made entirely of wolf pelts.

My interlocutor called over her shoulder toward the cockpit, “The general’s awake now and marveling at the extraordinary nature of his luggage.” Turning back to address me, she said, “We shall dock in the Paradoxica Mountains in five days, assuming an avalanche hasn’t taken out the fortress.”

The wolf pelts made more sense now. The Paradoxica region was the sort of place where the mercury often freezes in the thermometer. Not usually the sort of place I would choose to spend my time, but it might be nice to get a break from all the crazy machinations surrounding my family. The cold wouldn’t be too big of a deal for me. I was born at the North Pole after all.

A five-day zeppelin journey also sounded quite relaxing. At the very least there was a highly limited number of people on board who might be on a quest for the exotic compound allegedly found in my semen. I stood and stretched, then picked up an extending spyglass and went to a window.

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Milestones

Despite all of the traveling we’ve been doing lately, and all of the switching back and forth between projects that that entails, we’ve managed to inch Sibling of Music Novel up over 100,000 words.

Crossing such a momentous threshold feels great, especially since not too long ago we had a first draft that came in mysteriously short (for a Rune Skelley first draft, anyway).

We have a hard time not trying to anticipate how long our drafts are going to be, and this one is no exception. The short answer is, we really have no idea. All we can say for certain is that we’re more than halfway done.

Lately we’ve been batting around the idea of setting a deadline. We’d like to have it done by the end of the year. That ought to be doable if we can keep our butts at our desks for a while.

A writing partner is the one who gently reminds you that there are still a couple more roadtrips on the horizon.