That Time Jen and Kent Were Writing Two Different Books Together

It’s not all that strange for us to be juggling multiple projects.  The twist this time is that we’re each focusing on one book, just not the same one. Jen is compiling the outline for Sibling of Music Novel while Kent writes the epigraphs for Grandson of Science Novel. A more typical scenario would involve switching between projects every day or two, with the two of us staying mostly synced up on whichever project we switch to.

Another fairly common situation would be where one of us is writing while the other one does research, or designs a cover, things like that. When we’re doing different types of tasks, it’s less noticeable if they’re related to different books.

This feels sorta weird this time, because we are both writing. We tend to ask each other questions out of the blue a lot, and that’s when it’s really noticeable that we’re thinking about different worlds.

For a long time, we would not have even considered this type of multitasking. We very deliberately kept our combined attention on one project at a time. It allowed us to stay immersed in that story world, and our concern was that we’d burn a lot of mental energy spooling it back up again if we got distracted by something else. But as the manuscripts accumulated, life in the Writing Cave got complicated. And it turns out that we’re pretty damn good at keeping multiple worlds spinning in our heads. After a while you even used to it.

Having a writing partner gives you twice the bandwidth for generating warped realities.

I Shrugged

  • by KentMexican viagra. Just in case.
  • “GOOD BYE,” she whispered.
  • the sound of many feet
  • finally decided to cooperate
  • even the ugliest moments in life can still contain poetry

Tune in next time part 354      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I shrugged. Of course it was probably twins, and helping to deliver them was preferable by far to being in Harry’s presence at the moment.

Svetlana unrolled from within Heinrich’s shirt and started pacing with her hands on her back. Her rounded abdomen was very impressive, as was the scorching hostility in her eyes. I was about to apologize for putting her in this predicament when Heinrich tapped me on the shoulder. He handed me a small vial.

“Mexican viagra. Just in case.”

“Um, no thanks,” I said. But he thrust the little bottle in my face, so I took it and tucked it into my jacket pocket.

“How do you want me to help?” I asked Svetlana. She waddled over to me and whispered in my ear. I could tell that she really wanted to scream, could feel the warm rush of her fierce exhalation. “TAKE THE BLOODY PILLS,” she whispered.

I glanced at Heinrich, who folded his arms and glared back. So, with another shrug, I palmed two of the blue pills. His glare intensified, so I took the pills for real. I knew I wouldn’t fool him. (Pharmacological subterfuge was an elective at the Academy and my schedule had been full.)

Svetlana swung around to my other ear and did the bizarre yell-whisper again. “GOOD BYE,” she whispered.

And I felt dizzy. Dammit, that wasn’t just viagra, which I should have realized. (Maybe that pharmacological subterfuge course is available via continuing education?)

I came to in a bright place, my eyes painfully overloaded and my ears filled with the sound of many feet splashing in shallow water. I blinked and turned my head away from the sun, and my retinas finally decided to cooperate and grant me a sense of my surroundings.

I was reclining against the rocky side of a tide pool, across from Svetlana, who had evidently opted for a water birth. A beach volleyball tournament was taking place just a few yards away, each incoming wave washing the competitors’ ankles. The zeppelin tethered to the spire loomed on the opposite side of the lagoon.

“Why did you drug me?” I complained, shading my eyes with my hand while Svetlana panted. “I would have come along gladly!” My skull throbbed and my mouth was dry and sour, the hangover from the “Mexican viagra” they’d forced on me. This was feeling like a rather ugly moment.

And then, rather than answering me, Svetlana gave a cry and reached into the still, clear water to lift out a baby. She barely had time to catch her breath before she did it again.

Even the ugliest moments in life can still contain poetry.

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

“I Must Make Myself Beautiful for Harry”

  • by jenblocked nearly all the sunlight
  • very well-defined chin
  • annoyed at the tone taken by anthropologists
  • “Bingo.”
  • stirred his volcanic, untamed heart

Tune in next time part 353      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I must make myself beautiful for Harry,” Isolde announced. “He is waiting at the docking spire.” She fluttered off to the bathroom on her toes like a ballerina.

Jim continued to steer the zeppelin, and I handed the infants to Fleur so that she could feed them before we made fast. Ten minutes later Isolde burst from the loo. With her hair freshly brushed she looked quite lovely, but what made her stunning was the fire in her eyes. She thrust a plastic pregnancy test at me and said, “It’s positive! Harry and I conceived our wedding night baby! The auguries are quite auspicious!”

“How long have we been on this zeppelin?” I asked in astonishment, but was roundly ignored.

“When I told Harry on Facetime just now,” Isolde continued, “it stirred his volcanic, untamed heart so much I thought he was having a coronary. His face got so red! But it was simply unbridled joy.” She unclasped the gold chain about her neck and fed it through a slot in the end of the plastic test strip, then hooked it again so that the thing hung between her breasts like a pendant. “Bingo.” She sighed happily. “Now everyone will know my good news!”

“Congratulations,” Fleur said with a glare at me. “It took my husband several years to get me pregnant. Your Harry must be much more ardent.”

You know how everyone gets annoyed at the tone taken by anthropologists at museums when they tell you to stay out of the caveman dioramas? Well Fleur’s tone was even more annoying than that. And where did she get off complaining? She only had the children because her father insisted it was her duty. And it was her idea to make me Harry’s proxy for Isolde’s wedding. And wedding night. This was all on her. I blew her a kiss.

“Hey big brother,” Jim drawled. “You need to take the controls for the landing. I need to put my Panda suit back on before we dock. Can’t have the general public knowing I’m here.”

The women watched unhappily as my brother hid his bare torso away inside the blue furry costume. They each gave a sad little cry when his very well-defined chin disappeared into the headpiece.

I had to turn off the signal jammer to talk to the control tower, but we docked without incident. Fleur strapped both children to Jim’s panda chest, and then the four of us paraded down the gangway and into the spire’s rotating restaurant.

Waiting there was the toad-like Harry, Isolde’s legal husband, and the legal father of her unborn child. His face was still alarmingly red, and to my eye it looked more like fury than joy. Isolde squealed and ran to slather him with kisses. I turned to walk the other way and ran right into an immense figure who blocked nearly all the sunlight. It was Heinrich Hunter.

Heinrich was larger than I’d ever seen him, and then I remembered that he made a habit of carrying Svetlana around under his clothes. And then I remembered that Svetlana was pregnant. With my child.

“We need to talk,” said Heinrich. “Now. In the bathroom.”

Wanting to avoid the irate Harry, I followed the Heinrich/Svetlana/baby turducken into the men’s room.

“I’m in labor!” Heinrich’s belly said in Svetlana’s voice.

“She think’s it’s twins,” Heinrich’s mouth said in Heinrich’s voice. He began to unbutton his shirt.

bonus points for using them in reverse order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

That Time Jen Made All New Project Boards

The cave paintings in the Writing Cave are mostly project boards. One entire wall is devoted to them.

These are things Jen sets up, large sheets of card stock to hold sticky notes that get pulled down as their tasks are completed. Each board has its novel’s title inked across the top in three-inch letters, and any cover concept or mock-up that we have gets clipped to the edge. We work in trilogies, and the metal strip for our nifty neodymium magnets is just long enough for us to hang three boards.

Well. A couple of weeks ago, Kent came home and his little mind was blown! The project wall had been completely redone. There were still three boards, but instead of being book-oriented they were now trilogy-oriented. Suddenly nine novels’ worth of project tracking occupied a space where heretofore had only ever been three. Kent boggled, a flatlander perceiving the Z-axis for the first time.

Jen excels at this type of organizational wizardry, and thrives on having such artifacts in the environment. Her desk and Kent’s are pretty much equally cluttered, which disguises her greater affinity for order. There is of course a system in the clutter, but we both admit that it’s inefficient. (Our annual workspace archeological expeditions tend to turn up many un/pleasant surprises.) The key to the project boards is that they’re placed on a vertical surface, which makes it much harder to pile crap up on them.

What else adorns the walls of the cave? There is a signed, framed XKCD print, framed copies of the covers from the Divided Man series, and lots of bookshelves. Atop a bookcase live a globe and a set of matryoshka dolls (one of which seems to be haunted).

A writing partner is someone who wants to spend a lot of time in the cave with you.

Jim Increased Our Altitude

  • by Kentvanquished them
  • professor of extravehicular activities and space suit design
  • begged very hard
  • with their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips
  • looking forward to getting loaded at lunch

Tune in next time part 352      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim increased our altitude and resumed our heading for the Inimical Archipelago. I was relieved to be making speed toward our unknown reception in the islands, rather than hanging around to witness what became of the Pentagonistsas as the huge fish vanquished them.

The babies were crying again, no matter what Isolde tried to soothe them. Fleur picked up the radio mic and held it close to their wailing mouths. “My great-uncle Benjamin,” she said loudly over the babes’ noises, “who was a professor of extravehicular activities and space suit design, taught me many ways to jam radio communications. This is in his top five.”

“Did he know any quieter methods?” I asked.

“Please take them!” Isolde begged, begged very hard, but the infants must have learned their disregard for her wishes from their mother because Fleur seemed not to even hear. She gazed with detached fascination at her own offspring, writhing and shrieking in their aunt’s arms, with their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips. She stayed that way for a full ear-splitting minute, so I went to the radio controls and found a way to record a message and replay it on a loop.

“Here,” I said, collecting my twins from Isolde. Their cries faded into a decrescendo of delicate hiccups as I swayed and shusshed.

“I see the islands,” Jim announced. “We should arrive at the docking spire shortly.”

Fleur said, “The top of the spire is said to have the finest restaurant in the islands. I just adore Inimical cuisine.”

“You’re buying, then,” I said, looking forward to getting loaded at lunch.

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Below Me in the Churning Water

  • by jentending to her quarrelsome husband
  • transmissions will resume
  • accused of murdering his roommate
  • circuit breakers?
  • hands moving upwards

Tune in next time part 351      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Below me in the churning water, the crew of the Pentagonal Party’s airship clung desperately to the gondola, barely afloat, and tried to fend off the voracious fish. They were doomed, the lot of them, unless Fleur decided to intervene. I knew she would not.

The chances that her half-brother William was actually aboard the vessel were slim, which meant that we needed to be cautious. If he had managed to gain a foothold on the islands we were quickly approaching, we were floating straight into trouble.

“Fleur! Fleur!” I heard Isolde cry from the galley above me. “Where the hell can she be?”

“No doubt tending to her quarrelsome husband,” came Jim’s drawling reply. I wished he would stay at the zeppelin’s controls. We were still flying low across the waves. Too low, in my opinion.

I climbed the ladder out of my harpoonery seat and reached the galley just as Fleur descended from her upper perch.

“Who knows when those traitor’s transmissions will resume,” she said. “We need  to retake the archipelago before they have time to call for reinforcements.”

My brother Jim had been accused of murdering his roommates in both 9th and 11th grades at the Academy, and again later in culinary school. Someone that ruthless and slippery would be an asset in a situation like this, if I thought I could trust him.

Isolde bounced my children in her arms, looking puzzled. “But how can they radio anyone?” she asked. “Wouldn’t those things get all wet? What are they called, the electric thingies — circuit breakers?”

“We can’t take any chances,” Fleur snapped. “Jim, get back to flying this thing.”

She followed him out of the galley and kept an eagle eye on him until he was once again seated in the copilot’s seat, hands moving upwards to grasp the controls.

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

2019 Preview

Last week we recapped our 2018. Now it’s time to look ahead and see what the coming twelvemonth will hold in store.

Our top priority will be writing Sibling of Music Novel. The first round of outlining is essentially complete, which does not mean we are yet in possession of anything that resembles an outline. But it does mean we’ll be ready to begin the actual writing pretty soon. Hard to say how long that will take. Our past few projects have been all over the map. Hopefully we can be speedy this time!

After that, we have a couple of good candidates for our attention, depending on which story world we want to focus on. We can stay with the Music series and do an editing pass on Son of Music Novel, or we can pivot back to the Science series where there are two manuscripts that need such treatment.

Deciding which of those worthy endeavors gets our attention first will depend on how our near-future publishing strategy shapes up. 2018 was the year we got an agent, and 2019 will be the year that we adjust our routines accordingly.

And, that means as of now we don’t have an answer for “What book(s) will you release in the coming year?” Everything’s topsy-turvy! But we can say for sure that we’ll be sweating in the writing cave. (Not really, though, because it’s air conditioned.) We will let you know what’s coming just as soon as we find out ourselves. Watch this space for updates.

To sum up, we expect to be busy!

A toast: May this, the year two thousand nineteen, be generous and gentle to you and everyone you love.

In The Past, You Know

  • by Kent“In the past, you know,
  • arrived at the unwelcome conclusion
  • She’s a lyin’-ass bitch.
  • might well have been considered winged sharks
  • couldn’t believe anyone would want to

Tune in next time part 350      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“In the past, you know, aerial combat was among the courtly arts taught in Contrarian finishing schools.” Fleur’s voice carried to me as she ascended to her gunner’s seat and I clambered down to mine. When I reached my perch I also arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that the harpoon gun I was about to employ hadn’t been maintained properly.

“Isolde assured me, before we departed from the carrier, that the zeppelin’s weaponry was in top condition.”

I didn’t bother shouting a reply to Fleur, but if I had it would have been, “She’s a lyin’-ass bitch.” The sights were crooked, the trigger felt like someone had used it as a place to hold chewing gum, and the gun wasn’t loaded. The harpoon rolled around in the gunnery compartment, flung this way and that by Jim’s desperate flight path.

Jim was buying us time, but it seemed to be at the expense of altitude. I hoped the topside gun was in better condition, because our adversary wasn’t likely to present itself to me down here. We were skimming the whitecaps.

Grabbing the harpoon before it impaled me, I worked on getting it loaded. Suddenly we veered so hard to starboard that the force of the turn tipped our vessel sideways. Thus my seat became the perfect vantage to observe as a school of ferocious looking flying fish — they might well have been considered winged sharks, only bigger — burst forth from the ocean. They were the reason Jim heeled us over so drastically. The huge creatures arced over us and sank their serrated teeth into the not-so-armored envelope of the Pentagonal faction’s airship.

And then we yawed back to level flight, and I could see only spume. For those few seconds, that cramped keel-mounted gunner’s nest was the best place to obtain a view of such a singular spectacle, but having gone through it I couldn’t believe anyone would want to.

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

“Evasive Maneuvers!”

  • by jenWilliam’s fifth wife
  • (or tethered goats — whatever you’re into)
  • beige comfort food at its best
  • delivery man for the morgue
  • performing a flourish

Tune in next time part 349      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Evasive maneuvers!” Fleur shouted.

“Yes ma’am,” came Jim’s reply. Fleur and I stumbled into the counters as our zeppelin suddenly lurched to starboard. We looked like we were on the bridge of the Enterprise as Jim quickly dodged to port and we stumbled again.

Picking up the mic once more, Fleur said calmly, “The traitorous acts of the Pentagonal Party will be punished most harshly.”

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pentagonal Party. Everyone has. But since things are so convoluted I’ll give a brief refresher. Fleur’s father, the Contrarian Warlord and Supreme Calligrapher William Penn XI has, per Contrarian tradition, eleven wives (one for each of the previous warlords who bore his name, and one for himself). Fleur is William’s firstborn child, born to his sixth wife, Agnes Rose, a full minute before her brother was delivered to William’s fifth wife (and Agnes Rose’s older sister) Rose Agnes. The other nine siblings from the first “brood,” as it is called, arrived over the next several hours. This is how it has always been done in Contraria, with the marriages all taking place at once and the pregnancies all conceived to run concurrently, and may the best man win. Fleur was the first time in recorded history that the firstborn was female. William, to his credit, was pleased to have his daughter as heir. Rose Agnes was not. To her, Fleur’s arrival a mere minute too early was an insult. Her sense of outrage was likely enhanced by long-simmering sibling rivalry between the sisters. Rose Agnes and her bodyguard/lover rebelled and formed the Pentagonal Party, and have spent the past several decades plotting to put William XII on the throne in Fleur’s place.

The warlord tried over the years to placate Rose Agnes. I’ve seen the letters he wrote in his impeccable script. “If you will only cease your hostilities and come home, I will be pleased to provide you with several ponies (or tethered goats — whatever you’re into). Our son will be a duke and will enjoy beige comfort food at its best, as prepared by the palace chefs.” It goes on and on in that vein, but Rose Agnes would not hear of reconciliation. In one of her replies she says that if her son can’t be warlord he might as well be a delivery man for the morgue. Her writings are very melodramatic.

Fleur turned to me and said, “I’m going to man the top harpoon.” Performing a flourishing gesture toward a trapdoor in the floor she added, “You take the one in the keel. We’ll blast those bastards out of the sky.”

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

2018 – The Year That Was

To the shock of both of us, last year’s forecast for 2018 was spot-on. We wanted to finish up the Science Novels, outline the middle Music Novel, and begin talking about the Ghost Novels, and that’s pretty much what we did. The one place we missed the mark was in predicting (or hoping) that the first Science Novel would be released in 2018. It wasn’t. But we have the best excuse! 2018 was the year we got an agent! And that put our self-publishing plans on hold while we talk to him and figure out what makes sense in this new landscape.

Here’s how we spent 2018 on the blog:

January and February were devoted to writing Grandson of Science Novel, whining about missing self-imposed deadlines and target word counts, a brief break to clean our desks, and an update to our chain story’s cast of characters.

In March we mused about whether a protagonist should learn of ALL of the villains evil doings (“No.”) And we had the joy of setting up new computers.

April brought several rounds of critique group advice, and we finally reached the end of the first draft of Grandson of Science Novel. Break out the champagne!

But don’t drink too much, because we still had some work to do before the Science Novels could all be considered Done Enough. We spent May plugging holes and strengthening descriptions. Oh, and we got a puppy.

On June 1 we declared ourselves done for realsies, and hit the ground running on that Music Novel outline.

July and August were devoted to brainstorming, outlining, and research for Sibling of Music Novel.

In September we pulled back from Music Novels and dove straight into the Science Novels again, reading through all three of them in preparation for edits and cover design.

The Science Novels remained our focus in October as we worked to get them ready for our beta readers. Plus we passed a major milestone: 1000 blog posts!

When the Science and Music Novels are done, our next project is going to involve ghosts. We spent November taking various road trips and using the time on the road to lay the groundwork for this whole new story universe. Plus we tossed some old audio equipment outside during a blizzard and took pictures of it. As you do.

Which brings us up to the present. December. We GOT AN AGENT! And since he’s going to be selling the first Music Novel for us, we really need to turn our attention back to that series and get the middle book done. We were a bit rusty when we sat down to our brainstorming, but with a little bit of WD-40 and a couple of jumper cables we’re now purring along like a vintage muscle car.

We hope your 2018 went well, and your 2019 goes even better. Happy New Year!