Fleur Rang Her Little Bell Again

  • by jenhe sang as loud as he could
  • tolerably well off for a German professor
  • And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.
  • you do a victory dance
  • circuit breakers?

Tune in next time part 321      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur rang her little bell again, and the vice-chancellor of the exchequer joined us in the birthing chamber. I held the children and made faces to amuse them while he, Fleur, and the old incense woman consulted many hefty tomes and divined their official titles. When all was in order, the Royal Contrarian Radio Service members were brought in. The vice-chancellor took the microphone and sang-announced the royal births to the world in ritualistic Contrarian fashion. Contrarian microphones are notoriously terrible, so he sang as loud as he could. My son’s title clocked in at three minutes on the dot, while all the feminine suffixes of my daughter’s added an additional eighteen seconds, and took up the entirety of the allowed time.

With that bit of official nonsense out of the way, I thought I might finally enjoy some time alone with my little family. I was wrong. Fleur’s beautiful sister Isolde raced into the room, afire with manic glee. Now that the babies had arrived, she was permitted to marry Harry, a toadlike Contrarian noble. I had no idea what she saw in him. As I already mentioned, Harry was ugly, and while he might be considered tolerably well off for a German professor, as royalty went he was the bottom of the barrel.

“I’ve been waiting so long to marry my sweet prince!” Isolde sighed. “We can wait no longer. The wedding will be in half an hour!”

“Harry is not a prince,” Fleur corrected. “He’s a junior-baronet, but since you love him so, I grant permission for you to wed upon my ship.”

Isolde squealed. “You are the best sister!”

“Where is Harry?” Fleur asked. “I must perform the anointing ritual.”

“He went ashore,” Isolde said. “He’s feeling seasick. And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.” She winked at her sister. “If you know what I mean.”

“So it’s to be a proxy wedding?” Fleur asked, sounding bored. “You have the ceremony with a stand-in groom, you do a victory dance together as per tradition, and then you take him to your bedchamber and see if you can blow out all the circuit breakers?”

“Precisely.”

Fleur said, “My husband seems to be already dressed for the occasion, more or less.”

“Wait,” I said, clasping my infant children to my chest. “What?” I had always found Fleur’s sister attractive, and it seemed I might suddenly be given permission to bed her.

“Thank you!” Isolde cried, hugging her sister. “I can’t wait to be married to my darling Harry!”

The old incense woman took the babies, and Fleur splashed a bit of ceremonial wine on my temples, inner wrists, and genitals. “For the next 24 hours you are Junior-Baronet Harry,” she pronounced. “Go and wed my sister, Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Isolde cried, taking my hand. “I’m so happy!”

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Good Things Come In Threes

Cover designs for trilogies, for instance.

As much as with the interior content of the books, we feel it’s important that the covers work both individually and as a set. Our goal is that you know they belong together even before you open one up. Of course, we also want them to be gorgeous and pique your interest.

A book’s cover has a big job. Not that anyone we know would ever go against the venerable clichéd wisdom and dare to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon. It’s a lot like what they say about a meal: you taste it first with your eyes. So, the cover has to convey a sense of quality and professionalism, signal the genre and the tone, and also usually depict some aspect of the subject matter. Bottom line is, you want to let your target readers know that this is a book that they’ll be interested in.

And as of this week, the Science Trilogy now has prototype covers! They’re not completely polished yet, and we’re following our practice of laying something aside for a bit so we can take a fresh look and spot ways to strengthen it later, but we’re really excited about how they’re shaping up. On top of all the criteria already listed, this trio actually tells a story of its own, which resonates with the novels themselves. (Can you tell we’re proud of the design?)

It’ll be time for a reveal before we know it. So, watch this space!

You Needn’t Fuss

  • by KentThe Mayor is a drama queen.
  • Permit me, Sir, to shake it.
  • began rubbing his companion’s face violently
  • very much a nickname person
  • each one must be no more than three minutes eighteen seconds

Tune in next time part 320      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You needn’t fuss over such details, and anyway with your slate of siblings you shouldn’t be lecturing anybody else about naming children.”

“Do you think I named them?” I laughed. “Mother took the names from the door of an old gym locker that she found in City Hall back where she and Father got married. It had been a keepsake of the Mayor’s, and he’s still furious that she stole it. The Mayor is a drama queen. He stole it from the gym in the first place.”

“This is my skeptical head,” Fleur replied. “Permit me, Sir, to shake it. If you got the story from your parents, then I know it’s untrue.”

By now the newborns in my arms were stirring, the boy even managing to free one tiny arm from the sailcloth swaddling. I hugged them to me, bringing them closer to each other as well, and my infant son began rubbing his companion’s face violently. It made her cry, so I shifted them apart again, admonishing, “Hey now, Bruiser, behave yourself.”

“Please refrain from addressing the Duke in that manner,” Fleur huffed.

“Aw, L’il Stinkpot likes it, doncha? I was worried about you not having a name, but I’ve just realized, Lumpy, that your are very much a nickname person. You shall have the most and best nicknames in all the land!” I nuzzled my daughter’s cheek. “Except for you, of course, dearest Dimple-Dumpling.”

“That’s Duchess Dimple-Dumpling, if you please.” Fleur snapped her fingers and the incense lady scurried to her side. “Remind me again about the full titles of the Duke and Duchess. This is a precessional year with a caul over the ninth moon, so that means we add a quatrain, I think?”

“It is just as you say, your highness. But because you have a sister, all the intermediary holdings are denoted in birdsong. There is actually a lot more leeway about these titles than you might expect, except that, when sung by the vice-chancellor of the exchequer, each one must be no more than three minutes eighteen seconds.”

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I Was Not Alone With My Wife For Long

  • by jentongue was similarly decorated
  • just an hour and a half later
  • lifelong search for love and affection
  • wrapped in many layers of oiled sailcloth
  • The result is awesomeness.

Tune in next time part 319      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was not alone with my wife for long. As soon as the prickish viscount left the birthing chamber, with John on his heel, Fleur picked up a bell from her nightstand and rang it. Immediately, a stream of courtiers flooded in, each with their own ritualistic function. While an old woman waved incense around, and a trio of pubescent girls chanted something in Olde Contrarian, Fleur received a foot massage, and I was dressed in a morning suit, complete with boutonniere and cane.

The incense woman blindfolded the chanting girls, and then Fleur disrobed. The warlord’s personal calligrapher got to work with his needle, tattooing the ancient royal symbols in gold on her tongue. Next my tongue was similarly decorated, which I was assured was a great honor, but it was one I would have been just as happy to skip because holy hell it hurt.

And then, just an hour and a half later, the children were born, one right after the other. The first was a girl, which brought back all of my fears about being martyred as the prophecy foretold, but the second child was a boy which put my mind at ease. Until Fleur chuckled deviously and said she couldn’t wait to give them siblings.

I had never thought that I wanted children, but my lifelong search for love and affection came to a sudden halt when the midwife handed over the infants. They were wrapped in many layers of oiled sailcloth per Contrarian tradition.

“We have always done it that way,” Fleur said. She gestured to herself. “The result is awesomeness.”

“What are their names?” I asked.

Fleur laughed heartily. “Silly man! We won’t know that until the naming rituals are complete, which can’t happen until I’m halfway through my next pregnancy!”

“But then how does the youngest child in a family ever get named?”

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Now Bigger and Weirder Than Ever!

Our long-running chain story (and several hundred other kooky posts) wouldn’t be possible without our stichomancy prompt generator. It’s one of those things we were born to do together: Jen is a magpie for just the right kinds of confounding text snippets, and Kent has a knack for building fun webthings.

Just now we added over 2,000 new prompt phrases, bringing the list almost up to 16,000. So, adding up all the prompts on the Skelleyverse, we’ve only used about 10% of the generator’s potential phrases.

Give it a whirl! Use it for a warm-up before you do your “real” writing, or use it as an icebreaker at your meetings. (It works great in both of those modes, we can tell you from direct experience.) Feel free to share your results in the comments!

John’s Next Move

  • by Kentwhether in sheer panic or out of revenge
  • after days of cleaning
  • described as a washcloth
  • taught from infancy
  • I heard you had a greenhorn from Tuscaloosa last night

Tune in next time part 318      Click Here for Earlier Installments

John’s next move caused a lot of trouble, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his defeat in the pregnancy-test ritual nine months ago it hardly mattered. What mattered was that he yelled a Contrarian obscenity and made a grab for the scimitar poking into my back. Its tip sliced through my skin despite the thick, protective hair covering my torso.

I let out my own yell and whirled away. I don’t like fighting opponents who have scimitars at all, but especially not when I’m naked. John seemed to be enjoying it. With his hands clamped over the back of the blade, he whirled after me, dodging a thrust from the soldier guarding him and wrenching the other’s weapon away.

“Stop this at once!” Fleur exclaimed. We all froze. “This is meant to be a celebratory occasion, and after days of cleaning the entire vessel with what can only be described as a washcloth, the viscount finally has everything in readiness. Or, he did. Now you’re bleeding on the deck, and your airplane is dirty!”

“I would love to stop bleeding on your lovely ship,” I said, pressing my hand over the small cut on my back.

“And the airplane’s not ours,” John added unhelpfully.

“We stole it,” I blurted before he could mention the missing pilot. “I was taught from infancy that it’s wrong to steal, except for biplanes. Everyone knows those things are free for the taking.”

Viscount Arlo sneered, his hairless head glistening in the moonlight. “Fleur, my flower, let’s toss them to the sharks and carry on.” What a dickish thing to say, with me — her husband — standing right there. “You were about to deliver without him, anyway.”

“No, I was not. His arrival was fated.” She blew out a controlled breath. “This pointless conversation has taken up three minutes. And if I am not comfortably arranged in the birthing chamber before my next contraction, viscount, I will have someone thrown overboard.” She glared at him. He deflated, bending low to trail behind her, his bowed head dangling limply from his shoulders.

The birthing chamber was a long room with a huge four-poster bed at the far end. At first glance every surface appeared to be draped in sumptuous fabrics, but it was all actually a trompe-l’oiel tile mosaic. Fleur climbed onto the bed, saying, “Leave us, viscount. This is a family ceremony.”

Arlo shriveled even lower. “But, darling, the loneliness will be unbearable.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” she replied. “You don’t think I know about your dalliances? Those ‘southern massages’ you’re so fond of? I am kept well informed of all this. I heard you had a greenhorn from Tuscaloosa last night. Go see if she will keep you company while I fulfill the prophecy.”

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I Clapped My Hand Over John’s Mouth

  • by jenI’ll keep you company
  • how many bottles of unguent and liquor
  • made little use of his arms in speaking
  • letting it pour through her fingers
  • washed it in a nearby puddle

Tune in next time part 317      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I clapped my hand over John’s mouth to silence him. When I looked over my shoulder, Xylona was already out of the plane and darting away toward a hiding place.

“I’ll keep you company,” I thought. I kept one hand clamped over John’s mouth while I used the other to reach between us and unbuckle my seatbelt. John’s oily thighs provided enough lubrication that once I was free, I backflipped out of the front cockpit and into the rear one my aunt had so recently deserted, then over the side to land on the flight deck on my bare feet. Above me, John continued to sleep-warble about Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines. I sprinted after Xylona.

“Seize him!” a phlegmy voice cried, and I was quickly surrounded by bulky men in Contrarian Royal Navy uniforms, brandishing scimitars. As they herded me around to the front of the plane, John’s singing finally stopped. I saw another cadre of guards prizing him out of the cockpit while he looked around groggily. The rain picked up, making me shiver.

Soon John and I stood side by side, scimitar points in our backs. In front of us stood Viscount Arlo, and my heavily pregnant wife Fleur. They both wore resplendent Contrarian ceremonial pajamas, and they were shielded from the rain by an enormous red and gold umbrella held aloft by three servants.

“Oh,” Fleur sighed when she saw me. “It’s you.” She batted her eyelashes at the viscount. “Help me remember, Arlo daring, how many bottles of unguent and liquor you and I have enjoyed in bed together these past few months. I’m sure my husband will want a full accounting.”

Like most Svenborgians, Viscount Arlo generally made little use of is arms in speaking. He stood stiff and rigid, his single eye taking me in at a glance. He sniffed. “More unguent than liquor, due to your delicate condition. It was quite the opposite when I was involved with ZsaZsa.”

That guy is such a dick. Why else would he make such a point of his affair with my mother?

Fleur reached into the pocket of Arlo’s pajamas and withdrew a flask. She spun the cap off and sniffed the liquid inside before tipping the bottle and letting it pour through her fingers and puddle in her palm. She stepped forward, causing her entire retinue to lurch after her to keep her covered by the umbrella. She stood in front of me and said lazily, “According to Contrarian tradition, I am to anoint you with ceremonial wine upon your return. This will have to do.” She slapped me once on each cheek.

While I blinked the fumes out of my eyes, she licked a few drops of the sickly sweet alcohol off her hand and then washed it in a nearby puddle.

“My contractions are three minutes apart,” she said. “Let us adjourn to the birthing chamber to begin the ceremony.”

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Cover Me!

If all goes according to plan, we will have another novel in the hands of our adoring public by the end of this year. Science Novel is the working title for this, the first book in the working titled Science Trilogy. Both do have actual names, and we’ll be excited to reveal them soon. Watch this space!

In preparation for upcoming edits, we recently spent a few evenings (and one rainy weekend) reading through the manuscript in its current form. Diving deep into this story world inspired Kent. He cracked his knuckles flamboyantly, like Bugs Bunny at the piano, and fired up his various Adobe art programs. After the requisite swearing and incredulous frustration about where they could have possibly hidden the good tools this time, he’s spent many an hour working up mock covers.

There are several different directions we’ve discussed for the cover art and it’s finally time to narrow it down and make a decision. The problem is that we like so many of them and we can only have one. Well, since it’s a trilogy we can actually have three, but they all have to coordinate and cohere, so we have to pick a single direction.

We think we’ve done that. It’s up to Kent to whip up a trio of “proof of concept” covers. At that point we’ll either get all swoony, which means we’re on the right track, or we’ll both go “hmm” which means we need to start over.

And if we don’t agree? One word: thumb-wrestling.

Contrarian Literature About the Future

  • by Kentknown as ironic repetition
  • I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed
  • eluded surveillance
  • huge and hideous
  • as he frequently did

Tune in next time part 316      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Contrarian literature about the future utilizes a stylistic device known as ironic repetition, making the books tedious to read but easy to memorize. So I recalled enough details to see myself clearly depicted in the story as a tragic hero. I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed even though I was certain the prophecy was a sham. Fleur and her family believed it, and that fact made it pertinent to my survival, which made it self-fulfilling.

Xylona skimmed the waves well below the height of the landing deck, racing toward the stern of the ship. Then she killed the engine. I held my questions, hoping she knew what she was up to. Wondering what good it would do us if we eluded surveillance only to create a huge and hideous grease stain on the hull.

My aunt’s piloting skills impressed me. We slowed abruptly, and just when I was sure we would drop into the churning wake behind the aircraft carrier, she hauled our nose up and we climbed just enough to clear the deck and settle to a silent stop in a pool of shadow.

Leaning forward, Xylona whispered, “No noise, now. We can’t alert the crew to our arrival.”

John started singing in his sleep, as he frequently did. “They go uppity up-up, they go down, ditty down-down!”

Floodlights on the bridge snapped on, illuminating the landing deck.

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“Shut Up and Let Me Fly the Plane”

  • by jenand waited.
  • every single one’s got a story to tell
  • trying to enjoy sex together
  • textured, oily surface
  • getting a little bit slick

Tune in next time part 315      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Shut up and let me fly the plane,” Xylona said.

And so I did. I shut up and waited. Soon John fell asleep, leaning back against my chest, so while I waited I let my hands roam about the cockpit, identifying all of the controls by touch. I wanted to be ready to wrest control of the aircraft from my aunt if it seemed like she was going to betray me. I have so many enemies, and every single one’s got a story to tell, I’m sure, about why they have it in for me.

I wished there was one person I could trust. Just one person who I didn’t have to worry about plotting to kill me while trying to enjoy sex together.

Of course I didn’t want that person to be my aunt. I’d just be happy if my aunt wasn’t actively trying to kill me while I was trapped in a biplane she was piloting. I sighed.

My exploring right hand encountered a textured, oily surface that I could not identify. After a moment of prodding I identified it as John’s bare thigh and moved on.

“We’ll be landing momentarily.” Xylona’s voice crackled through the headset. “The landing strip is getting a little bit slick from all the rain, so buckle up.”

I looked down over the side and saw no land anywhere, just a speck on the water that rapidly grew as we swooped closer. It was an aircraft carrier. A black and gold aircraft carrier with a majestic zeppelin tethered to the prow.

This was Fleur’s personal craft. I counted backwards on my fingers and realized she would be due to give birth to our twins any day now.

I gulped, remembering the prophecy.

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