I Expected A Reappearance

  • by Kentare you referring to the caps lock button?
  • used his fingertips
  • with a straight face
  • married 11 times to 9 different men
  • didn’t know as much about anatomy as he believed he did

Tune in next time part 294      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I expected a reappearance of the bizarre creature who’d croaked at us about the ritual, but what arose from the mud pool this time was even stranger. It was like a Mesoamerican snake deity, and the metallic purple plumage crowning its enormous head came up clean, as if the thick muck it came from didn’t even exist.

“You called tech support?” it inquired of Tessa.

“Yeah, and I’ve been waiting forever for someone to get back to me. There’s a problem with my control interface.”

“Are you referring to the caps lock button?”

“No I’m not talking about the fucking caps lock. Look at these doofuses. I’ve been trying for weeks to get this debugged but it just keeps getting weirder.”

The serpentine technician revealed himself to possess arms, and hands with uncannily flexible digits. He used his fingertips to trace circles in the air, like he was drawing glasses and mustaches on me and Jason. He couldn’t do it with a straight face, and his fangs glinted in the dim light.

He turned back to Tessa. “Look, I’m going to need to escalate this to a level three tech. And my supervisor is unreachable at the moment, but she’s been married 11 times to 9 different men and two incarnations of lustful malice, so there’s no telling when she might come to the office to approve this. So you might be on your own here. Might be easier to just credit your account.” With a glance my way he added, “That one will probably come up with what you want, eventually. Assuming its tail is prehensile.”

And, thus proving he didn’t know as much about anatomy as he believed he did, the creature vanished beneath the mud.

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Tessa Seemed Not At All Bothered

  • by jentaking a drive after the prom
  • some submarine convulsion
  • doing some kind of grinding
  • I’ll give any kind of deposition you want
  • Is the lady to my right madly in love with me?

Tune in next time part 293      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa seemed not at all bothered by either the mudman’s appearance or his disappearance. She leaned back and lazily kicked her foot in the puddle as if it were a sun-dappled pond. With a smile she said, “I know what each of you is thinking. Is the lady to my right madly in love with me? Or is she in love with my brother? And the answer to your questions is Yes.”

The problem was that Tessa was to our left. While I tried to work out what her message really meant, Jason plunged ahead with the most awkward flirting imaginable. “Let’s play courtroom. You be the sexy DA, Tessa, and I’ll give you any kind of deposition you want.” He finished his speech by doing some kind of grinding, strutting dance that I recognized from his wedding rap routine.

Before Tessa could respond, some submarine convulsion caused a thick roil of bubbles in the mud pit. Her smile dropped and her face took on a serious expression, completely unlike that of a horny teen taking a drive after the prom.

“Finally,” she said.

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Since We’re Too Lazy to Invent a Time Machine

It had been literally years since we bought anything from eBay, but we broke our streak this week. The world building for Sibling of Music Novel necessitates a lot of oddly specific research and we had to gather materials. The internet makes most research really easy, or at least possible with some digging, and we’ve been taking full advantage. But eventually you run out of ways to rephrase your search query, you know?

Countless youtube videos have been watched, web sites perused, images searched. Both of us can picture the sort of site that would answer all of our questions. Unfortunately that site doesn’t seem to exist. We’re forced to piece our knowledge together from myriad sources and hope that there will be few readers who will know what we get wrong.

But we don’t like to get things wrong, which is why we’ve turned our eye to eBay. You see, we’ve been to Manhattan, but we haven’t been to Manhattan in the 1940s, and that’s what we need information about. Not that the novel will be set in the 40s. Nor will it involve time travel. It’s just that we need a whole lot of detail about that specific time in that specific place. For reasons. So we bought a few vintage guide books and maps to get us started, and we’re planning to watch some movies filmed in the proper era and try to pay attention to the background details more than the plot.

Other areas of research so far: luxury resort hotels (if only we could justify a “research trip”), the floor plan of the Empire State Building, noble gasses, rooftop cisterns, and the earliest days of television.

On the upside, very few of our searches this time are likely to get us added to any watch lists. So there’s that.

To My Great Disappointment

  • by Kentand he slid back into the mud
  • arms were too long for his body
  • placed a hidden tracking device inside
  • strips of packing tape
  • hundreds of dead snakes

Tune in next time part 292      Click Here for Earlier Installments

To my great disappointment, Tessa nodded and said with a shrug, “Might as well. Where’s a good place to do that type of thing?”

“The old temple,” Jason said. He grinned, then lisped, “It’s close by, and its atmosphere is super sexy.”

He led us to a creepy hut among stone ruins. Seeing what my twin thought of as erotic ambience only heightened my long-standing worry for his mental stability. I almost tried to pull Tessa away, but I didn’t know of anywhere else we could go, anyway. The closer we got, the more the sinister little thatched building made my skin crawl. Until we were an arm’s length away, when I realized that what I’d taken for hundreds of dead snakes draped over the conical roof were in fact just strips of packing tape.

Tessa disappeared into the hut’s murky interior, and Jason and I bounced off each other trying to fit through the doorway.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go in there,” I told him.

“I bet that’s what your wife would say to you.”

“Fleur knows how the world works, especially our world. She even knows how I placed a hidden tracking device inside a duchess once. This won’t bother her a bit.”

“Get in here,” Tessa called. “Both of you.”

Jason went in first, and I bumped into him before my eyes adjusted. Tessa was sitting on the edge of a round pool of mud, dangling her feet in it. From the center of the pool rose a strange figure, like an accountant whose arms were too long for his body. He turned his bulging eyes to my twin and me, and croaked, “Only one can complete the ritual.” His eyes closed, and he slid back into the mud.

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Soon the Hammock Held Four Fire Eaters Sitting Side By Side

  • by jen“It’s stuck on something.”
  • hiding in the foliage
  • and rubbed it
  • you know I look like a woman
  • much of it will be excruciating

Tune in next time part 291      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Soon the hammock held four fire eaters sitting side by side, all young women dressed in skintight mylar. “Push us!” they cried in unison, heat shimmers accompanying their words.

The burly male fire eater behind them struggled to get them moving. “It’s stuck on something.”

I could tell that the real problem was that the four of them together weighed too much for the Mizzenpriestess’s flimsy hammock. It had stretched until their bottoms touched the ground.

The rest of the fire eater clan seemed shier. They hung back around the edges of the village, hiding in the foliage, although their mylar suits made hiding quite difficult.

Something didn’t seem right about all this foliage. I could have sworn it was much closer to the solar panel huts than when we arrived. I took Tessa’s hand and rubbed it, imparting a message to her through my thumb motions. “We are surrounded by ninjas camouflaged as jungle plants.”

The Mizzenpriestess reached the end of her dance and turned to the fire eaters in her hammock. “You know I look like a woman, a harmless old woman” she said in an affronted tone, “but I’m much more than that. I am the Mizzenpriestess of this village!”

The fire eaters looked unimpressed and continued to try to make the hammock move.

Jason grabbed Tessa and me each by the hand and started to rub out his own message. Somehow even his thumbs lisped. “Shit is about to go down, and much of it will be excruciatingly tedious negotiations for the proposed Fire Eater-TechnoPagan alliance.” He waggled his greasepaint-smeared eyebrows at Tessa. “Why don’t we conclude our ritual?”

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Critique Group Advice — Part 3

Sharing your work with readers is the ultimate goal for most writers, and one of the best ways to improve your writing is to share it with fellow writers through a critique group. We’ve been in a group for a very long time, so now we’re sharing our experiences with you in order to help you get the most out of your own group.

First things first: join a critique group. We feel that an in-person format is the best way to go. Check out the scene in your local library or indie bookstore. There might be established groups looking for members, or you might be able to start your own. You could also do a search for “online critique group” and learn about other options if the local scene isn’t panning out.

Now, a word of caution when processing the input that your critiquers provide: don’t try to please everybody. Gathering input is the whole purpose of going to the meetings, but that doesn’t mean all the input is valid. You’ll probably need to develop some filters to separate the signal from the noise.

One thing Kent and Jen always do is take their own notes during the meeting. This can be jotting down specific comments from the critiquers, but also often includes little signposts for later to help us remember how we felt about these ideas in the moment. There’s a huge difference between “punch up descriptions” and “do we really need to punch up descriptions?”

By the way, this is another area where working as a team gives us an unfair advantage. There are twice as many ears to take in the commentary, and we have each other to check in with when deciding which notes really require action.

You might be wondering why it’s so important to be in a group if you can’t take their feedback at face value anyway. One of the first things you want to do is check for patterns. Did more than one person have the same concern? That’s a sign that you do need to look into it. Just be alert for people chiming in who only “had the same problem” after someone else brought it up.

And as you get to know the other members it will become easier to filter, and hear between the lines. It’s not a binary thing, where each comment is either an obligation or something to disregard. Ask yourself, “why would Jack tell me to repeat this description?” If the details in question were mentioned in the previous block of pages that you sent through the group, and you feel it would be too repetitive, then trust your gut. People often have trouble recalling all the particulars from earlier sections, something that’s far less of a factor for real-world readers who will have the whole book all at once. But if Jack has a really sharp memory and he was also talking about deepening the mood, maybe his real point was that repeating a particular image resonates with the main character’s dilemma. Or something.

It’s your book. If you give the comments honest consideration, but you disagree that the changes are advisable, then don’t make changes. However, don’t argue about it in group. Smile and say, “sure, thanks,” or “I see, okay.” Then think it over later and decide for yourself.

A critique group is a vital way for you to grow as a writer.

“If You Really Are Married”

  • by Kentwhere is your finger?
  • questioning under sodium amytal
  • Now dance for me
  • it was a satisfying moment
  • flung themselves savagely upon it

Tune in next time part 290      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“If you really are married,” the old woman asked, “then where is your finger? Show me the ring.”

I didn’t wear a ring, but just when it looked like I’d have to endure questioning under sodium amytal to explain why not, Tessa spoke up.

“The fertility rite has been completed satisfactorily.” She glanced at me. “Numerous times.” She rounded on Jason. “And we have more important matters to deal with, such as open war between the mimes and the fire eaters, right here on this island. So,” she concluded in a booming voice, turning back to the old woman, “show me your ring! Prove that you are the Mizzenpreistess.” The crone held forth her right hand for inspection, and Tessa nodded at the brass-and-torquoise scorpion clinging to her middle finger. “Very good. Now dance for me!”

It could just be that I so seldom get to see nude female clowns ordering anybody around, but it was a satisfying moment indeed when the Mizzenpreistess did the funky chicken at Tessa’s command.

The sound of dozens of people crashing through the jungle set my heart racing, but neither Tessa nor Jason seemed alarmed by the onrushing fire eaters. She put a hand on my arm to steady me as they erupted into the village. They converged on the hammock where the old woman had been sitting, and flung themselves savagely upon it. The first few flipped it right over, but they soon got the hang of it.

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The Leader of the Mimes

  • by jenDying men rarely scream.
  • with a perverted mind
  • kissed hers with exceptional vivacity
  • their treatment is baloney
  • “Married,” repeated the old lady.

Tune in next time part 289                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The leader of the mimes straightened his imaginary mortarboard. He pushed his imaginary glasses up on his nose and unfurled a scroll that was nothing but a figment, readying himself to deliver the verdict. For several moments he stood in deep concentration, making notes and doing some sort of complicated math to tally our scores. Just as he readied his pointing finger to indicate whether Jason or I was the winner, he let loose a horrific strangled shriek and toppled to the ground. A flaming arrow protruded from his back. Dying men rarely scream. Dying mimes, on the other hand, make the most godawful racket, like every sound they’d kept bottled up throughout their careers all tried to escape at once.

“It’s the fire eaters!” Tessa cried.

You can say I’m a man with a perverted mind, but seeing Tessa in nothing but clown makeup was really doing it for me, even with the Guild of Fire Eaters on the attack. I sprang  between Tessa and Jason, pinched Jason’s lips shut with my fingers, and kissed hers with exceptional vivacity. They were slimy with greasepaint, but it was kind of sexy.

Jason’s lips slipped out of my grip. “Hey! Stop it!” he lisped. “This is my ceremony!”

Flaming arrows rained down around us. I tried to tell Jason to buzz off, but Tessa wouldn’t let me break our kiss until three more mimes were hit and their greasepaint ignited. Their comrades charged, wrapping them in invisible blankets to smother the flames. One of them pulled out a tube of burn cream.

“Oh ugh,” Tessa said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get out of here. Their treatment is baloney-scented. It’s really gross.”

I trusted Tessa’s knowledge of all things mime. She’d been their captive for months, years ago.

I allowed her to pull me into the dense jungle, with Jason on our heels. The fire eaters’ ire seemed concentrated on the mimes and they didn’t follow us. Soon we tumbled out of the dense foliage and into a small village of houses made from solar panels.

An old woman was reclining in a hammock, strumming a guitar. As soon as he saw her, Jason began to complain. “Can you believe this? I’m supposed to be having a fertility ritual with Tessa right now, but she can’t stop kissing my brother. And he’s married!”

“Married,” repeated the old lady. “How bourgeois!”

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Pop That Champagne!

Hallelujah, it’s raining completed manuscripts. We beat our deadline for getting both Science Sequels done by the end of May! With a day to spare, and only a tiny bit of fudging. Kent even had time to mow the lawn. (Hey, we all celebrate in our own ways.)

Seriously, though. There was celebrating, for real. Instead of champagne, we had milkshakes spiked with vodka. Far more appropriate, as our beta readers know. The rest of you will need to wait a bit to find out why.

We’re both very happy with how these first drafts have come together. Jen is even able to admit that the word counts are acceptable. Now it’s time to let them rest for a while and apply ourselves to a different project. It’s vital to get ourselves prepped to see things clearly when we return to do revisions, and working on an unrelated story is something we’ve found to be unbeatable for flushing the residue out of the ol’ mental RAM circuits.

Having a writing partner sometimes turns “we did it!” into date-night. Which is sorta nice.

“Oh I Might Have Guessed”

  • by Kentdrank from watermelon cups
  • got worse, but not loquacious
  • , unless you’re talking about economics,
  • (regular showers for example)
  • inclined his head towards his leader

Tune in next time part 288                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Oh, I might have guessed you were messed up in this!” Tesla hissed.

Tessa laughed. Being directly between them, I wasn’t seeing anything funny about the situation. Tesla advanced with murder in her eyes, and my only thoughts were to protect Tessa. But she just laughed again. Tesla reached my position and I barred her way, but she just didn’t stop walking and I was pushed backwards helplessly. Her strength was inhuman, yet the target of her wrath kept giggling.

Mimes staggered in random directions in the leaping firelight, arms flung out, all of them having forgotten to take off their imaginary blindfolds. It looked like we had desecrated a secret mime burial ground and triggered its ancient protective curse.

“Tessa, run!” I grunted.

Instead, she cleared her throat and chanted, “The penguins wished for bamboo tusks until they drank from watermelon cups.”

Tesla stopped and stood as if at attention.

“Meet the Teslabot,” Tessa said. “She built the Tessabot.”

“You mean Tesla built the bots?”

“No. The Teslabot built the Tessabot. I don’t know who built the Teslabot. I just know some of its verbal commands.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now that the sisters are under control, maybe the brothers should figure out their deal. Jupiter and Jove would be shocked to know you’re here, Jason.”

“I bet they’re disappointed they didn’t get to sacrifice you,” he lisped back at me. “Come to think of it, this whole ritual is pointless if you’re still alive. But the scrying scrolls are quite clear about what must happen now. A rap battle. The final rap battle.”

“Ah shit, Jason. Don’t say it.”

“Rap-narok!”

“He’s right,” Tessa said unhelpfully.

Jason launched his attack, the zombified mimes laying down his beats with their plodding footsteps.

“Makin’ friends all around because I’m always vivacious,
while your solitude got worse, but not loquacious,
with no one to talk to and nobody for a chat,
you’re a hopeless case with a ridiculous hat.”

I countered instinctively, and although my voice was strong, terror gripped me at what might happen if those scrolls somehow proved accurate.

“My hat is nonexistent, just a rumor you started
and as I’m sure you know this rhyme is only half-hearted.
There’s no way you’ll win, not with all your hand-me-down tricks,
I already lost interest, unless you’re talking about economics,
Your list of defects goes on and on and your delusions are ample.
It’s stuff most people find easy (regular showers for example).”

We slung such cumbersome insults back and forth for an hour, our couplets gaining syllables with every exchange. I couldn’t stop. The words used me as their gateway into the world, and I was exhausted from the strain. Jason and I both panted, awaiting some indication of the verdict. The mimes abruptly halted their rhythmic shambling. They all reached behind their heads to untie their blindfolds, and in perfect unison each mime inclined his head towards his leader.

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