Tagged: ghost

We’ll Stop Procrastinating Someday

As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #1’s first draft is nearly in the can. Or maybe it’s technically the second draft — we’re filling in the holes and smoothing out the inconsistencies, making it presentable for test readers. Very soon we’ll have to set it aside and start working on Book 2 in the series.

Jen wrapped up the lengthy prose outline for Book 2, a process made more complicated than it should have been through procrastination. During our year-long planning of the whole series, we took a ton of notes. We just didn’t organize them very well. Why should we? We planned to jump right in and write the synopses for all four books while the whole thing was fresh in our minds, but then we didn’t. Neither of us can exactly remember why. The upshot is that Jen had to do a lot of digging, and we had to have a lot of conversations where we tried to jog each other’s memories about story details we couldn’t quite remember but didn’t want to lose.

To prevent that from happening again when it’s time for Book 3, we decided to be smart this time and get the whole rest of the series organized and summarized and synopsized before we start writing any of Book 2. Jen’s been working on that while Kent day-jobs, presenting him with a page or two to review after he clocks out. It’s been quite interesting to review these later events now that we’ve gotten to know some of the characters. We’ve written a whole book about them, really gotten inside their skin. Now that they’re fleshed out (or maybe not “fleshed” out, since it’s a ghost story), it makes their actions that much more real, their story arcs that much more fulfilling.

In some cases, though, it makes our planned story beats feel like missteps. Our characters are like real people now, and we’ve noticed a few things that feel, well, out of character. So far they’re fairly minor details, nothing that will break the story. We’ve talked through them and found solutions. But uncovering these hiccups uncovers another reason for us to follow through and get the whole series thoroughly written up — we need to have a firm grip on the whole thing so that we don’t unknowingly steer ourselves into an untenable position.

A writing partner is someone who’ll tame the jungle of your old notes to make a garden of well-laid plans.

Zeus Pamplemousse Clamped his Meaty Hands

  • by jenknown as the paranormal badboys
  • with the light of the moon and the stars
  • at least five members
  • also known as a “blurb”
  • Neptune and I

Tune in next time part 763      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Zeus Pamplemousse clamped his meaty hands over Tessa’s delicate ears and said, “You and your twin are, in certain circles, known as the paranormal badboys of your family.”

This was news to me, but I nodded. I would play along to get him to release my beloved.

“It is very eerie at my Moon Palace,” the mad Moon King continued. “With the light of the moon and stars as the only illumination, the mind plays tricks.”

I bit my tongue to hold back my questions about how much moonlight was actually visible on the surface of the moon.

“Or are they tricks?” His bloodshot eyes were wide and intense. “I and at least five members of my retinue have seen a blurry banshee (also known as a “blurb” amongst the youths), creeping through the corridors. My brother Neptune and I have both heard the blurb hissing, much like you did moments ago. Tell me, oh paranormal badboy, are you a blurry banshee, or merely in league with them?”

All I could think was, “Banshees don’t hiss, dumbass.” But I couldn’t say that to Zeus Pamplemousse, not when he held Tessa’s beautiful head in his mighty grip.

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We Soon Arrived at Hildegard’s Father’s Home

  • by jenI feel like a ghost
  • preparing and circulating false documents
  • Flip out about this, won’t you?
  • phantom limb pain
  • I’m starting to FREAK out

Tune in next time part 623      Click Here for Earlier Installments

We soon arrived at Hildegard’s father’s home, a low-slung stone building that sprawled across several acres. “I feel like a ghost,” I said. “No matter what I say, you both ignore me.” They continued to ignore me as they bustled about, preparing and circulating false documents to arrange the proxy wedding.

Outside the snow was falling thickly again, making escape an unappealing option. I tried to contact Fleur telepathically in hopes she would deny their bizarre request. “I’m your husband,” I thought at her across the miles. “Flip out about this, won’t you?”

But Fleur did not flip out. Permission was granted, with the ceremony scheduled for that very evening. While Hildegard busied herself with last-minute arrangements, she locked me in the guest wing, a series of small, interconnected rooms with no windows and only one entrance. I walked around the whole space, rapping on the walls, searching for a way out. I felt even more like a ghost, haunting this wretched house, and I did so much rapping that I gave myself phantom limb pain in my knuckles.

A few hours later, Hildegard unlocked the door and handed me a garment bag. “Get dressed,” she ordered. “The ceremony is in five minutes and I’m starting to FREAK out! It’s going to be so awesome to be married to Dr Chartreuse Pamplemousse!” I was afraid to look at my outfit, as Hildegard’s gown seemed to consist entirely of long strands of red and silver tinsel that hung from a band around her neck and draped all the way to the floor, with arms and hips and nipples poking out here and there as she moved.

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Tessa Knew How to Operate a Motorcycle

  • by jen— mind the lobsters —
  • socks that my dad fixed
  • look into your eyes again
  • evidence-schmevidence
  • psychedelic detective story

Tune in next time part 581    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa knew how to operate a motorcycle. It was everything else about driving that she seemed ignorant of. I found myself shouting directions from the sidecar like some kind of terrible backseat driver. “Yield to pedestrians — stay in your lane — mind the lobsters — use your turn signal!”

Suddenly the Viscount shimmered into view in the deep end of the tub. “Ah, good, you’re back,” he said. He raised his feet and held them in front of my face. “Do you like these socks that my dad fixed to the end of my pant legs? It’s to stop me from losing them. I’m afraid they might look silly. What do you think? Tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying when I look into your eyes again and see the evidence.”

“Evidence-schmevidence,” I said. “This isn’t some kind of psychedelic detective story.”

Tessa looked at me quizzically.

“Eyes on the road!” I yelled.

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Brackish Bay Being on a Remote Island

  • by jenanother elderly woman
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • more gullible than other persons
  • the man you’re about to meet
  • German power ballad

Tune in next time part 573    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brackish Bay being on a remote island, we were nowhere near Denver. We weren’t even anywhere near Denveristan, a Contrarian coastal village. There was no way I would accompany this specter halfway around the world for some unknown errand. Before I could explain that to him, he launched into a German power ballad. The lyrics were badly translated into Svenborgian, but Jeff had a decent voice.

Brandita took a sharp right off the paved road onto a steep goat track. I bounced around in the bathtub-sidecar like popcorn in the popper, collecting a good many bruises. Over Jeff’s warbling I heard Brandita speak.

“The man you’re about to meet is more gullible than other persons generally are, but not as gullible as we might wish he were. Let me do the talking.”

She swerved around a large gorse bush and braked to sudden stop. I peeled myself up off the bottom of the tub and clambered out in time to offer my hand to help Tessa dismount.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Jeff said. “The paperwork to expand my haunting grounds beyond this bathtub hasn’t been approved yet.” He recovered his shiny silk hat from the drain hole and fitted it atop his shiny bald head. “When you get back we’ll talk more about Denver.”

Brandita led the way through a patch of overgrown shrubbery to a gate guarded by an old woman with a metal peg leg and a nasty sneer. She nodded to Brandita and stepped aside. Further down the path we met another elderly woman, this one with scimitar where her right hand should be.

I wondered what was up with all the retired pirates, and stuck close to Brandita.

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The Guy in the Clawfoot Sidecar

  • by jenQueer, that.
  • I knew right then it was the same person
  • Jeff’s hairless coconut
  • bent at the elbow
  • fed them molasses

Tune in next time part 571    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The guy in the clawfoot sidecar looked quite solid, even though he claimed to be a ghost. Queer, that. He also looked quite familiar, especially his bald head. Brandita revved the throttle impatiently. Baldy gestured again to the deep end of the tub. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

His words made me think of wedding invitations, and of the ceremony I’d participated in a few hours earlier, and of the Viscount whom I had impersonated during that ceremony, and of a photo I had once seen of that Viscount and his missing brother, Viscount Jeff. I knew right then it was the same person in the photo and in the bathtub. This was the ghost of Arlo’s brother. But why on earth was he haunting this plumbing fixture?

I finally climbed into the tubcar and stared at the wound on the back of Viscount Jeff’s hairless coconut. Brandita gunned it and we tore down the driveway. As we sped through the night, I transferred my studious examination from Jeff’s head to his arms. Particularly the left one, which was bent at the elbow in entirely the wrong direction.

I tried to think like my favorite fictional investigator, Transylvania Homicide Detective Regis St Oink Oink, who, before questioning a suspect, always fed them molasses by the bottleful. I had no molasses, but if I questioned Jeff properly, I might be able to get Arlo arrested for murder. And then I’d never have to deal with that dick again.

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The Tessabot’s Data Included

  • by Kentthe good luck shoes
  • to address The Bathroom Issue
  • just two guys sitting in a tub
  • my temples throbbing with excitement
  • same process was repeated with the pillowcase

Tune in next time part 570    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Tessabot’s data included entries on the Delilah/Brandita situation, naturally. With a careless glance at the motorcyclist’s feet, she said, “I see she kept the good luck shoes, but it’s hard to imagine why.”

Brandita smiled, but it looked painful. “Let’s just say without them I would never have been able to address The Bathroom Issue.”

The lucky shoes were steel-toed workboots, and The Bathroom Issue was a suspected haunting. Brandita (for by then we had broken up) had addressed it with a complete renovation.

I looked again at the sidecar. It was a bathtub.

Brandita noticed my reaction. “Not just any bathtub, pal. The bathtub.”

“Hop in!” said the passenger, scooting up to the front of the vessel. Then he laughed. “She can’t see me. Neither can the sexy robot. But I knew right away that you and me would hit it off.” His smile dimmed. “Don’t let the spook thing bother you, man. We’re just two guys sitting in a tub. What could be more natural?”

Tessa slid onto the pillion seat behind Brandita. They were waiting for me, my feet leaden and my temples throbbing with excitement or a record-setting case of heebie-jeebies. Brandita carefully adjusted her goggles, and the same process was repeated with the pillowcase the wore tied over her hair, presumably in lieu of a helmet.

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Forecasting 2018 (In Which Jen Tries to Keep Her Expectations Realistic)

Dire warnings of Bomb Cyclones and blizzards have been echoing around the writing cave, and while we aren’t in the path of any of the really nasty stuff, we’ve been locked in a deep freeze since before Christmas and it’s showing no signs of lifting. Today’s high is supposed to be 7º!

Since the weather forecast blows (both literally and figuratively), let’s see if things look sunnier in the fiction mines.

Grandson of Science Novel is moseying along toward the finish line, and finishing it up is our first order of business. In her secret heart Jen is dying for a deadline, but she’s terrified of missing another one. For now we’re winging it without. She’ll probably declare a deadline when we’re close enough to the end to touch it, and claim that she’s had it in mind all along. And Kent will humor her.

Once Grandson is done, the whole Science Trilogy will be in the can. Our major goal for the year is to publish the first one. It’s been edited a couple of times already, but there are many steps before it will be ready for its debut, and those will eat up a lot more time than Jen expects them to.

While the Science Novels rest between edits, we will devote our time to outlining the novel we are currently calling Sibling of Music Novel. As you may recall, we have the Music Novel, and Son of, written in full, but now we’ve decided that Son is really the third book in the series and we need to plug that hole in the middle.

If, after polishing Science Novels and writing Music Novels, we have any extra time, we’ll get started on brainstorming our Ghost Series.

We currently have no release dates to announce, but when we do, you’ll be the first to know. Check this space for updates!

And Happy New Year to you!

I Had Thought Myself Alone

by jen

  • alone in a small boat upon the broad Atlantic
  • crouching in frozen fear
  • unfolding the flag of the United Kingdom
  • “You don’t have to eat it.”
  • to emerge from the Caribbean

I had thought myself alone in a small boat upon the broad Atlantic when I first heard the voice coming from belowdecks. Now I huddled in the stern, crouching in frozen fear as an apparition rose through the gangway, my numb fingers unfolding the flag of the United Kingdom in a vain attempt to hide myself.

“You don’t have to eat it.”

That was all it said, over and over, in its waterlogged whisper, the terrible sound burrowing into my brain.

“You don’t have to eat it,” it said again, waving a rotten lime in my terrified face. “But if you don’t, you’ll get scurvy!”

I screamed at this sudden new vocalization for that was the moment I knew I was being haunted by Captain Archibald Bloodygums, the ghastliest sea ghost ever to emerge from the Caribbean.

If I didn’t eat the wretched lime I would incur his wrath and my little yacht would surely sink, and me with it. If I did eat it, I would join his ghastly crew for all eternity.

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The Tough Thing About Communing With the Dead

  • k-avatar“Hasn’t been really wrung out, yet!”
  • he pantomimed
  • flailing arms sent
  • handle an ugly ghost
  • one stumbling organism
  • it was on Kent’s orders

The tough thing about communing with the dead is that they can’t make any sound and they’re just awful at charades.

“Hasn’t really been wrung out, yet!” he pantomimed, or something along those lines… His flailing arms sent swirling eddy currents through the aether. I can handle an ugly ghost, but this was just one stumbling organism trying to make a point.

Finally I grasped his message, something about how he died.

It was on Kent’s orders.

 

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