Defying all logic, our chain story is still going strong three years later. Any pretense of a coherent backstory is long-forgotten. We find it difficult to even adhere to a single genre. No matter! The whole point of these exercises is to keep the creative juices flowing, and to keep the fingers nimble. That’s especially useful for us in times like these, when we’re at the point in our novels’ lifecycles when we’re not actively writing any novels.
Kent sometimes thinks that he’d like to wrap the chain story up and get back to a freer time when the writing prompts didn’t even need to pretend to continue an ongoing story, but so far we haven’t figured out how to give something like this an ending. Or at least a satisfying ending.
And so we soldier on, into ever more ridiculous storylines.
As you may have gathered from previous Friday Collaboration posts, Jen and Kent are learning Russian. To celebrate today’s big chain story milestone, we’ve pulled some phrases from an old Russian/English phrasebook that’s been sitting around the Writing Cave for years. We picked it up at a used book sale forever ago, and it is beyond amazing. It’s a dinky little pocket-size thing from 1951, and such a bizarre snapshot of its time. Out of all the things you could possibly want to say while staying in the Soviet Union during the Cold War, these are, apparently, among the most important. We think they’ll make for a stilted and hilarious 300th entry in Tune In Next Time. In other words, they’ll blend right in.
As these things usually go, Jen will start off the writing – after she includes the first trigger phrase she’ll hand the keyboard over to Kent. He’ll write until he works the next phrase in, and we’ll go back and forth to the end. Just like how we write our novels!
- These pajamas are badly ironed.
- She dances very well.
- Three handkerchiefs are missing.
- I should like to go wolf hunting.
- Have you any records with Gypsy singing?
- There are snipers behind these rocks.
- Slower, please!
- Will you take an X-ray?
- What did you get those decorations for?
- This wrestler is very strong.
Tune in next time parts 299 & 300 Click Here for Earlier Installments
John looked at a ball of silky fabric he’d pulled from the duffle bag. With a scowl, he said, “These pajamas are badly ironed.”
Was that a hint for me? Years ago we’d known a certain woman who, despite her lack of a tiara, we both deemed trustworthy. Her favored slumbering attire was a belly-dancing costume not much bigger than the rumpled little square in John’s hand. I hope she still dances. She dances very well.
John tossed the pajamas over his shoulder and dug deeper into the duffle. As he kept up his distraction, I worked on decoding his sniff message. I thought I had it. His snuffling was a clue that he was using the Haberdasher’s Code. I would know I was right if the next thing he said was a complaint about his hankies.
With great despair he said, “Three handkerchiefs are missing.”
Try not to lay it on too thick, I thought. The message was starting to take shape in my mind, but I needed to verify what order he’d sniffed the toes on my left foot, without tipping off Tessa or Jason. So I said, as if to no one in particular, “I should like to go wolf hunting.”
“I love wolf hunting!” Jason enthused. “Do you think there are any wolves on this island?”
John muttered, “Maybe the handkerchiefs are in the pajamas.” As he ooched naked across the floor to where they lay he passed close to me and resniffed my left foot, confirming my translation.
“Those pajamas remind of Fatima, and how she danced so beautifully to the songs of her Romani brethren.” I sighed as if lost in memory. “Have you any records with Gypsy singing?” That wasn’t code for anything. I just wanted John to know I’d understood him and he didn’t need to make another pass past my tootsies.
Nevertheless, he lavished further attention on them. The tableau was indistinguishable from a performance art piece wherein a nude man plays a feet-shaped harmonica with his nostrils.
By now I knew his message had something to do with rocks, and I knew where these rocks were located. These rocks are dangerous. There are snipers behind these rocks. There are landmines in front of them. And something important perched on top.
I flexed my toes against John’s nose, telling him, “Slower, please!”
“For Pete’s sake, do you think you’re going to figure out what’s wrong with him by the way his feet smell?” Tessa demanded. “Is your nose some kind of medical instrument? Like a stink MRI? Will you take an X-ray? A stink X-ray?”
I was very disappointed in Tessa. Not that I wanted her to know the message John was passing to me, but I at least expected her to realize that we were passing a message. I thought of her as I’d seen her the evening before graduation, nude but for her Academy sash with its plethora of merit badges, and I wondered Damn girl! What did you get those decorations for?
John wriggled his naked way back to the duffle bag. He reached inside it and said, “It must be in here somewhere.” Tessa and Jason asked him what he was looking for, but he only grunted at them.
While he kept them preoccupied, I did my best to determine what it was that was so well protected in that lethal, rocky place. Perhaps knowing where to go was enough, really. Everything else would become clear in the moment. But if John devoted so much effort to imparting this detail, I owed it to him to do my best to work it out.
He finally withdrew his hand from the bag, holding aloft a colorful full-face mask made of satin. Splaying his fingers to unfurl it for better presentation, he told us all, “This wrestler is very strong.”
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a pink checked pocket-handkerchief
scratch his sunburned back