Tagged: tune in next time

“That Would Be Cruel”

  • by Kentshook his butt
  • walk around in ugly pajamas
  • rhythm helps your two hips move
  • writhed around like he was being electrocuted
  • focusing less on his lemon

Tune in next time part 806      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That would be cruel,” Tessa chided. “First we shoot them with blowdarts, and then we just abandon them to post-polarization syndrome?”

“You shot them with blowdarts,” I corrected. “Feel free to lay the abandonment entirely on me and we’ll call it even.”

“That’s not how it works. We’re in this together.” She hopped off her barstool and danced across the chapel to where Rosencrantz was flailing about on his couch. She jostled the couch forcefully, which shook his butt right off it.

He was too woozy to stand on his own, but sharp enough to give me the stinkeye and say, “You must have some reason to walk around in ugly pajamas all day.”

“I’m dressed as a scientist,” I complained.

Meanwhile Tessa had gone to the other couch and dislodged its lanky occupant. As she shoved on the couch, she explained to him, “The rhythm helps your two hips move out of the polarization zone.” He sprawled on the floor. “Hey, Seahorse,” Tessa called. “How we doing with those pickles?”

“Calm down, Enzo.” Against my better judgment I took a couple of gherkins and some fruit garnishes over to Rosenkrantz. He first tried to bite my hand, then writhed around like he was being electrocuted in order to fend off my efforts at feeding him. He seized a wedge of citrus from me and tried to weaponize its juice, aiming for my eyes. He only managed to stain my lab coat, but by then I was focusing less on his lemon and more on the newest arrival in the pickle chapel.

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“Don’t Look Now, Enzo”

  • by jenburly man with a thick neck
  • appears to be a sequined ballgown
  • fondness for partying, drinking, and womanizing
  • photographic evidence of the handholding toilet experience
  • they had a civil marriage

Tune in next time part 807      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t look now, Enzo,” I whispered, “but there’s a burly man with a thick neck creeping up behind you. He’s wearing what appears to be a sequined ballgown.”

She whispered back, “It sounds like he’s the sort of guy who has a fondness for partying, drinking, and womanizing.”

This was a game we played, our own variation on What’s Their Story. Only everything we said was in code, so that we could relay important information to each other without anyone becoming suspicious.

I nodded. “I think he’s a salesman for Hizzenherrs Toilets, and always carries photographic evidence of the handholding toilet experience they try to promote.”

Her eyes went wide. “His parents founded the company. They liked to poop together because they had a civil marriage. Their motto was ‘Never go to the bathroom angry.'”

If that were true, it was worse than I thought, and the man sneaking up behind her wasn’t just any old mime. He was the most ruthless mime of them all, their king, Petit Julien.

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The Situation Was Dire Indeed

  • by KentWhat kind of traps?
  • why there was a whole cucumber back there
  • purple leather shorts
  • Ha ha ha. (In my personal experience.)
  • not a disco album?

Tune in next time part 808      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The situation was dire indeed if it truly was Petit Julien we faced, the mime no invisible box could hold. What kind of barrier would be effective? What kind of traps? Tessa knew far more mime lore than I did, so I hoped she was aware of some critical weakness we could exploit.

She vaulted over the bar and disappeared through a door. I gave chase and found myself dashing through a commercial kitchen, leaving it behind so fast I barely had time to wonder why there was a whole cucumber back there when the chapel only served them brined and sliced.

Tessa hadn’t slowed down, so I couldn’t afford to either. I pursued her through the dinner theater. I couldn’t remember what show they were running, but the lead actor’s purple leather shorts jogged my memory. It was a Contrarian comedy about dehydration. It was full of dry humor. Ha ha ha. (In my personal experience.) (The animated version ran on weekday afternoons when I was a kid.) (And I was a weird kid.)

I risked a look back. The burly man was still following, and seemed to be gaining. That momentary glance away was all it took for me to lose sight of Tessa. I kept running, scanning the crowd. A few seconds later I deduced that she’d gone into the control booth, based on the sudden blast of music. I hoped this was actually something the Mime King would be vulnerable to. I had no idea what might be effective, so why not a disco album?

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Writing In The First Person

Every novel we’ve written has had multiple POV characters, and we do a very tight third-person narration style. The attitude and the diction are shaped strongly by which head we’re riding in for any given scene, and of course only information that would be available to that person can be brought up.

So, we haven’t done a novel in the first person. But we do have a little experience with telling a story that way: our tag-team chain story, aka “Tune In Next Time.” That project is a place where we operate outside of our standard process and our comfort zone. Not only do we not plan any of it out or do any revisions, we use a random generator to create the prompts. And, it’s the sole first-person thing we’ve done.

Using the first person is not just a stylistic choice. There are logistical considerations, since in most cases there will be only the one viewpoint available. Telling events out of order, or even skipping over any significant periods of time, will be much more likely to feel jarring. So for it to go well, the story itself has to belong to the set of stories that lend themselves to the treatment. And (so far at least) the kinds of stories that Rune Skelley wants to turn into novels aren’t members of that set.

Not that we would be opposed to giving it a try if the right story came along. Silly as it is, with over 800 installments (and counting!) “Tune In Next Time” does constitute a lot of solid practice in dealing with the form.

A writing partner is someone who shares your point of view.

I was in the Same Airborne Dinner Theater as Petit Julien

  • by jenmade with real human bones
  • everyone acted like you’d pooped on the floor
  • assortment of exotic jerkies
  • while grunting like a zombie
  • (and in denial)

Tune in next time part 809      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was in the same airborne dinner theater as Petit Julien, the most dangerous mime in the world, (and in denial). All I wanted was to have a few peaceful hours alone with Tessa, the woman I loved, but our lives were too complicated for even that simple pleasure. Tessa had commandeered the theater’s sound system and was blasting Deuce Pamplemousse’s disco anthem Hop on My Caboose in what I hoped was an effort at distracting the deranged mime. Her attempt was moderately successful. While grunting like a zombie, swaying his hips, and occasionally thrusting one finger to the sky, Julien was still lurching toward me. Hearing a mime of such high calibre making any noise at all was as unexpected as finding an assortment of exotic jerkies in a vegetarian buffet. Mimes are mercilessly shamed into silence early in their schooling. If you so much as sneezed, everyone acted like you’d pooped on the floor.

The audience seemed baffled, and the actors on stage opted to wing it and pretend this was part of the show. I wished them luck as Tessa exited the control booth and the two of us ducked out the back door. I didn’t know what would happen when the song ended, but I did know that Julien had a secret recipe for his white face paint. It was made with real human bones ground into a powder and mixed with petroleum jelly. Contrarian thespians are made of stern stuff, but I wasn’t sure they were up for this particular adversary.

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We Dashed Out Of The Airship’s Dinner Theater

  • by Kentthird brother-in-law
  • I’m a super optimistic person
  • I’m sorry, but who is this man?
  • puppets, comrades
  • infamous party that included a bisexual orgy, a black mass, and — most shockingly —

Tune in next time part 810      Click Here for Earlier Installments

We dashed out of the airship’s dinner theater and immediately found ourselves in another, much smaller theater. I recognized the lead performer as my wife’s third brother-in-law, aka my brother Jim. No one would say I’m a super optimistic person, but even I had been pretty sure our situation was due to get less complicated, not more.

Our arrival seemed to have brought the show to a halt. Someone in the front row stood and pointed at me. “I’m sorry, but who is this man?”

“Never mind the interruption,” my brother drawled. But there was something odd about his accent. “Please to return attention to puppets, comrades,” he continued. I wondered what had been happening to him since I last saw him in the petting zoo, and I wondered why he was affecting this slavic persona. But I knew I would need to be patient about asking any questions.

Jim had socks on both hands, and by their “costumes” I suddenly knew which play he was doing. It was something that had been written on a partition in the seediest bathroom at The Academy, accumulating over the decades a line at a time. It contained much that was clearly fiction, but also a blow-by-blow depiction — likely factual — of an infamous party that included a bisexual orgy, a black mass, and — most shockingly — a duel fought (inconclusively) with uncooked spaghetti.

I took a closer look at the small audience, wondering who was attending such a peculiar exhibition.

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Apart From the Man in the Front Row

  • by jendressed in an all-black suit
  • suede and velvet
  • and tenacity and
  • cutest earmuffs he’s ever seen
  • make this videoconference party special

Tune in next time part 811      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Apart from the man in the front row who’d demanded to know my identity, there were only two other people attending Jim’s pornographic sock puppet show. I didn’t recognize them. On stage, Jim was dressed in an all-black suit as puppeteers often are, but his suit was made of suede and velvet and tenacity and snakeskin. On his head were what he calls the cutest earmuffs he’s ever seen. They’re shaped like penguins, and I have to admit they are adorable. Jim adopted a squeaky voice for the female sock puppet and said, still with his southern-tinged slavic accent, “Tonight we make this videoconference party specialest videoconference party ever, da?”

Tessa and I smirked at each other. That was the start of the raunchiest part of the show. Before it could really get good, though, the door behind us slammed open and an irate Petit Julien lurched into the puppet theater.

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At Petit Julien’s Entrance

  • by Kentexhilarating hipness
  • the world maps and the blueprints
  • two 12-foot-high anthropomorphic hotdogs
  • butting against them with his rear end
  • also the name of his dog

Tune in next time part 812      Click Here for Earlier Installments

At Petit Julien’s entrance, the entire audience surged to its feet, and all three of the people attending Jim’s play clapped ecstatically, overwhelmed by the exhilarating hipness of being in the presence of the Mime King. These same people would be less thrilled about the situation if they had ever seen what was tacked up to the walls of Mime HQ: the world maps and the blueprints for doomsday devices that never speak a word.

But their foolish fawning was, for us, fortuitous, because Petit Julien can’t resist performing before an appreciative crowd. And, per the idiom, three people qualifies. It was imperative that we make our getaway while he was distracted, but I couldn’t abandon Jim. I tried to subtly draw him down from the stage without breaking Petit Julien’s mime-fugue. Despite myself I was enthralled by what he conveyed. I could really imagine that he was having an altercation with two 12-foot-high anthropomorphic hotdogs, butting against them with his rear end to drive them over a precipice. At least, I chose to believe that was what he was acting out.

Jim was even more mesmerized by the Mime King, too far gone to ever notice my subtle hand signals. I cleared my throat, but he ignored that too. Finally I stage-whispered, “James,” not so much on the basis that using his formal name would get his attention as in the hopes that he would feel puzzlement and concern, because James was also the name of his dog.

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Jim was the Kind of Guy

  • by jenplayed the piano occasionally dressed only in a towel
  • sweet but also slightly tart nectar
  • we mapped our hometown carefully
  • by an unidentified hand with red ink
  • as far as my layman’s eye could see

Tune in next time part 813      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim was the kind of guy who played the piano occasionally dressed only in a towel, so it only made sense that he named his dog after himself. His ego knew no bounds. He once told me that women craved him like a sweet but also slightly tart nectar. And mostly they did. When Jason and I were kids we mapped our hometown carefully, and one day we found that our map was covered with hearts drawn by an unidentified hand with red ink. Jim later admitted to marking the homes of each of his girlfriends. As far as my layman’s eye could see, he had one on every street.

And he also had a dog named James, so when I called that name out in the puppet theater, it got his attention. He looked startled to see me.

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Jim Waved To Me

  • by Kentthe circlet of gold which marked her
  • his old pinched-up hat
  • used as a decoy
  • “Wow!” I said when it arrived. “I didn’t expect it to be so big.”
  • And we all know how that turned out.

Tune in next time part 814      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim waved to me, or rather the puppet on his right hand did. She wore the blue gown and the circlet of gold which marked her as Princess Toejam. I suddenly realized how apt it was to do this particular play with sock puppets. On Jim’s left hand was the Earl of Stretchknit, complete with his old pinched-up hat.

The princess wasn’t merely waving, she was signaling. Jim was using her to send me a message. His technique was poor, like even in hand signals he had a silly accent. The gist of what he was saying seemed to be that help was on the way, that he’d called for something to be sent here that could be used as a decoy. I signaled back, saying, “I hope it gets here soon.” Jim replied that I should be patient, and I said Petit Julien was setting the timetables here and we needed to move quicker. Conversing in this way helped keep either of us from falling back under the Mime King’s spell, and also made the time while I waited for Jim’s delivery seem to go faster.

“Wow!” I said when it arrived. “I didn’t expect it to be so big.”

The item in question was a pirate vessel, crewed by socks of course, and unmistakably intended to symbolize the key naval engagement of the last Mime-Pirate War. And we all know how that turned out.

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