Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Puppies)

EditHave a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight to ten sentences at a time?

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________

Or if you’re a fellow Facebook addict (we can quit any time we want to, right?),
why not check out the offerings of the Snippet Sunday gang?

________

Two weeks ago, Rhombeck, the leader of the Talbot City wolfpack and CEO of the pack’s corporation, said that he wanted to give up his position because Susan, his human administrative assistant, is pregnant.

Rhombeck thinks his cousin (and our wereduck hero Tom’s adopted brother) Bryan would make a good choice to take over.

Susan and Tom still think he’s being hasty about quitting:

“If I don’t step down, they’ll put me down—it’s possible they won’t wait for an official challenge,” Rhombeck told her,   “and there’s no question that they’ll come after you to get to me; I can’t risk that.”

“Who’re they?” I asked.

Rhombeck held up fingers, one by one. “People who hate my family, or humans, or the corporation, or me.”

“Disgruntled ex-girlfriends,” Susan said.

Opportunists,  specieists, rabble rousers, traditionalists, competitors,” Rhombeck said, ignoring her. “Take your choice.”

“I don’t suppose artificial insemination would be an acceptable solution?” I asked. “I can think of eight or nine ladies who would love to be your purebred puppymama.”

Susan snorted and raised her eyebrow at Rhombeck.

____________________

Maybe I went too far.  Did I go too far?

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Majors)

Have a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight to ten sentences at a time?

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I’m back from vacation and already saving for the next cruise, because whoa.

It was nice to unplug for a while—I left my laptop at home and took notebooks and pens, instead—but I’ve had some serious withdrawal pangs the last two Sundays.  I have a lot of reading to do to catch up!

If I remember correctly—and I do, ’cause I checked—the last shared bit of Odd Duck revealed that Lowell Rhombeck, the leader of the Talbot City werewolf pack and CEO of the pack corporation, and his human assistant Susan are pregnant.

Or Susan is, because this isn’t that kind of story.

For various reasons, Rhombeck has reacted by asking Our Wereduck Hero Tom to convince Tom’s werewolf brother Bryan (who is also Rhombeck’s cousin) to take over his position in the pack.

For different reasons, Susan and Tom think this is a dumb idea.

“So you’re abdicating?” I asked.

“No,” Susan said.

“Yes,” he said. “You know what it will be like,” he told her. “I can’t put you and our child through that.”

Throwing Bryan to the wolves didn’t seem fair, either. “You don’t have anyone else to take over?” I asked.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “I wouldn’t put any of the other possible candidates in charge of both the corporation and the pack.”

“Bryan has a PhD in environmental studies,” I said, “not an MBA.”

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Rhombeck’s motivations are next—if I can shared them in ten sentences next week, I will.

Meanwhile, does anyone know why four suitcases produced eight full loads of laundry, when all we bought were three tee-shirts and I accidentally left half my underwear on the ship?  Travel physics is weird . . .

Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Changes)

Have a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight to ten sentences at a time?

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why not check out the offerings of the Snippet Sunday gang?

________

Last week, Lowell Rhombeck, the leader of the Talbot City werewolf pack, asked Tom (our fearless wereduck hero) to talk Bryan (Tom’s AWOL werewolf brother) into taking over as packleader.

When Tom asked why, Susan, Lowell’s human PA, told him it was because Rhombeck was being stupid.  Okay, she said, “Because he’s being stupid”, but the next few sentences make it clear that she’s referring to Rhombeck.

Rhombeck thinks he’s being perfectly reasonable.

Susan, who is the voice of reason and therefore isn’t buying it, speaks first this week:

 “Lowell, nothing needs to change.”

“Everything has changed,” he said, his eyes intent on her face. He snagged her wrist and pulled her to the couch to sit next to him. “I won’t pretend that it hasn’t; I’m glad it has.” He rubbed the side of his head against the top of hers.

I hadn’t figured Rhombeck for a PDA guy, but it wasn’t much of a stretch to see them as a couple outside of the office—unless you factored in his other job.

“Is this a secret marriage kind of thing?” I asked.

“No,” Susan said, patiently waiting for Rhombeck to finish. “it’s an unplanned pregnancy kind of thing.”

“Congratulations?” I said.

“Yes,” Rhombeck said, “thank you.”

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Just in case it’s not clear from this selection, Rhombeck’s “other job” is being packleader (you could say, he’s moonlighting–hey?  Anyone?  Crickets?).

In this book, there’s still some Old Skool were-human miscegenation bigotry to deal with, stemming from Rhombeck’s position as pack leader.   The fact that any children he has with Susan wouldn’t be able to shift* is also an issue.

In other news:  My family and I are leaving on a Disney cruise in a few days, and while I love you guys, I don’t know if I can swing the WiFi and/or roaming rates—or operate my phone with sufficient competency while battling sunburn and carsickness on the way home—to participate over the next two Sundays.

If I can, I will. If I can’t, I’ll see you next month!

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* If Susan had any werewolf ancestors—she doesn’t because I say so—there’s a fifty percent chance the child couldn’t shift.  Depending on how recent those ancestors were, there’s also a chance the child could be a full werewolf . . . or a genetic mess. Luckily, this is set in our time, and were-geneticists are totally a thing (Yes, they can shift into scientists whenever they want . . . though most of ’em don’t bother turning back).

This kind of thing happens when you’re describing your idea for a wereduck character and someone says, “Cool.  But how does he make more of himself?”  And you say, “Oh, $#!%, he doesn’t have any teeth, does he . . .”  And then you stare at that picture of Mendel’s peapods for way too long.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (Picture Perfect)

Have a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight to ten sentences at a time?

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________

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why not check out the offerings of the Snippet Sunday gang?

________

The house that Tom entered last week belongs to Susan, the human assistant of Lowell Rhombeck, who is not only the CEO of the Nubilus Corporation but the leader of the Talbot City werewolf pack.

Tom isn’t surprised that Rhombeck would use Susan’s living room as a safe place to talk—but he does look awfully at home there . . .

I noticed a framed photo on the mantel of Susan, in winter gear, with her arms around a familiar-looking wolf. Both were smiling.

I’ll bet some of her human guests thought he was a husky.

Rhombeck cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I need you to do something for me,” he said.

“Tell me,” I said.

“I need you to convince Bryan to step in as my replacement.”

Not what I was expecting.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he’s being stupid,” Susan said from the doorway.

_________________

Yes, Susan is telling her boss the powerful werewolf that he’s making a mistake.  It’s possible Susan is the scariest person in this story, with the possible exception of Merrock, who may have a tad too much cultural respect for Rhombeck’s position in the pack to be quite that blunt.

 I like Susan.

Following Mr. Leonard to the Starting Line

I have fun writing. I don’t make it a chore. I don’t have to struggle with it.

I haven’t been writing much lately.  It’s not a block, so much as a pervasive lassitude verging on WIP-triggered narcolepsy.

I’ve managed a paragraph here, an edited description there, but even my awareness of my own mortality hasn’t been enough to achieve escape velocity.

But the other day, a book appeared on the New Shelves at my library: Charlie Martz and Other Stories: The Unpublished Stories by Elmore Leonard.

There’s something comforting about reading the early work of one of your favorite authors, especially the stuff  that didn’t quite make the grade.

Mostly because it exists.

For some of us, it’s a revelation to remember that Mr. Leonard, for all his talent and genius, didn’t follow his Ten Rules* from the beginning. In his early stories, he may have forced a description or two. He used a variety of dialogue tags. He got in his own way with clever bits. He (gasp) adverbed.

In other words, he didn’t write pure gold from the get-go.

But he did eventually become the kind of revered writer whose early stories are collected and published and studied as comfort and encouragement to the rest of us.

So, how did he go from a writer of not-quite-right-for-prime-time stories to the Elmore Leonard we know?  Part of the answer is offered by his son, Peter Leonard, in the introduction of this collection.

His kids remember him writing all the time when he was at home.  Writing came in a close second to his family and he’d sit in the living room working away with pen and paper, while the kids watched TV or played, grabbing every spare minute he could.  He got up at five every morning and wrote at least two pages, before leaving for his full-time advertising job.  He didn’t even make coffee until the end of the first page, which sounded like powerful motivation to me.

And as I read along, fascinated, it occurred to me that all this sounded oddly familiar—or could, anyway, if I wanted it enough.

I used to write on my laptop in the dining room, where I was within eye- and earshot of the family.  There were interruptions, but these were infrequent and generally involve hugs or the occasional squabble over the remote—they could see I was typing away at something important.  These days, I write in the back bedroom . . . if by writing, one means playing time management games and reading and browsing through the spectrum of buzzfeed channels . . . while the family frequently checks on me to make sure I’m still alive and hangs around asking if they can watch videos with me—for some reason, they don’t believe me when I tell them I’m working.

And I get up at five every morning, too, ostensibly to write . . .  but lately, my routine has devolved into immediate coffee, e-mail, reading other people’s work, and carefully ignoring my project files until I have to wake the kids.

This is all far less productive than I’d originally intended.

So this morning, I tried something different.  I still got up at five and fired up the coffeemaker, but I ignored my phone and laptop in favor of a legal pad and a working pen.  I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a page before pouring my first cup of caffeine.  Then I continued writing, until I noticed the time, and reluctantly finished a sentence.  Okay—a paragraph. Or two.  I was on a roll.

Felt pretty good.

I didn’t pass the two page mark by much and there were a lot of scribbled out words that narrowed the margin, but now I can legitimately call my WIP a WIP again.

Maybe I’ll take my pen and pad to the couch after dinner tonight and see if I can get the wordflow going around my kids’ favorite shows.  If that doesn’t work the way I hoped, I can always jot down some notes and go back to the  computer after bedtime.

Either way, I’ll find some comfort in knowing that even Elmore Leonard didn’t start out knowing exactly what worked for him.

But he knew how to find out—and he did.

I don’t believe in writer’s block or waiting for inspiration. If you’re a writer, you sit down and write.

Worth a try, wouldn’t you say?
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*I think he makes it clear that his rules were created by him for him and not as the One True Way.  As he said, “Everyone has his own sound.  I’m not going to presume to tell anybody how to write.”