WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

WE WERE JUST THINKING ABOUT....

To bring you a little into our world we decided to share our thoughts about writing the strange and zany way ~

Where ideas originate....

Z: The cultivation of ideas has great import. To do this we participate in what we call lamestorming sessions. About twice a year Angelica and I pitch stories and plots. It is a set aside day in which we each bring twenty ideas and participate in a game of war similar to that of the card game. I'll play one flaming arrow princess love story which would then be triumphed by one biological plant that trans-morphs into a man who becomes horny. If it's lame it goes. This single elimination tournament then leaves us with the four semi-finalists which we then consider as possible projects.

Bombastic... Imbecilic... Improbable are coupled with social relevance, entertainment value, and fortunetelling when we each privately create our pitch points. Then the fracas begins. At the conception point of ideas, we allow ourselves the freedom of being without boundaries because once the idea is set into our queue natural boundaries will restrict it.

A bit of background....

Z: Educated as an engineer. (Long pause should be placed here... one pensive sigh) I find myself uncomfortable talking about me, but I shall do my best. Obviously, like most writers I love the play of stories and how well-crafted words can steer reaction. From age twelve I knew there were stories housed between my rather dapper ears. At age fifteen, I rewrote the ending of Lord of the Flies. Let my friends read it, and was applauded. At age sixteen I wrote a school play. At age twenty-seven I wrote a community theater play. By then I was writing, and haven't stopped since.

A: I'm a control freak.

Z: That would be quite the understatement.

A: (I turn, stare, providing my best effort to... control any further outbursts by him.) As I was saying... So even as a child when I wrote my first book using construction paper and crayons, I wanted the princess to have the sword and ride the horse. So I wrote it.

Z: So you self-published?

A: Signed limited editions.

What book to take to a deserted island?

A: I’d bring an e-book reader like the Kimble, that way I could bring about 1500 books. Seriously, how do you pick just one? Impossible. There are the classics like Jane Eyre, more Victoria Holt books than I can count, let’s not forget Piers Anthony and Asmiov, King, Koontz, Cook, and all those authors coming out of Champagne Books…(Starts to hyperventilate and calms down.) Sorry, books are a passion of mine.

Z: I'd take the dictionary. It in itself could inspire my imagination. The word mohair could inspire a story about big foot. Stubble makes me think of a planet that all of the corn stalks were cut close to the ground, and I'd wonder why and imagine huge cannons that shot popcorn. So, captured in that treasury of words could be endless possibilities.

A: Never mind...I'm just taking a cell phone and calling Zi.

Z: Did you notice neither one of us answered our own query?

First book that enthralled....

Z: Lad A Dog was special because in the privacy of my own read when the copperhead set fang to Lad and brought the dog to the brink of death, I as a lad myself found apt tear, cursed at the book but have held a great respect for the power of the word.

A: (Remembering the story, sniffles and blows nose, loudly.) The Velveteen Rabbit… Actually, it was read to me. I cried and laughed and felt sad when the story was finished. I missed the characters. I’d carry the book around after that and hold it out in a demanding fashion to any and every reading-able adult. I couldn’t wait to learn how to read so I could read every book in the world. I’d hoard books and comic books like a rabbit and its carrots. They were my friends.

Z: Chipmunks horde. Rabbits they wiggle their noses. Re-examine your simile.

A: No....

Overcoming writer's block....

Z: We define writer's block as time set aside to write. A definition quite different than most. We think our optimistic approach works. Except for once in my entire life, I can't remember being without appropriate words or an idea. How do I prepare? How do I put myself in the mood? What are my rituals? Habits? Provide me a pencil and a pad, I write. Provide me a computer, don't even need a chair, I write. Provide me a tape recorder, I write. Provide Angelica on the other end of a cell phone, one of us having something to scribe with, and I write. It seems as natural as a boy chasing a girl...and she catching him.

A: (Takes a breath, thinks, blurts.) Tea… tea… and more tea.

Z: That's Tea-rffic. (Wasn't that punny?)

To be continued next week....