WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

FEGHOOTS
By: Angelica Hart and Zi

Angelica Hart and Zi are writers published by Champagne Books.

A: Tie a yelling gibbon around the old folk tree? (She looks at Zi as if forty-six million brain cells instantaneously escaped...wondering where is the hole)
Z: Feghoot! (As if a middle line backer for the Philadelphia Eagles, Zi tackles Mo the Lab)
A: Your owl's named Feg? (The obscurity of Angelica floats amidst the fact that her response was sort of a feghoot. She wants to preen and giggle but wonders what the heck is Zi doing with the dog)
Z: (Straddling the cur, facing its rear, tail slapping face, Zi tries to multi-task) Remember the Fractured Fairytales of Rocky and Bullwinkle? Many of our canard tales are a homage to that style. Parody. False tales. Stories. (He begins to clip his dog's rear toe nails. The dog inadvertently leaves foul air in the direction of Zi's nose. Zi concludes the groomer can clip the nails!)
A: Our new series THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN-CINDERELLA is feghoot filled, ribald and naughty funny.
Z: (About to bore with a long dissertation, Zi looks professorial) The parody blanketed in its feeble and oft ridiculous effort to imitate a style or part of another author's work for the purpose of comic effect has been a staple in writing. The idea of touching something others can connect to, yet poking that pointer finger at the ribs of the readers, why, to tickle, silly.
A: The following is a excerpt that points this out.... Did something crawl up inside that dog and die? (Swiggles up her nose resembling a chipmunk as she waves her hand in front of her face)


ON THE TAVERN FRONT

So three tankards more later, in hobbled a three-legged dog. Eartha did the double-take because it was carrying a gun. The first thought was one tankard too many, then she thought robbery and considered ducking under the bar, but thought better when she noticed Aladdin, owner of a carpet company, laying Rug. Poor Jasmine, she adored the guy, and Rug was enjoying Aladdin. He knew things.

The bartender, wearing a dirty torn t-shirt shouted, "This is a peaceful establishment."

"Woof," responded the dog. The dog sat near Eartha, still scouring the room, looking at each person, studying them.

Eartha asked, "What are doing here with that gun?"

(Note to reader, this is a fairytale so giving latitude to reality is essential.... 'kkkkkkaaaaaay!)

The dog replied in a country drawl, "I'm looking for the man that shot my paw."
"A bowl of grog for my friend," ordered Eartha.

The keeper put the crock of suds on the floor, the tri-pod pooch lapped yet still surveyed the patrons.


A: (Grabs for a pen to make a note, it fails to inkificate [wordsmithing] itself, she discards the pen) There are many stories we all know. Many jokes that the punch line is apparent. Sometimes it is not the pay-off but the trip to that pay-off that can be entertaining. (Grabs a pen from one of ten cups of pens, it fails, discards, grabs another which fails)
Z: (Zi notices the three point shots by Angelia and surveys her discard, head in can, arse examining the ceiling fan, talking, sounds echo) Our model is that old joke where the punch line is they're the Aristocrats. If you are familiar with that joke it has virtually nothing to do with the punch. Every comedian who tries to tell it gives their own twist on the reason for the punch. (Rises with three pens in hand, echo ceases) Many of our tales are just that. It's all about the journey, that winding path full of detours, roadblocks, endless constructions, and delays. Once you reach the destination, the trip is over. Hmmmm, strange analogy on our part but we think it apt. (Puts the pens back in the cup unbeknownst to Angelica)
A: Wordy Wordsome from Wordville, Wordaware has just regaled us! (She grabs one of the retrieved pens, it fails, she heaves it into the can...sighs that cuss-replacing sigh)
Z: Ouuuucccch! That was a little cold. (Eyebrow, left, rose... [For clarification the eyebrow remained on the face, it was the left eyebrow] ...questioning her insistence on wastefulness)
A: You could have just said, these stories are sometimes called Shaggy Dog Stories or Feghoots. They are irreverent dances with inane frivolity, oft pointless and having absurd punch lines. The use of puns is almost a must.
Z: Smarty Smartypants from Smartytown, Smartconsin has re-frosted the cake.
A: Here's another excerpt. (She grabs a pencil...it was pointless...was about to throw it away when Zi sharpened it for her)


"Eartha, did you hear about the sex offender at Sir Lancelot's Home for the Criminally Insane and Snake Your Best Friend's Lady?"

"What?" She was pawed on her ample posterior, not by the cur, but by a drunk who was taking liberties. Beer brains. Or in this case grog brains, the medieval predecessor to beer brains. Well, Eartha the Pissed demonstrated why the nom, the Pissed, when she snatched the man's belt, he thinking he was about to get lucky, and chased him from the Pub, wiping his fleeing arse, oops, meant whipping his fleeing arse. She returned to her seat with a swagger in her step.

"Eartha...that was my best customer."

"Sorry. What about this sex offender?"

"He escaped."

"Oh!" Camelot was at least a three day trip by dragon, a fortnight by horse."

"The Daily Blab and Burp, our Pub blog, reports he went back to his old evil habits."
"Where?"

For one brief moment TB, the tender, though Eartha was going to seek the perv out, shook his head, and replied, "Here, you read the article." He turned the computer and there it was under the title, NUT BOLTS AND SCREWS.

Z: The afore was a play of words with Spooneristic styling as the design, many of our yarns are built in a like-lab that created Mr. Peabody's Improbable History.
A: Sherman was adorable.
Z: We hope you find our Groaners entertaining and maybe gently thought provoking. Zi pulls out the Staples catalogue to order refills for the pens)


We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.


Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS, CHASING YESTERDAY and SNAKE DANCE can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

IT CAN'T BE DEFINED
By Angelica Hart & Zi

To write as partners, the collusion and collision of ideals and ideas must be for the most part non-violent. What does that mean? If the work is expected to be harmonious, the two authors at some level must philosophically agree, bickering for ego's sake can't succeed. To know us is to understand that we are not quite disagreeable with each other since we have agreed to agree, holding the work more important than our own point of views, which can often differ greatly, but... but... but... on the following topic we empathically concur.

One of the most paramount issues in the genre in which we write is that of defining love.

We have both agreed it is one of those exceedingly interesting things where it's a case of, you can't define it, though when you see it, you know it. It is as intangible as air but you need it to breathe life into your heart and soul. Even the most angry, most apathetic, most egregious need love in their world, no matter how much they might deny it. People respond to love, grow and blossom, yes, just like flowers as corny as that may sound. Angelica empathically insists that love is different for every person. Zi has taken a position that he is not certain that to be the truth but floating within the metaphysical properties of love are common denominators that can be defined.

Just today we have worked on the following paragraph which is a part of a short we have been developing. We'd like to share it with you.

"The last of her tea slipped past her lips, cooling the parch that settled in her throat, a parch that lingered in her heart as she searched the faces that passed, searched for him, and when the day drew on, she also watched the roll of each wave chasing the next unfolding in white puffs of foam then dissolving, and then again… it unfolding and dissolving… it unfolding and dissolving… it unfolding and dissolving…that sequence never ending… never changing… it was like love, she thought, a lover chasing a lover... minute after minute… hour after hour… day after day… year after year… they dissolving as if lost in one time, their time. She knew this was the way of love, with its wash and roll, soft and subtle, relenting toward an abstract objective though for each it was sharp and precise. But for those who have known love it was abstractly keen. This universally oxymoronic ideal of love first called Adam to Eve and every man since, never waning over all time."

One of the first manuscripts we did together resulted in the following piece of poetry. The reason we are sharing it is it shows the harmony necessary to at minimum respectfully deal with the concept of love. We both admit openly we don't have the answers, but we feel the questions.

ELEUTHEROMANIA vs. MONOPHOBIA
(Excessive zeal for freedom vs. fear of being one)

I’ve cried a million tears for you
And I don’t know why.
You don’t care; you don’t share one
Feeling for me.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
I love you
And, I could never give a single
Reason why.

As my heart beats as one
Walking life’s paths, hand in none.
I wince, that hurt of silent loneliness
I cry help, I cry… for lovingness.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
I felt a millions fears.
Chances are you have not thought of
My name, why?

Burning deep inside is a need to be two.
So passionately that time’s blindness would ensue.
Yet, my heart beats as one
Walking life’s paths, hand in none.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
Wet my pillow case
Night after bitterly lonely night
For you, why?

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
And you have not let one dampen your cheek
I pity your world… your compassion.
I cry… millions... why?

Please free me… from my next tear.
Release your grip upon my heart.
I want the glory of smiles unbridled.
Please free me… from my next fear.

On a daily basis we honor and respect the give and take, pull and draw of that one universally fundamental emotion. Love. It would be the most grievous disservice to any connoisseur of our genre. This we have pledged to each other. Now, outside of the issues of love we have few boundaries. So, grandmothers might piece their navels and uncles might step in dog do-do and the occasional rat might find its way into one's cereal box, but we hope you can trust that our point of view about love is that we believe it is grand and glorious. And, yes, according to Angelica different for every individual

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING GRAVITAS
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

BOOKS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

JUST RELEASED!


WRITERS ARE STUDENTS OF PEOPLE
By
Angelica Hart and Zi

When at a party where there are people I don't know, I am in an element that instigates my imagination. What to say becomes the direct pay-off of how people I meet make me feel or the situation of the moment. It can be like an improv class. Of course it is appropriate but unexpected by most. But does it start out that way? Nope! I sit back and study the group. I ask myself questions. Why are those two together? What is she wearing beneath that dress... what could she possibly be wearing... it is too sheer... could she be... naked? She has to be naked. I know I could tell if she hadn't bikini waxed.

I see a couple. I figure that they are young and in love. So what is the truth of their youth? What does he smell like? What does she? How long did they spend getting ready? What does she taste like when they kiss? Does she taste different in public then in private? Who is alpha? Would she ask? Beg? Take? Would he? Have they ever danced nude... at night... and in the rain... why... why not? Does he naturally take her hand when people encroach? Does she find protection from him? Does she glow? Does he? But do they glow apart? Is there a kinetic attraction that is felt when they are separated? Could anyone sense their affinity for each other?

One of the greatest quotes that I heard uttered, moved me. "I saw her across the room (at a party) and the only voice I heard was hers. Heard her all night. So I had to meet her." Ten years later they are together. I find myself compelled to understand attraction. I am drawn to that allure.

So for a period of time I am a party voyeur and then I mingle. And try to resolve my questions. While others dance, small-talk, and double-dip their chips, I query. I'll ask the hostess how could she possibly pull that dress off wearing undies? And if I am lucky she'll reply, "You want to pull that dress off... and see?" We'd laugh but she'd tell me. And so the night begins. Asking questions maybe everyone else wanted to ask. Doesn't Max understand his toupee looks anything but natural? Hey bud, your merkin is moving to high ground? Could Wayne have worn a shirt with more wrinkles? Own an iron that works? And does Paula know every old geezer is ogling her blouse's décolleté? Does she know she's nipus erecti? I bet she knows. Go Paula. I'll ask.

* * *

ABOUT AUTHORS
Their combined accomplishments include book publications in print and/or electronic versions of twenty-four titles, fifteen romance specific, ten manuscripts pending, EPPIE finalist for three books, Cecil Whig award, Hob-Nob Reader's Choice Award, written over 500 shorts with numerous published in both nationwide and small press magazines, articles published in various local, city and statewide newspapers, including four as a Guest Columnist in addition to trade articles. Both are members of various writing groups.

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves a s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi.com
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

All Books available at~
Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

EXCERPT ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
By
Angelica Hart and Zi

With CHASING YESTERDAY being released this month, we've put away our normal banter, and instead offer you an excerpt.

THE STORY

In the mist, haze, and shadows of the seashore, Elizabeth seeks out the man who has haunted her dreams forever. Around her love vibrates within others, couples from the youngest to the oldest, each providing a nugget of love’s truth that aids her in her chase of Nathan Sterling.

Yet, each time she catches Nathan, he seems to slip away, making her wonder if her timing is off, if she was perhaps rushing what destiny had promised. What she doesn’t realize is that her pursuit threatens to reveal a dire truth… one that will change her forever after.

EXCERPT

Planning an early repast she sat at a table that opened
onto the vista with its majestic sunrise.

At that very moment she hadn’t expected him to
appear, a moment when a new day’s morning mist flattened
her chestnut brown locks and dampened the crisp folds of
her outfit, he was there, standing at the exact opposite end
of the hotel’s veranda.

Why?

Was he there seeking her?

Hope rushed pulse. The urge to run up to him as if
they had parted weeks before and this was an expected
reunion gripped her, though reality and properness
encouraged restraint.

Quickly, she anticipated his compunction was similar
to hers but the possibility of another truth halted further
giddiness. She understood he may not have been so privy to
her emotional certainty, he had probably not dreamt of her
night after endless night, he knew nothing of this cosmic
arrangement that had pronounced itself with such
fortification upon her psyche.

Her chest fluttered unhappy sensations spirited by
those points she had just reasoned.

What he did know was that a young woman he had
never met stared at him in recognition. He smiled. She
returned it and then quickly shied away, a flirtatious teasing
that came naturally, amazingly instinctual. She offered that
lash flutter, the slow peel from the ground upward, sliding
over his attractive form, and then catching his gaze, just for
a timid instant, then that quick spurn. Mother had taught her
that, not a nasty spurn but one that issued a challenge, her
yearning to be pursued obvious. At least she had thought it
was, but when she looked back, expecting to find him
walking toward her, he was gone.
***
We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com