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

FOG OR FEAR

By: Angelica Hart and Zi



A: (Yells) Listen to this quote by Pasternak.

Z: You mean Jake's teacher on Two and a Half Men? (In his best Charlie Harper voice) Yes, Miss Pasternak.

A: Nooooo. The author from the turn of the century. Gaaaaaa! Pasternak wrote, "Fear has the largest eyes of all."

Z: Larger than Godzilla's? (Lost afloat his own petard) What's the difference between a sewing machine and a female jogger? (He has that little boy perpetual grinning face)

A: I'm researching fear and you are researching cornball humor? (Hurls a crumpled paper ball at him)

Z: Come on, what's the difference. (Smiles the herd-of-cows-stampeding smile) Give? Give? Give?

A sewing machine has only one, I said it, one bobbin. Get it?

A: Wha.... ohhhh... (Shudders) We are working here. I know we both agree that the basest of all things is fear. We use it all the time.

Z: I feared being a young man and an old man.

A: (Gives him a cocked head look)

Z: As a young man I feared mom doing the laundry and wet dreams and as an old man I fear dry farts in a warm crowded room. (Does a taa-da soft-shoe finale bow)

A: (Ignoring him she continues with her point) I just love the mist and fog and shadow of CHASING GRAVITAS.

Z: Yeah, yeah, yeah... What's the difference between male and female pancakes? (Zi pauses momentarily as his spectacles slide down to the tip of his nose as he watches for Angelica's reaction over the rim of them) Ah, you won't get it. Female pancakes are stacked.

A: Ha... Ha... Ha... (Drolly) I want to talk about the tone of CHASING GRAVITAS.

Z: Talk. (As he's reading a book whose cover is hidden from her view)

A: Listen to this poem. (Clears her throat and begins to read) "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on." Carl Sandburg wrote that.

Z: Did Carl know the difference between male and female chromosomes?

A: Whaaaat? (Draws out the word)

Z: If he didn't, tell him to pull down their genes. Arr... Arr... Arr!

A: That deserves only one Ha. The beauty in Carl's poetry defines the haunt I feel in CHASING GRAVITAS and I'm considering using it on the dedication page.

Z: Are you Yahoo Serious from Serious Town, Seriavania?

A: (She provides that universal sound of confusion) Huh?

Z: The difference between boiling water and pea soup is anyone can boil water. Get it! Get it! Get it! And having said that do what you want on the dedication page because you're going to do it anyhow.

A: Zi, I fear, you are being a flibberty jib. (Joe and the Volcano reference intended) I want to talk about fear. In many of our books we have placed our romance in a swamp of fears.

Z: I bet you fear that you don't know the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman.

A: Come on!!

Z: Snowballs.

A: Enough! In KILLER DOLLS the fear was omnipresent in the form of bio-terrorism. In SNAKE DANCE the fear was the tyrannical sociopathic Kin, but in CHASING GRAVITAS the fear is what?

Z: What's the difference between fish and your meat?

A: Could you stop, pleaassse? I'm serious about the fear found in CHASING GRAVITAS. Without conflict would the story be too shallow?

Z: There's fear in GRAVITAS, that same fear the fish that you beat to death would have.

A: Huh?

Z: If you beat your fish, it dies. (Implies the meat comparison which is left unsaid)

A: You're just awful. Stop! Stop! Stop! I'm tired of jokes about knuckle children. (Having worked with him so long she got his obscure humor... wonders if anyone else does... write us if you did at angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com)

Z: Come on, come on, come on, it's simple. In GRAVITAS, Elizabeth fears one of the more universal fears of all time that she'll never know love. She doesn't have it. She wants it. She's chasing it. And it is as elusive as Alice chasing the white rabbit.

A: You're right. You're right. No time to wait. (She sniggers at her own obscure reference) What's the difference between war and peace?

Z: What's the difference between a five and a ten?

A: Me first, answer.

Z: You got me. Don't know.

A: There has never been a good war. Tell me the difference between a five and a ten.

Z: The answer's in our blog SOTS AND PLOTS and can be requested by writing to us at angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com.



We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who emails 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 GRAVITAS ~ July 2010



Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

LARES AND PENATES
By: Angelica Hart and Zi

Zi was sitting in front of the computer typing, wearing a visor that read, Bird Crap Happens... Run! This his homage to Hitchcock.

Today we are outlining the plot of a novella we are planning. The working title is PLATINUM ARROW. I want it to have a sports subtext but I am having difficulty convincing her. No, she is not obstinate for stubborn's sake, but she does conspire to stand strong on her opinions. I admire that quality, have a little of that myself. Thus, being at loggerheads is a huge part of every day.

So the question is what makes Angelica unique and special. What comprises her rare genius. I believe it comes from a lariat she has pulled tightly about perception of self, believing in her own mind. She embodies an earnest trust in her gifts. Knowing her you notice she walks to the beat of a different accordion player and does not see it. This oblivious quality is her blessing and the readers' gift.

This makes her sound freaky-deeky. Yep. She is. She is a lark in a flock of ravens.

Seeking her lares and penates as well as the next day's lunch Angelica was at the AC-a-ME. No, not the place the coyote gets his special catch-the-road-runner paraphernalia but our local grocery store. She asked the deli clerk as she pointed directly at it for a pound of pastrami. The sweet young lady responded, "That is spiced ham, ma'am." Angelica shot back, "Who asked you?"

I know Angelica and whereas that appeared mean, there is not a malicious or cruel molecule in her. I believe she honestly thought it was pastrami and was not about to be dissuaded from that knowledge.

I share this story for one reason and that is to help explain the mentality of us as writers. We must be committed to a point, and so committed against contradictory opinion or even truth. We must create non-existent worlds and they must be real and believable. That takes courage and conviction. It is easy to slip into word picturing stuff we know but far more difficult growing the acid hemp to clutch cargo weave the wreaking rugs placed on the taupe floors of Renads Eloquence of the alien world Revlar.

A: What are you writing? (Angelica enters the room and leans over Zi's shoulder and reads)
Z: A Blog.
A: That diatribe makes me sound mean. (Angelica flipper-smacked his forearm a minimum of eleven times) I wasn't that harsh to that counter girl.
Z: You should have seen her face. She looked whoopee-cushion assaulted. Mouth agape. Eyes bulging. (He trying to imitate the face)
A: She insulted me.
Z: Correcting you?
A: No!
Z: Then how?
A: She called me old. (She tried tugging upon Zi's guilt place with pouty lip and a pall of sad eyes)
Z: Spiced ham is code for you old codger?
A: No. She called me ma'am. Everyone calls my mother and aunts ma'am. I am not a ma'am.
Z: Sorry to tell you this, but when you weren't watching, sometime after plucking your first gray hair and diapering your grandchild, you became a ma'am.
A: I refuse to accept that. (She turned her face, presented a nose-floater position and acted offended)
Z: Forever young is a myth of the mind.
A: Then I have a mythy mind. And if you ever call me ma'am...
Z: What?
A: I'll install parental controls on all your sports blogs and websites.
Z: Like you can find them. (His words rolled out between laughter)
A: What are lares and penates?
Z: The ancient gods of the household. In this reference sundries and household stuff. Thought I'd use them as characters in PLATINUM ARROW. (Showed his research)
A: Give me a minute. (Angelica using one of the programs on the computer, fashioned a card, printed it and spent time personalizing it)
Z: What's that?
A: An apology to that deli clerk.
Z: You don't have to do that.
A: Actually I do. I think she spit on my spiced ham.
Z: I ate that.
A: I know.
Z: You opted for soup.
A: I know.
Z: You dog.
A: I know.

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who emails 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 ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE IS AVAILABLE
Champagne Books
www.champagnebooks.com

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

HE ROSE
By: Angelica Hart and Zi

Z: Humor is a powerful lubricant. (He rocked back in his chair, noticed his perfect hair and gave that bon vivant stare)
A: Huh? Are you talking Dew Drops or Adam and Eve Gel? (He had piqued her interest since she was inventorying office supplies and that s#@ked... she thought the word but decorum kept her from saying it out loud)
Z: What? (Stunned slapped the bon vivant right off his face)
A: I know I have read that women value humor and find it very seductive. Men have been known to joke the panties off a woman. I once heard about this lady from Starling...
Z: Ok... ok... hold your horses.
A: I have horses... where am I keeping them... want to ride... are they polo ponies... what? (She feigned that serious that we feign when we are playing another)
Z: You are now chain pulling... aren't you?
A: A tad. (She offered him a high-5 but he declined... so she gave herself one in the reflection of the mirror)
Z: My point that I was trying to make was that humor can smooth the mussed sheets of life.
A: Sheets after vigorous sex... clumped and bunched... but my advice is if you are smoothing by hand, you better watch out for the wet...
Z: ANGELICA...don't go there. You know everyone likes a little arse no one likes a wise arse.
A: Consider me aptly disciplined, you spanked well. (She smiled) Tell me a joke... lube me! (She had that snide look of someone teasing)
Z: What did one writing partner say to the other?
A: What?
Z: (There was utter silence as Zi left the room)
A: What? (She chased after him) What! Ok... ok... I'm sorry!
Z: (Zi muttered under his breath... joke'em if they can't take a @#$%)

What a wonderful dance artful writing can be when dealing with social issues. Yes, some are very serious and in no way do we take them tritely, but as my Grams always told me, "You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar." So occasionally, we'll take a serious social issue and frost it with inane situations punctuated by laughter. The following is an example:

Life had been difficult for Joyce. Her boss, Duwayne, whether it was ill-intended or not, was making passes at her at the workplace. She needed the job and tolerated his behavior.

He was far more the spoiled mama's boy, she giving him the job, but nonetheless this portly nebbish persisted through innuendo and sometimes overt bluntness to pursue Joyce.

"Joyce, can you come to my office," was the message from Duwayne.

"Be right there." She noticed that glint in his voice, and if it were any other place or time she'd find it charming, but her mother always said, "Never take your little kitten to work." She knew what mom meant.

Joyce, knocked, opened the door, and entered the room. There sat Duwayne, stark naked, some of his muffin roll hanging and yes, he was beaming with a grand grin.

She wanted to burst into laughter but resisted, and with controlled contriteness she stated, "Mr. Williams I don't know if you know... but your fly is down. Might want to close the barn door before the horse gets loose." She nodded, turned to leave. He rose. Now, for all of you naughty beyond reasonable, no, not in that way, but from his chair.

She turned back, having taken her phone from her pocket, snapped a photo and posted it for all to see.

Mother Williams did more than scold her spoiled son. He eventually apologized to Joyce.

Today, Joyce has Duwayne's job, her gumption impressed the elder Williams.

And what about Duwayne? He is a stay at home father of three. He and Joyce married.


Absolutely, sexual harassment is heinous and horrible. But we like it when someone slips on that pile of dog shat, falls on their arse, gets smudgy with it, screams, whines, and doesn't get hurt. The lesson, let the damn dog out. Oops, the dog is at the door. Got to run or she'll deposit.

A: Zi? (She trying to look cute)
Z: What?
A: Was Joyce talking about my horse?
Z: (The man rolled his eyes and went out and watched his dog deposit)


We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who emails 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 GRAVITAS
angelicahartandzi.com
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

SNAKE DANCE AND KILLER DOLLS available at~
Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

NURSERY HAM ON RHY...ME
By: Angelica Hart and Zi


Reflecting back on the period of time when we were writing KILLER DOLLS I recall during a Lamestorming session proposing something much like the following. Grand ideas find their genesis in the courage to present them. Lamestorming is the process we utilize where an idea is thrown on the table to see if it is viable or lame.

A: What are you doing with your dog?
Z: Correcting a mistake. (Zi was washing and drying the top of the dog's head. Apologizing and scolding)
A: Mistake? (Angelica looked perplexed)
Z: Unbeknownst to me the curious pup followed me into the bathroom and while I was splashing porcelain she put her head between my legs and well... thus the need for her cleansing.
A: Ick!!
Z: What about the story I left for you to read?
A: That was a ton of purple prose. Says nothing. Adds nothing. Just fills space.
Z: But I like it.
A: I like my date book but I would not try to publish it.
Z: Let me read it out loud to you. My great voice and intonation may sway you.

There once lived a bear family. The Thrice Ursines. A Poppa Bear. A Momma Bear. And a Baby Bear. This can be a standard modern day bear family. Zero population growth. You might have heard this story. If not, where the H E double toothpicks have you been?

One Saturday they sat down to breakfast of porridge, that's old story talk for oatmeal. The Poppa Bear tasted his porridge and said it was too hot. The other bears agreed and they decided to take a walk in the local forest so as to let the steamin' stuff become a more consumable temperature. Thus providing a possible answer to that age old question, "Did da bear shat in the woods?"

In addition one was sure that the to-be-Poopa Bear (pun intended) was also about to scold the Momma Bear about not paying attention to the cookin', thus perpetuating the social standards for gender interaction as the baby watched. That man's-king-of-his-domain stuff knows no animal kingdom boundaries. Shame on the old bear, he needs to watch 'im some Oprah Bear.

"What could you possibly have been thinking to allow the porridge to become scaldin'," i.e., a scoldin' on scaldin', alliteration intended. He could have been far more insulting but he did love his wife. And she did have very large teeth.

Well, the story continued. It does get a little more spirited. Along came a little girl named Goldilocks w/ long blonde gold hair, so transparently weak of a naming by the original author, lazy, but thus the name. Gads, I bet you knew that. Goldilocks. Imaginative parents. (Go with me for the story's sake) Probably they shared the same brain. (Weak analysis on my part... Ignore the previous comment) She saw the house and broke in. First degree breaking and entering. Criminal. A common burglar. Another commentary on the parenting thing albeit a lack of it by her parents who probably were self-absorbed. A trophy wife who spent all her time at the gym firming gravity influenced fleshy parts and a workaholic father who was having an affair with of all folks the mother's gynecologist. Lessons and values begin at home. That's another tale.

Well, she saw the three bowls of oatmeal and tried one, the Poopa Bear's, and naturally uttered, "This stuff is too #@%* hot!" Because she was a modern and undisciplined teenager she actually used the vulgar word. I am above that. Then she tried the next bowl, the Momma Bear's. "This stuff is too #@%* cold," she said flipping the bird. Shame on her. No one saw but it does speak to her lack of prudence. Then she tried the next bowl, the Baby Bear's. "This stuff is just right," and she ate it all up, so goes the story. What a piggy.

I'm certain most any middle American has heard this tale so let me move through it more quickly. She then did the chairs ... too #@%* hard ... too #@%* soft ... just right and then breaks the damned thing. Oops, I said damned but that's pseudo-ok. This all was an obvious statement to her size and/or the poor workmanship of the furniture maker. The modern girl of this day and age had a bit more mass on her arse then had her bulimic mother at her same age. The fast food phenomenon? Who knows. The Japanese would insist that it was the workmanship but it is all a mute point to the story. So forget I said anything.

Well, off to the bedrooms ... this bed too #@%* hard ... too #@%* soft ... obviously they have separate sleepin' accommodations an elderly thing of the first order of why Poopa Bear had such a poopa attitude. Additionally, an apt explanation as to why they have just one babe.

Moving on, quickly, we are moving, moving, moving, and then the baby's bed and that's just right and bingo to sleep she falls. This itself speaks to the nature of this girl. A bizarre thing to do. Consider this, you are breakin' and enterin' and for whatever reason you decide to take a nap. One must suspect she had a subconscious desire to be caught. Psycho-101.

Well, the furry family returned. You knew that. Shats accomplished. Myth no longer a mystery. You didn't know that. And now it began. The who's been eatin' my stuff... blaa blaaa... yes and ate it all up... my chair... blaa blaaa and broke it... the beds who's been sleepin' in my bed... who's been sleepin' in my bed finally said Momma Bear and messed up the frilly comforter. So gender cliché.

At this moment the baby bear opened his door a crack and looked in, turned to his parents, smiled and said, "Good night Mom and Dad!"

Z: The end. Well?
A: Wasteful exercise.
Z: Did it make you smile?
A: A little. (Grinning a lot)
Z: Then we need to find a place for it.
A: The trash bin.
Z: Fine. Break a writer's spirit.
A: Don't do the Jewish Mother guilt dump.
Z: Fine. You do know I am an excellent animal trainer. Taught my Elmo to crap on command. You might reconsider leaving your purse anywhere than on the floor... you mean destroyer of a writer's spirit person... you!
A: Are you done?
Z: Why, yes, I am. I have another story about a boy named Jack with some magic beans.

The moral to this story. Not all words even if you wrote them are good.
We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who emails 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 ~ September 2009
Snake Dance ~ February 2010
Chasing Gravitas ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE IS AVAILABLE
Champagne Books
www.champagnebooks.com

WRITERS WRITE... WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

BOWA
By: Angelica Hart and Zi


"What did the mama buffalo say to her child as he left for school?" Zi quipped toward Angelica.

She turned from repositioning the Alvin and the Chipmunks Beanie Babies on the bookshelf. Simon was sat because of his height in front of the autographed copy of Carrie. "What?"

"Bison."

"R-r-r-r..." She crossed her eyes for effect. "What did Angelica the frog say to Zi the frog?"

"Gee, you're humorous." Zi stood, arms held wide, proudly peacocking.

"No... Time's fun when you're having flies."

"That too shaggy dog for me."

"Bison is not?"

"Back to work. Read... read carefully. If not, little evil flying monkeys may visit and deposit monkey manure on your lap... and your little dog's head... heeheehe!" There it was, the evil laugh of the Wicked Witch of the West was attempted, a broom flung on which he leapt. "Well, my little pretty, I can cause accidents, too. I'll get you my pretty and your dog, too! Fly! Fly!"

Shaking her head while reading a change in the manuscript, LOVE LETTERS, "You just gave Vench a quality in which I am uncomfortable. Why let the villain have any admirable attributes? Good should be good and bad, bad," doused the wet blanket of criticism, not nocturnal wetness, though she a drippy gloomy Gale, stated Angelica to Zi as they were polishing the text.

Zi placed upon his head the black witch's hat that sat on a shelf in a corner, still channeling the Oz character, bent at the waist and twittered his fingers. "You cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world, what a world! Who would've thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness? I'm gone! I'm gone! I'm going!"

"Seriously... why soften the edges of our villains?" She wheedled with that wily cunning of a seventh grade English teacher, who was presently using her eyes to remove that hat.

"Ok... why is a bad joke like a crappy pencil... because it has no point."

"Was that a subtle swipe at my question?"

"Let me rip you a new point. Come on tell the truth... you like to word picture evil. The badder the better. I like the complexity of the character, it more reflects the truth of life. And yes, I can gravitate to the chew-the-toes-off-of-children evil, but the creep would only do it out of some convoluted pathos."

"Convince me." She smiled, "Thanks for referring to me as a pencil... I resemble that remark."

"What do you call a Guernsey cow with no legs? Give... ground beef."

"I get it... that is evil... but I was asking to be convinced of the value of a complex villain."

"Oh... ok! Let me try. I'll relate a true story." She rolled her eyes not knowing where he was trekking. He rolled back as if dueling. "As a young man I taught Sunday School."

"No way... Ray."

"Way... Renee. Why do so many folks wear perfume and cologne to church... da... the pews. I digressed. I promised the kids if they finished a very large project I'd take them to a Phillies baseball game. I was a huge fan." He grabbed his Mike Schmidt Louisville Slugger. "Why was Cinderella lousy at baseball... a pumpkin for a coach, always losing her shoes, and was running from the ball."

Noticing that Angelica gave that joke-me-once-shame-on-you-joke-me-thrice-shame-on-me look, he moved on with the anecdote. "Well, they finished, I got group rate tickets and a parent's van. Phils and Expos. Right... they don't exist any longer. My plan was to use one of my most favorite players, Larry Bowa, as a Life Lesson because of his famous work ethic. Talked about him on the ride there. A poor hitter who overcame that to make the big leagues." He showed her his autographed LARRY BOWA baseball but did not let her hold it.

"Heard of him."

"In the game, not respecting him, three times they intentionally walked the bases loaded just to pitch to him. The first time he popped out. I spoke of accepting adversity. The second time he popped out. He flung the bat. I told my class it was that competitive drive that made him successful though I did not like what he did. The third time he popped out. There it was, my Life Lesson. I was ready for next Sunday. The never quit attitude."

"How's this about a villain?" Crumpling up a wad of paper, she pitched to Zi, he swung, missed and she did the happy dance.

Ignoring her, he continued. "Well, unexpectedly the story or the game did not end there. The Phils were losing by two in the bottom of the ninth and as you might have pondered or expected, the Expos' manager who was in the dugout below us, with two outs, no one on base, walked not one, no not two, but three batters to get to Bowa. There was the sin. The insult. Bowa, a pipe cleaner of a guy responded, had a bases clearing triple. He rewrote my plans believing I would speak about trusting in yourself. But as life is it threw me a curve ball. Bowa rose from his slide, looked over in our direction, obviously at the manager and presented him with the universal gesture of disapproval. Yep, he flipped him the bird. No not just a subtle one but one that rose from his knee, accentuated with two arms, and hung in the air like a proud 4th of July flag. The stands erupted. Quietude held off my want for exuberance. My hero had done something unhero like. Remember the times. Adults did not so display. Youth were equally discouraged."

"Bowa was the man." She put the Phillies' baseball cap, that hung above the computer, on her head.

"Well, I felt as if my arse was on fire. I knew this would spread through the congregation like peanut butter on a hot day. Partly as a preemptive retort, my next Life Lesson, a thing where I pointed out how to live life more to the word was simple. In every good Bowa there is an evil Bowa, don't let others draw it out. I felt unlike Bowa believing I knocked it out of the park."

"How did that work?"

"Not well. That was the last Phillies field trip I was allowed to host. The parents publicly questioned my choice of hero, wrote about it in the newsletter. I questioned their disconnect from reality. But my point about our character is very simple, I've learned that every person is not black or white but varying shades of gray. Only robots and Jason can be absolute evil."

"And that's the moral of the story?

"Hell, there ain't no moral... I like the story."

"You were a Sunday School teacher?"

"Drop it."

We love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who emails 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 ~ September 2009
Snake Dance ~ February 2010
Chasing Gravitas ~ July 2010
Champagne Books
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE IS AVAILABLE