Tortoise Butterfly Attack

"Help, I'm under attack."

http://vistacomputersolutions.blogspot.com/

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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....

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

THOU STRONG SEDUCER, OPPORTUNITY
By
Angelica Hart and Zi

As the writing tandem of Angelica Hart and Zi we confront the omnipresent obstacle of credibly selling seduction. The action of the artful lure of lust and love is and can be difficult. The line of demarcation between sensuality and erotica is hazy. The following is a piece from our manuscript in progress, It May Be Love. The writer of the e-mail was a man wanting to seduce, his heart was pure, his motivation honest, yet were his techniques apt, effective, or foolish?

Morning. The world of weather appears to have given wonderful, at first, it a light gentle rain. Not so wonderful later, so I read until I sat to write to you. The coffee is being shared alone, wish I had a smile to share with it, yours. The room is silent but for the ticky-tack of my keyboard, ticky-tack, sticky keys. The A and S keys. I have been writing steamy stuff lately. Why? My thoughts are with you. I hope this finds you well.

John Dryden wrote, “Thou strong seducer, Opportunity!” John knows seduction, yet, so few see the opportunity before them. I contend that they miss the moment. So few understand seduction, I see it, feel it, but can I create it? The best I can do is try. Kudos Johnnie boy. Your beautiful eyes are my opportunity to dream, no, not John’s but yours, silly!

You are my possibility
My friend to be
My muse
My paramour
My future
You are my possibility
And I am profoundly
Pleased.

“A wise man will make more opportunities then he finds.” was given to us by Francis Bacon, neither a pig nor a women but a man who has a healthy vision on how to challenge life. I am a glass half-full man and see optimism as my greatest quality, maybe my second. You can be the judge one day.

I see sun when it rains
Light in the dark
I feel dawn rushes
I know good
And adore it
Ugly is ignored
For beauty transcends all
I see possibilities.

Pollyannaish? No. Nor cynic. Edward R. Murrow said of optimism, “Someone who tells you to cheer up when things are going his way.” That is the essence of a cynic. I think of you and become showered by the waterfall of possibilities. Drenched in the orange glow of what if.

The ‘iron hot’ strategy from James Howell’s words, “strike while…” is how most look at opportunity. John Clarke wrote, “Make hay while the sun shineth.” Don’t ya just love a word with a –th. Churchill’s spin was, “Make hell while the sun shines.” which supports this narrower view of opportunity. I differ with these men. I see opportunity as a more wonderfully larger thing. Opportunity is boundless, enriched by imagination.

As a child I was told
Have lemons make lemonade
As an adult I say
Have a life… live brightly.

Now, is our chance to discover, to take sojourns to ideas and ideals. The method to facilitate the quest for the self-actualized being is captured in one thought; risk it all. The grand way to find the greater joy our lives can offer; risk it all. A way to grow in oh so many ways… wink-wink!

Sincerity bleaches white
The browns of dishonesty
The you of me is beguiling
The me of you… reconciling

I look at it this way. When it rains cats and dogs; you’ve a new pet or two. I’ve reached that age where I understand and I enjoy the simple things. Life is good, so I just look for it.

The point, yes, I’ll move toward it.

Aristotle puts it simply, “A friend is a second self.” After reading your words I felt a wonderful connect. One I would be foolish to let past without discovery, so you are my opportunity, my possibility, and I sincerely thank you. You are becoming my friend.

I look at you
And see me
Looking back
At yourself.

I’d like to see your eyes, feel your smile, and discover you.

The afore piece was designed so the man might via his email seduce. When we construct a manuscript and the plot device is seduction we never know if we’ve been successful. Of course we seduce the whomever we intended, we designed it that way, but do we touch the reader. We are writing temptation so we want to tempt. It is the reader whom we ultimately feel we have to move. Enticing allure was the staple of Shakespeare, but required one to be a student of the obscure. We feel it must be both real and overt, universally intriguing, yet precisely perfect for the characters and, yes, we stumble.

Is it innate insecurity on our part? Great query. No! Neither of us are insecure about seduction nor our writing. It is the delicate fabric of it and the diverse nature of it that brings us struggles. One character might find apt fascination with a shy stoic man whereas another craves a virile dominating sort. Translating that and bringing it beauty is our duty to readers. There are no formulas. The plot and essence of the characters created dictate the tools available to us. Our constant boggle is that within our plots do we excite and please the reader. We are inspired to make the seduction believable, maybe the seducer likeable, the tease sexy and personal to the reader, but mostly to bring an honest twitter to anyone who lets our words unfold before them. We want you to believe a shy man a stud, and want you to want him. It is easy to make a stud a stud.

We see love, also beauty in that love, and all that for every person. Naive of us? Not at all.

This is Zi saying that I want you… to read!

SNAKE DANCE
The Story:

On the planet Starling wRen defies her heritage so she can be with VeIper, an outcast bent on freeing his species from ethnic cleansing. Mong, a slayer, quells their ambition as he plots the subjugation of wRen and the death of VeIper.

EXCERPT:

With lithe movement he followed that scent, in wavy patterns slipping one way then the other catching it at its greatest strength. Coiled, flexed, and slowly rose ever so little as not to be seen, and saw for the first time in his short life something that gave him a shiver to his soul, rattling, and he noticeably trembling. This was not chills of fear, no, but a far different emotion. The full magnitude of this he could not discern but it was there like tiny flickers of fire bursting under his skin.

There captive in his gaze was a female, white and peach toned, similar to others yet nothing at all alike. She stood out against the natural background of color as if apart from it, and yet she somehow was all of it. Her face held an intricate balance of beauty and emotion. It was as if you could see the swirl of them real and raw with no apology for them. Her body held the lushness and enticement of her kind, but the enticement was somehow different. It was as if her curves had been sculptured just for his hands; as if her breasts and buttocks would fit perfectly into his palms; as if her flesh would respond instantly to the trace of his fingertips and as if her lips would curve into his with perfection. Their fingers would entwine naturally, the tender spurt of her pulse would match his


We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@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...CHASING...CHASING ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

HE ARRIVED
By: Angelica Hart and Zi

Angelica Hart and Zi are published by Champagne Books.

A uniqueness of being a mixed gender writing team is that we can draw upon things that are sometimes very specific to our gender. The following excerpt of a larger piece highlights the thinking of two different minds following a similar plot path. When we finished we found it was quite funny, and enjoyed the development of it, and actually believed we might not have been able to do it individually.

"Are you, you?" asked a tallish slender man.
"Yenta sent you?"
"Aye."
"Sit."
The two were silent.
She thought, the fairyland body was composed of 85% water, and he was a tall drink of manness and I am thirsty.
She said, "Do you drink?
"Nay!"
He thought, dag she sure was a looker, could I say now, that I have met you I am glad I am not blind.
He said, "You look well."
"I am."
The two were silent.
She thought, could I risk being coy. Might I say, do you believe in the hereafter and well, I bet you have guessed what I am here after. She giggled at her thought.
She said, "Been here before?"
"Nay! You?"
"Nay!"
He thought, what do I say? Humor...humor! Can I buy you a drink or do you just want the two crown?
He said, "Drink?
"Nay!"
The two were silent.
She thought, I need some eclectic charm. I could try, I have some skittles in my mouth, would you like to taste the rainbow. Could I be so bold?
She said, "Ever seen a rainbow?"
"Aye! You?"
"Aye."
He thought, I need to act debonair. Might I take her hand and look her in the eyes.
He said, "Are they your original hands?" He noticed her manicure.
The two were silent.
She thought, I want to let him know I like him. I approve of Yenta's choice. I could just quip, You'll do!
She said, "Eat?"
"Aye! You?"
"Aye!"
He thought, I would look confident if I shot at her, You'll do!
He said, "Eat daily?" Knew immediately that was a bad query.
"Aye!"
The two were silent.
She thought, I'll ask him if he believed in love at first sight or did he want me to get up and return?
She said, "Their fruit is fresh here."
"I'm not a big fruit eater."
"Me either."
He thought, should I create some interest, maybe I should say, I might not look like Fred Flintstone, but I sure could make your bed rock.
He said, "Do you rock climb?"
"Nay! You?"
"Nay!"
The two were silent.
She thought, boy, is that a nice shirt he is wearing I wonder if I could talk him out of it.
She said, "Warm tonight?"
"It is this time of the year."
"Indeed."
He thought, she actually looked chilly and she had some obvious nipus erecti. I wonder if I could feign being blind and read her blouse in braille.
He said, "Read?"
"Nay...do menus count?"
"They do."
"Then...aye!"
The two were silent.
She thought, I think I could fall madly in bed with him."
She said, "I text message."
"So do I."
"Nice!"
He thought, if I told her she had a beautiful body would she hold it against me?
He said, "I email, too."
"Me too!"
The two were silent.
She thought, I should be playful, say something like I am hot, mind if I take my panties off? I would be hoping for him to respond, Drop 'em!
She said, "It is suppose to get cooler tomorrow."
"That would be nice."
"It would."
He thought, I should say something edgy like, would you mind if I take my pants off? She did mention the heat. I might. I'll smile. Act like a rouge.
He said, "I am glad it is not going to rain.
"Me too."
The two were silent.
She thought, I know what would look great on him...me!"
She said, "I made my own dress."
"It is attractive."
"Thank you!"
He thought, being a bit risqué, he considered that the dress would look great on the floor next to his bed.
He said, "I raise algae."
"That is nice."
"I believe it could be a bio-fuel."
The two were silent.
She thought, if i were you I'd have sex with me. She was self-assured. Wanted to wink.
She said, "Can you make money in algae?"
"Not yet."
"Oh!"
He thought, there are like 200 bones in the human body...I wonder is she wants another.
He said, "I can bone a fish."
"That is a talent...most can't." She wanted to say, do you buy it dinner first?
The two were silent.
She thought, I could quip, want to play demolition expert...you lay there and I'll blow the hell out of you?
She said, "My Uncle fishes."
"Where?"
"Don't know."
He thought, would I impress her if I said, what has one hundred and forty teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk. She's ask what and I'd proudly retort...my zipper.
He said, "I have an Uncle."
"So do I."
"I know. He fishes."
"He does."
The two were silent.
She thought, I heard that sex is a killer...want to die? I could show my humor.
She said, "My fishing uncle died."
"Sorry. Recently?"
"Four years ago."
He thought, if I asked her if I flipped a coin what would be my chances of getting head?
He said, "I once went to funeral."
"Me, too."
The two were silent.
She thought, your face or mine.
She said, "I don't have pets." She wanted to add that she gives puppies on a first date.
He thought, my face is leaving in seventeen minutes...be on it.
He said, "My Uncle has a cat."
The two were silent.
She thought, nice shoes.
She said, "Want to screw?!" This was an oops moment, she meant to think this.
He thought, what did she ask?
He said, "Are you free this evening or will it cost me?"
The two were silent.
She thought, I got him.
She said, "I would like to blow your brain out."
He thought, cool.
He said, "Do you spit or swallow?"
The two were silent.
She thought, where.
She said, "Spit or swallow what?"
He thought, where.
He said, "Maybe we are moving too fast."
The two were silent.
She thought, he hates me.
She said, "I think we should take it slow."
He thought, she hates me.
He said, "Maybe we will try this again...I'll call you." He left.

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...CHASING...CHASING... ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

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

WRITER'S WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

WHO SAID IT FIRST
By:
Angelica Hart and Zi

eBay has engendered itself into our workplace. As an overview, this phenomenon has taken our culture by Perfect Storm. There it is, so common, that governor Sarah Palin used it to sell a state owned jet. And its stock is considered by money people like Michael Nesmith as indicators as to the direction of our market. We have five computers, of which, one seems to be a virtual eBay satellite. As we have written previously, Zi buys! He finds beauty to behold in treasures that unfold on his screen.

Yes, Zi got a few more shirts, today, didn't need them. The day ended up being quite interesting. We'd be in the middle of discussing dialogue between characters, obviously he multi-tasking, and suddenly he'd yelp, "Gotcha!" He won what he thought was beauty. What's thought to be one man's discard is another man's treasure.

Margaret Hungerford wrote, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." She was an Irish novelist in the 19th century who wrote light romantic fiction. However, this saying first appeared in the 3rd century BC in Greek. I find it ironic and inspiring that a romance writer would be attributed to that quote. Every day we explore and sexplore beauty and its play in love and romance.

It is so dag-nabbit-snap-dragon easy to write about traditional beauty. Easy to love a gorgeous woman. It's equally simplicitic to adore a hunky man but give that dude a goiter and he ain't dating. We believe that love is goiter-blind, and will try to discover a deeper purpose in love.

A movie from 1945 called The Enchanted Cottage played out this concept when what was considered a homely housekeeper falls in love with a scarred soldier. He saw her as beautiful, and she simply could not see his scars.

In our new manuscript, LOVE LETTERS, our hero Rich Longar has a burn scar that is predominate on his face. Our heroine Lauren Pike maybe a bit fleshy, hippy, zaftig, voluptuous, much of the Mae West character. We found great pleasure in building their love-ship. And aptly felt a certain requiting when it unfolded before us.

You have to adore Mae West. She once said, "A dame that knows the ropes isn't likely to get tied up." Additionally, she stated, "A hard man is good to find." She is attributed with, "A man in the house is worth two on the street." and "A man's kiss is his signature." We simply adore M. West. She said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly", "Cultivate your curves they may be dangerous but they won't be avoided", and "He who hesitates is a damned fool". Our last two are these, "I didn't discover curves; I only uncovered them" and "I believe it is better to be looked over than it is to be overlooked".

Lauren Pike is Mae Westian in her sexually overt and vivacious personality as well as her curvaceous appearance.

The question is would every man find her beautiful? And the answer is simply, no. The question is would every woman find Rich Longar attractive? And the answer is simply, no. There is a beauty that each holds that has to find synergy with the other. As writers and especially as romance writers we have to seek that potential interconnect and grow its viability so the reader can feel their raw lust and love.

So every day the beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we are its agents.


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

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

PANIC PROGNOSTICATION (HUH?)
By: Angelica Hart and Zi


It is not at all uncommon to have in-house debates over the most ridiculous things. If some of you have been reading our column you might not find this surprising. Slices of our days are lost to things like, should web-cams be marked with, use under parental guidance or worst rated-X, or do slugs know they leave a shimmer trail, or should we ever have any of our main characters wearing braces on their teeth fearing it might be distractive to the reader. The subject du jour was, if you panic you become inconsequential.

A: Zi... I've been thinking about sheet rippers and water boilers? (Face pensive as if considering one of the most important thoughts of the ages)
Z: Huh? (Looking up from handicapping the NFL picks for Sunday)
A: You know... when a woman has a baby and someone rips sheets and someone boils water...
Z: You're having a baby? (Mouth forms a huge O almost as huge as the roundness of his eyes) You're too old! Oops, far too much info... and I need to go on the lam, the PC police are sure to fine me. Sorry to the square root of please accept my apology. What's your thoughts on the Cowboys vs. the Redskins?
A: Am not old! (Shakes her hands in front of his face as if trying to chase away his thoughts) You're not listening. I'm talking abstract here. The unknown pregnant lady about to give birth. (Momentarily pensive) We're not writing a Western, are we?
Z: She'd go to the hospital and I don't think they rip sheets and boil water nowadays. (He was about to ghoom the dreary corners of his mind for answers... she was posing the imponderable)
A: There is no darkness to be hunting. Don't be using ghoom! (As if they were of one mind she reading his thoughts and then emerges the sound a wounded animal makes when stepping into the trap)
Z: Gotta do something about that indigestion, kiddo. (Of course he thought his inane humor was the quintessential yuckfest)
A: Focus, Zi. (Hoping to gloppen him into getting back on point)
Z: I am surprised you used gloppen. (He knowing gloppen meant surprised... a crooked grin appears testifying that he had been teasing her, a favorite pastime) So what about sheets and hot water?
A: Ahhhh, great question, glad you asked. I think we're the water boilers and readers are the sheet rippers. We go out in the kitchen, get the pot, find the lid, pump the water, put it all on the stove, light the match to ignite the gas under the pot, and get the pot holders ready.
Z: And what has this have to do with the price of mouse pads on the west side of Siam? And, by the way, what age are you living in?
A: (She made a glock sound as she swallowed) Bear with me, we go out into the office, get the plot, find the storyline, pump the characters, put it all on the computer, light the flame of conflict, and get the book ready for readers to read. Thereby, the readers are the sheet rippers, right there in the action of everything that evolves.
Z: (Shakes his head.) Wrong.
A: Really?
Z: (Nods) Let me share this with you. A hungry bear came upon two people in the woods, a writer and a reader. One was typing away on his laptop. The other was reading. The bear ate the reader. (He pauses for effect) Even bears know readers digest and writers cramp.
A: I don't get it. What's that have to do with the price of ink on Main Street London? Actually it was so funny I forgot to laugh. Where is my yo-yo? It is a Duncan moment. (Walked the dog... put the yo-yo back and sat) What's you point... Pointy-Pointerson, from Pointview, Pointerio?
Z: Exactly! First rule of writing have something to say. You didn't.
A: Which brings us to the question of the week, what is better a good story with bad writing or a bad story with good writing? Write us and tell us your thoughts.

Neither of us can givy during our workdays because one event after the next provokes spirited interlude. Life is grand when your imagination has been encouraged to fly freely. Givy means to relax... been doing my G-words today... I feel I am never too old to learn something... Last week I discerned that I will never name a dog Stain... Imagine standing in the park... call for your pouch... the waves of ridiculing eyes... followed by the flood of embarrassment... think about it.

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

WRITERS WRITE... WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

THE CLICHÉ TOUCHÉ
By: Angelica Hart and Zi


Z: All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy. (Zi drank from his Big Dog mug, placed it on the desk, looked at it, looked at Angelica) Woof!
A: All's fair in love and war. Work can be war. Work. (She wagged that finger much like a dog did its tail... Zi would have preferred the wag of the tail... the dog's tail)
Z: So you are a proponent of all's well that ends well? (Avoiding the return to writing using diversion tactics of a great military mind he tried to engage her in conversation)
A: Attitude is determined by attitude. (Wicked eyes ripped from her desk to his, shredding dust moats)
Z: (Zi thought... poor little moats... mean Angelica... what bit her) So you want an arm and a leg? (Considering he felt she was bit by it-is-time-to-be-serious bug... and the bite had swollen enflamed ugly... so ugly Zi wanted to flee fearing a volcanic eruption of whipping and scolding... and get a witch doctor to exorcise her demons)
A: Oh, that's an oldie but goodie.
Z: And I guess that puts another nail in my coffin? (He gazed wistfully out the window and looked for the excuse to shoot hoops in the backyard) Dog is sneaking under the fence... gotta go!

The afore was a cliché touché, both a debate over and with clichés. We constantly battle about their usage and have taken the position that if we notice them we change them. Now, having said that we do use clichés in dialog. People speak that way.

"Hey, babe, you are dressed to the nines." Using a twirling finger he asked for her to spin.
"This old thing." She smiled touched by his flattery, she knowing she spent hours choosing just for him.
"Fits like a glove." Ronald wanted to infest her with his thoughts of sensuality, they being spirited by that very tight dress.
"Makes me look flat as a pancake." She knew he was a man who loved a full décolleté and wore that piece of lingerie that pushed up and together, her gift to him.
"You are fine and dandy." As he said those words, somewhere deep within he hoped he had moved her closer to that place where her panties would spontaneously fall to her ankles.

A: That scene is total crap.
Z: Not enough passion? (His eyes turned hurt puppy-doggish)
A: Misused clichés. (She had the damn-the-torpedoes glare)
Z: How's the passion? (He pointed to one sentence)
A: Lost to the clichés. (There it was, the snap of the whip)
Z: Ouch! And I wanted to get Ronald a girlfriend with benefits. (Zi, a man's man, felt he failed his bud and returned to the keyboard to find those benefits for him)

The afore may show that just because a cliché is a part of people's dialog it may not work to facilitate the intention of the work.

But clichés can be fun.

Z: The final line you wrote read, knee-high to a grasshopper, do you really want to write that? (Zi had that holier than thou 'tude... no not whitewashed in meanness but caked with that I-know-something-you-don't-know tone)
A. Sure. (That sure was a volley back sure... we have all done those... she waiting for more information)
Z. Do you really want to write that? I’ll ask you once more, do you really want to write that, and I shall add, the cliché leaves the impression of one providing oral favors to an insect. Do you really want to use the expression?
A: Nooooooooooooooooo. (The white of her eyes appeared around her irises)
Z: Got to hurry and change it. (He typed using huge hand strokes) Now, we are using, having ants in their pants. (There are some grins that are more than sniggers and have taken smirk to a devilish place... Zi so grinned)
A: Naughty ants? (She laughed... though Angelica was mind picturing them doing the horizontal... oh my goodness she felt the need to stop being a mind voyeur and shook her head as if flinging the naughty asunder)
Z: Sounds like we are writing insect erotica. (This is where he'd tee-hee but Zi never tee-heed)
A: Everyone is busy as a bee. (Another volley of ill-begotten thoughts)
Z: Happy as a bug in the rug. (And Zi knew exactly what he meant by rug)
A: Ok... ok... cliché touché must end. (She raised her hands... no not in that way to indicate she had to go potty... though she did raise one finger... peecular?)
Z: Sounds like I opened a can of worms. (Worms... was that a metaphor... probably)
A: Enough! (What did Zi mean when he said can of... what this... no... not a party... ick!)
Z: The early bird gets the worm... and what does that duck do with it? (At this point Zi knew he was tormenting and loved that he could)
A: I don't want to know. (Though she knew what she wanted the duck to do and made up a poem)
Z: Think fall through the cracks... huh!! (Bounces his well embrowness)
A: Stop!
Z: Want me to deep-six the clichés?
A: Yes!
Z: Don't count your chickens before they are hatched.

We believe that our job is know when and when not to cliché. We hope we don't rock the boat but hit the ball out of the park.

The question is, do clichés have value?


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
Champagne Books
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE IS AVAILABLE

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

WRITERS WRITE... WRITING PARTNERS FEUD

KETCHUP, KETCH-DOWN

By: Angelica Hart and Zi



Angelica and Zi work full time as authors. The mundane and monotony are held at bay by one very practical quality. Whereas we take our writing serious, we seldom take ourselves so. Back when we were going through the idiosyncratic process of creating the tone and texture of SNAKE DANCE, a fantasy piece, there were days that boredumb bit not out of any other reason but self-defense of our sanity.



Recalling:



A: There are some days that you have a craving that just won’t quit. You know yours and we know some of you and what you crave, well... I'm ending it there but there's one lady who may have banana split issues, innuendo intended. Yesterday was one of those days, and for some reason the craving remained elusive, all because of Zi.

Z: Don’t believe her, wasn’t my fault. She's a blamiac. Evil raisin-dropping vermin who says, "That was not me." But it was. Every faux raisin was diddley squatted by you. Weasel-woman. (Grabbing Macmillan Illustrated Animal Encyclopedia and pointing to the page with the common weasel)

A: Right. (She did the Olympic eye-roll... scored... 9.7... 9.6... 9.0 by the Russian judge)

Z: There are just codes one lives by that should not be broken. Men must leave the buffer urinal when possible, never date your brother's ex-wife, and don't blame Zi when it was all your fault. (Zi did the symbolic finger over finger affixed cross implying Angelica was the spawn of Dracula, mouthing back, back, back)

A: Can I tell the story, now? (She finished tying a bandana about Elmo's neck)

Z: If you must spin your subterfuge... spin crazy woman, spin. Get dizzy... Gillespie... with it. (He did a bad funky chicken)

A: Must. It started when Zi wanted to send out for lunch. (She responded with the perfect rendition of the hand jive)

Z: The body has its own time clock. The coffee at 6:00, my morning constitutional at precisely 7:30, and lunch at 11:30. All must do's.

A: When I started working with Zi, and for the first time in over 34 years, I had to think about preparing midday meals. We tried cooking for several months, but our partnership agreement did not specify a lunch clause. Knowing what I know now we would have never been able to negotiate it. He can be annoying about food. Hellmann's real mayo, no dill pickles, no salt, no crackers, no toast, no fish but tuna, cheese sandwiches, mind you not grilled cheese, and fruit need not be fresh just juicy.

Z: I eventually found the fairness fairy-godfather, made my own meals, and did not ask you to eat mayo and pepper sandwiches though offered. Found myself feeling bad as you continually disinclined my generous gestures. (Turned his head as if hurt, offering his ring to be kissed... he the fairy-godfather)

A: You did adapt. Additionally, I liked eating out with Zi because early in the partnership he'd consistently pick up the check. It was a week after one of my more overt complaining sessions, I do do that, we went out to this Chinese place we liked. He looked at the young waitress and said, "Separate checks, please." He made his point. Now we order in, split the bill. Yesterday, I wanted a hot dog.

Z: (Zi's face raced with that feces-eating grin that bespoke a quip was coming after she mentioned wanting a hot dog) Figures...

A: (Angelica interrupted as a pre-emptive strike against what could have been raw adolescent humor and scolded as a good mother might) Don't you dare say a word!

Z: I was going you say you always want hot dogs. Why? Huh? Phallic overdose? For me... cheeseburger? (He feigned sincerity) I'll call.

A: Hot dog with ketchup.

Z: No.

A: What do you mean, no? (Face stunned but she expected to be stunned daily and there was no real getting use to Zi's brand of astonishment)

Z: Hot dogs come plain or with mustard. (He held the face and certainty of a professor)

A: No, they don’t. You can get loads of stuff on one, including ketchup.

Z: I repeat, mustard or plain. Putting ketchup on a hot dog just isn’t right. I lunch at this place often, I just will not allow them to think I participate in such an atrocity. I've a rep.

A: A deli rep?

Z: You've a rep with your beautician, you having to do your hair before you go to have her do it.

A: Fine, then, just have them throw in some ketchup packets.

Z: No.

A: Another no? (She growled and pulled up the loose floppy lips of Elmo to demonstrate her frustration... Elmo driveled but seemed to enjoy the attention) Why?

Z: Cause then we’d have to order fries to go with the ketchup.

A: Then order them.

Z: (He shakes his head.) Not healthy. Too much salt. Forget it.

A: Like a double cheeseburger is healthy?

Z: So do you want a hot dog plain or with mustard?

A: (Sighs) I’ll have a cheeseburger.



Writing with someone is just like the afore piece. One must embrace adaptability in the face of rampant ideology. If we don't flex we don't accomplish diddley squat. And we all know DS-ing has great import.



Some days you get the dog and some days the dog gets nixed. So, what are you… a ketchup or mustard on a dog sort?



KILLER DOLLS IS AVAILABLE: Unaware that bio-terrorists are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent. Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it's the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.



SNAKE DANCE IS AVAILABLE: On the planet Starling wRen defies her heritage so she can be with VeIper, an outcast bent on freeing his species from ethnic cleansing. Mong, a slayer, quells their ambition as he plots the subjugation of wRen and the death of VeIper.



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 ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010

angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

angelicahartandzi.com



KILLER DOLLS and SNAKE DANCE can be purchased at

Champagne Books

http://www.champagnebooks.com/