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/

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