Inside Joke III – Or, what the hell is wrong with us
I think a year ago, maybe two, or three, I mentioned that my esteemed cousin and I were working on a story. We’re still working on the same story, but that’s cool. We both have day jobs and other responsibilities. We write when we can, as much as we can, but there’s a natual progression and we don’t rush things just for the sake of getting a certain amount done in a night.
And we play for keeps. Things tend to get edgy. We don’t write by cooperating, by the way. No outline, no synopsis…no preconcieved notion of how it’s supposed to end. We turn our characters loose and off we go. Sounds easy, except MaryAnne’s cast of characters includes cops, Feds, cops, district attorneys, cops, gangsters, assassins, Feds, cops, and a few ordinary people thrown in once in awhile just to trip me up.
Which explains the rambling, spontaneous and difficult nature of our work. Right now, I’ll admit, there’s a juncture where I don’t know whether to turn left or right. This speaks to my cousin’s skill, because it’s not often I’m vapor-locked with indecision.
A by-product of all this is the need to get back at her somehow. (While I proceed to get my posterior handed to me in the story.) So pardon us as we indulge in a few unfathomable potshots in the blogs between our standard entries.
Interesting that she found the Maxwell cigarettes to go with the coffee. Having no worthy response to that, I’m just gonna shaddap until I think of something. Um…yeah…hmm…
