This thread started on a forum Mike and I shared, when we started playing off each other about this alternative/fantasy persona we each gave ourselves. Since then, we’ve started writing a novel together and Mike has had a number of books published as Michael D. Griffiths (The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part I, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part II, Eternal Aftermath) while I’ve been busy rewriting several books and establishing my Creative Writing classes at Northbrook College. But though he writes horror and I write sci fi, when we get together, we write… differently! So I thought I’d put a slice of our combined madness on my blog…
Ow… My head…
Wait who’s that coming in? Are they bringing me something to eat? Oh, Flippin’ Norah, it is the bughead Edgar again! I’m start to really hate this Son of a-
“Mr Griffiths, or should I say Bone – that is your warrior name isn’t it?”
“I prefer to think of it as my superhero name.”
“Superhero? Oh never mind, you and your foolish friends manage to make Scoobie Doo look like James Bond.”
“Ha! We messed up your dining room pretty good didn’t we and-“
“Silence fool! That will be the last expensive dish you ever break. The immature Thingthatmustnotbenamed has metamorphosed past the stage where it needs a host. Usually they eat their host, but in this case we have other plans for you.”
“What happened to my baby?”
“Baby,” *cough, sputter* “He is a madman! I want him gone. His usefulness is over. If someone else can find a way to deal with his idiocy, let it be their problem. I’m washing my hands of this. Goodnight, Mr. Bone – and may Evil follow your days and nights. We probably won’t meet again, I am done with your purile babbling.”
“Well, may you be strapped over an anthill on a sunny day you fish-bellied freak!”
At last he is gone. Didn’t so much as offer me a glass of water. Still, it doesn’t matter. He he he. I don’t even need Dahtoe this time – I have the key. Those morons! Now to escape and track down SJ and Jack.
Oh, WILL you stop moaning? Honestly, Jack – I thought you’d be grateful. We managed to sneak out of the castle while they were busy taking Mike off to the cells – but you got to blend in more. We don’t get all that many men wandering around these streets in buckskin leather-
Oh great… Now he’s got a face on him that would curdle vinegar and is marching up the street. I WISH we had Mike here. He has his off-moments, but he’s a walk in the park in comparison to Mr Wimmin-should-know-their-place…
Oh look. That speck over there…
Is that Dahtoe returning? Gosh, that didn’t take him long. He’s making a dreadful noise, though. Sounds like a half-strangled cat… Oh no… no, no NO. It IS a half-strangled cat! That idiot seagull! He was s’posed to deliver a note, threatening Edgar that we’d take his cat if he didn’t instruct his goons to release Mike… Not grab the moggy and make off with it!
Jack. Look out! Dahtoe is above you and he’s diving-
Ouch. That MUST hurt. A furious cat landing on his head, like that. Hold onto it, Jack – don’t let it get away!
Too late… Hm. Hope the fleabit bag of fluff hasn’t got any nasty American diseases, seeing as he’s now loose in the streets of Chepstow…
Huh? Yeah – well I am sorry it landed on your head… Hey, just a minute – HOW is this my fault?
It was a perfectly good plan! How did I know that the stupid seagull would take it into his peabrain to grab the wretched cat?
Oh, for goodness sake! Trouble with you is that you’ve been spending far too much time listening to Mike’s hysterical ranting about Edgar and his fights with him. Hear HIM talk, you’d think that he was some mega-scary master-thinker who is five steps ahead of the rest of us sad proles. For starters, he’s tucked up in his draughty old castle. Calm down. C’mon, buddy. Deep breaths. I know – why don’t we catch a show? You’ll love it… Take your mind off our troubles. And then we’ll work out how to get Mike out of that dratted castle.