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turtle-steverogers · 6 years ago

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4/20 clown wig!

hehehehehhe high bois are BACK! (feat. a very exasperated spot)

warnings: weed and clowns

ship: platonic spralbert

editing: lmao no

word count: 1732

“It is officially the greatest national holiday and I bought tickets to the circus in town.” Race froze, not shifting his gaze from his computer screen as his roommate’s words sunk in.

Slowly, he turned in his seat, fixing Albert with an incredulous stare, “Albert, what are you talking about?”

Albert stood in his doorway, weed-print snapback placed backwards on his head. Race gave him a onceover, noting his weed socks and vans. He blinked, looking behind him to glance at the date on the bottom of his screen.

April 20, 2019.

His eyes widened, “Jesus Christ I almost missed weed day!” He shut his computer quickly and stood abruptly from his seat, rounding on Albert once more, “You bought tickets to a circus? We’re gonna go to a circus high?”

Albert shrugged, “why the fuck not?” He clicked on his phone, seeing that he’d received a text, “Oh yeah, Spot’s gonna come too. Said he wasn’t gonna let us drive high I guess,” he paused for a moment, thinking, “Although I’ve done it before.”

They stared at each other for a moment, expressions blank and serious, then Race shrugged as well, pushing past him to grab his keys from the hallway.

“Okay, cool,” He called over his shoulder, “Sounds fun!”

XXX

The three boys made the short trek from the parking area towards the tent, Albert and Race attempting to seem as sober as possible given the fact that they’d just hotboxed in Race’s car, much to Spot’s dismay.

“I don’t understand why you two couldn’t have just, like, hit Albert’s pen a few times on the way,” He grumbled, pulling ahead of his two friend as they neared the tent.

“Spottiee, that wouldn’t be respecting weed day!” Race said, jogging forward and leaning into Spot’s side, “We gotta go all out!”

Spot rolled his eyes, blindly shoving Race off of him. Race stumbled to the side, pitching towards the ground.

“Christ,” Spot hissed, swooping to catch Race before he was able to fall completely, “I regret coming.”

They entered the tent, taking a moment to find their seats. It was fairly crowded, filled with families looking to bring their kids out for a fun activity. Or expose them to clowns and scar them for life. They were practically the same thing.

Spot was momentarily relieved to find they weren’t sitting next to any families with very young children. No child should be subjected to the nightmares that were Race and Albert while high.

“It smellllllsss like, uh, hay in here,” Albert said, dazedly slapping Race on the shoulder to get his attention.

Race took a moment to sluggishly place some cotton candy in his mouth, before looking at Albert. His eyes scanned slowly from Albert’s face to the center of the tent, where hay covered the ground underneath the small, circular stage platform.

His eyes widened comically, “Hey!” he hit Albert’s arm excitedly, “Hey! Albert, HEY! There’s HAY!”

Albert followed his gaze to the hay, bloodshot eyes lighting up, “Oh, I bet that’s where the smell is coming from,” he giggled, “Hey, Race, when you were telling me about the hay you said ‘hey’ and then you talked about ‘hay’...” he trailed off, frowning for a moment, “M’talkin’ stupid! I’m just talking so stupid.”

Race eyed him, amused, “yeah, you aaare, but you always do so it’s okay.”

Spot barely glanced up from his phone, “You both always do and it gives me a headache.”

The lights in the tent faded, coaxing the room to silence. Suddenly, with a flash of color, the stage lit up, revealing the ringmaster standing in the center.

“Holy fuck I want his hat,” Albert stage whispered, leaning in close to Race as he gestured to the ringmaster’s top hat.

“Go get it,” Race whispered back, lifting his legs to let Albert out.

Albert shook his head, “I’m high and gay, not stupid and impulsive.”

Spot scoffed, “Incorrect. You are, in fact, all four of those things.”

Albert frowned, opening his mouth to retort, but Spot held up a hand.

“I know this is a foreign concept for you two, but we gotta be quiet now. It’s a performance,” He gestured to where a few trapeze artists were preparing their act.

“Okay, mom,” Race said, over exaggerating each syllable and slumping into his seat, stifling a giggle.

Albert flicked his eyes towards Race, eyes glinting. He held a fist to his mouth, trying as well to hold in his own laughter. Soon, both of them were snickering unsubtly in their seats.

Spot allowed his head to tilt backwards, exasperation itching the back of his neck. He rolled his head to the side, taking in the view of hundreds of parents and suddenly feeling an odd sense of solidarity towards them.

Several acts performed without much event. Spot allowed himself to get caught up in the show, clapping along with other audience members at the acrobatics and trying not to cringe at the too loud cheering of his friends.

When the clowns came out, however, everything went to shit.

Albert let out a little scream, pressing himself further into his seat. Alarmed, Spot looked over to see him cowering and covering his face.

“What, not a fan of clowns or something?” He whispered.

Albert shook his head, peeking out between his fingers, “They’re sooo weird,” he said, words slurring together, as he leaned dramatically over his armrest to look at Spot. Spot’s eyes widened and he reared back slightly at his friend’s sudden closeness.

“And once,” Albert began, “Some kid in my class in, like, third grade told me I look like a clown ‘cause I’m pale as shit and have red hair. So, for the rest of the year, everyone called me ‘Clownbert’.”

Spot couldn’t contain his laughter at that, “C-Clownbert!? Bro, I’m sorry, I’m gonna call you that from now on.”

Albert pouted, crossing his arms and facing front again, “And I want a divorce.”

“Okay, Clownbert.”

Race suddenly turned, looking from Albert to Spot rapidly, “Oh, that’s tragic, Spot what’re you gonna do!”

Spot shook his head, “Watch the show, assholes.”

“Oh my fucking….” Albert was transfixed, eyes bulging out of his head as he tuned back into the performance.

Spot followed his gaze to where fifteen or so clowns were climbing into a small car, seemingly disappearing inside. He huffed a small laugh, looking back at Albert who’s mouth was still hanging open.

“Where do they all go?” He asked in awe.

Spot considered telling him that there was probably a hole in the car that all the clowns climbed into, leading underneath the stage, but he was enjoying Albert’s confusion. He leaned over to check on Race, but frowned when he found his friend staring at the act, eyebrows furrowed and an indiscernible look in his eyes. He looked incredibly bothered, but before Spot could question him, the elephants were brought out and Albert was once again screaming.

The rest of the performance passed rather quickly, only giving way to a few solo acts and some pretty impressive fire tricks. When it was over, Spot stood and applauded with everyone else, motioning for Albert and Race to do the same. Albert stood, enthusiastically cheering as well, but Race remained seated, still looking troubled.

“Okay, what’s gotcha put off?” Spot asked Race as soon as they got back into Race’s car. It still smelled obnoxiously like weed and Spot wrinkled his nose, rolling down the window.

Race allowed his head to loll a bit, reaching into his pocket and extracting his own dab pen, taking another drag.

He allowed the weed to work its way into his system before answering, “Dunno, I guess I see why Ronald McDonald is so depressed.”

Spot choked, ignoring Albert’s mumbled requests for fruity pebbles from the backseat, “What?”

“Being a clown’s hard, man!” Race insisted, sitting up straighter, “Ya know! No one asks clowns how they are, they just think they’re fucking creepy all the time! They always ask the clown who they are, but never how they are.”

Spot was dumbfounded, but Race was on a roll.

“You ever think there’s a reason that they climb into that little car, all of them at once,” He shifted his body so that he could see both Spot and Albert, “So they can consolidate together...mope in sadness...but of course they don’t want to stuff themselves into cars for your entertainment,” He shook his head, anger causing his face to scrunch up, “they’re paid to do this, but this isn’t right! It shouldn’t be their job, that’s clown abuse…”

He sat in thought for another moment before nodding decisively and leaning back into his seat, loosening his seatbelt.

Spot stared at the road, lost for words, “Wow, Race….that was, uh, that was-”

“Poetic,” Albert said from the back, voice sounding strained. Spot flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror to see tears glinting in Albert’s eyes and he resisted the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel.

“Thank you, Al,” Race said, “Anyway, m’hungry.”

“Me too!” Albert exclaimed, tears and clown rights forgotten, “Spot can we go pick up fruity pebbles?”

“Dontcha have some in your apartment?” Spot asked, taking the exit back to campus.

“Uhhh,” Albert cocked his head in thought, “I don’t know…”

Spot shifted his jaw, “I have an emergency stash at my apartment, let’s just go there.”

“Okay! Party!” Race cheered.

Spot managed to corral them to his room, seating them safely on the couch before venturing to the kitchen to retrieve Albert’s fruity pebbles.

“Whatcha want, Racer?” He called, pouring milk into a single serving cup of fruity pebbles.

“Mmmm mac and cheese,” Came Race’s garbled response.

“Shoulda guessed,” Spot said to himself, also preparing a Kraft microwavable cup of macaroni and cheese.

He handed Race and Albert their respective munchie snacks and perched himself on the armchair across from them, smirking when they began to scarf down the food.

He picked up the remote, switching on youtube and pulling up the latest episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, “Did you guys have a good Weed Day?” he asked.

Albert nodded, mouth full of fruity pebbles, “yeahhhhh.”

“How ‘bout you, Race?”

“I did,” he said, taking another bite of mac and cheese, “Also, I’m dropping out of college and going to clown school to become an advocate for clown rights.”

“Jesus Christ.”

lmao Clownbert,,,,i kinda wanna photoshop that

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my taglist

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @technically-whizzy

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @sunshine-e-cigarettes @have-we-got-news-for-you @musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

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#newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #spralbert #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #chaotic boys #high boys #al eats fruity pebbles when hes high

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claeriekavanaugh · 7 years ago

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Intro: What is your name, what do you write, and where can readers find you on social media? And just for fun, if you could be any mythical being or creature, who or what would you be?

Hello, I’m M. K. Wiseman and I’ve found my groove penning YA historical fantasy (a short hop over from my steampunk entry into the publishing world.) Social-wise, I positively live over on Twitter but also have more recently discovered the fun that is Instagram and Pinterest. My handle on all three is @FaublesFables – come say “hi!”

As for a mythical being or creature: dragon all the way! (Closer to the Japanese concept of the beast, however, than the European idea.)

In the past, you’ve written steampunk and your most recent release is a Christian fantasy. Which do you like more and what drew you to each genre?

The kind of historical fantasy I write and steampunk are, for me, sort of one and the same…? (Is that a cheat answer?) Clearing that up a bit: for my fantasies, I simply adore writing from the corner where the premise is that maybe maybe history, as written, has simply erased the magical side of the story. That’s a pretty ‘steampunk’ way to see things, I think. Overall, what I write is largely similar in flavor due to it coming from ‘reader me’ + my particular world view. I like to read “clean” fiction—a.k.a. anything 9-year-old me would have read without blushing. And a part of me has always burned with the desire to use my writing to do “good” in the world.

More pointedly to your question, the Christian fantasy genre is an interesting demographic of stories. It’s a very wide, if sometimes very specific, genre. For example, in “Bookminder” there is no Christ allegory (a la C. S. Lewis’s Narnia books.) But I have made a concentrated effort to put a Catholic priest as a character in books 1 and 2 of the trilogy, simply because that is a part of my life and I want it “in” my world building—specifically as the story occurs in a real time and place where religion would have impacted the lives of wizards such as Nagarath and Liara.

YA is such a wide-open category. What type of YA do you enjoy the most and why?

I love good, clean, (old fashioned?) YA fantasy. Give me a story between 80-120K words where I can escape from Here and Now but still get a relevant message to take “home” with me when I close the cover and I am so there. I prefer an omni narrator. (Yep, this reader is out of fashion and I don’t care!) I like puzzles, riddles, and songs so long as they aren’t ‘check the box’ included into the story. Also, I want a magic system that checks out. (Tolkien, you get a ‘Pass’ on this last, because you are a class unto yourself).

Le Guin’s Earthsea books, L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time, any of Brian Jacques’ Redwall stories—all are swoon-worthy reads over and over for me.

Do you find there are central themes or elements that are unique to your books? (For example, are you drawn to anti-heroes, antagonists, certain settings etc.) Why do those things stand out to you?

Character-wise, I absolutely adore a broken hero. I still wish Hamlet had found a happy end, you know? (Watch this space, wink wink.)

But, per my love of alternate history or, more specifically, ‘hidden histories,’ I really like to write about places you can actually go visit. Which makes research a beast, more often than not. The moon phases in The Bookminder? They’re accurate as I can make them. My Google search history is the typical author landmine of discovery to the unwary.

What inspired your book?

In 2004 I just so happened to have a very vivid splash of a dream. Just one scene. Short, but poignant and mysterious. I was recovering from a major surgery at that time, so I had a lot of down time to ponder a.) who the girl was in my dream, b.) what she was doing . . . Something clicked in my head as “this is important” and that’s essentially where I began writing The Bookminder from. Just one little scene; one odd thought. The “books/library” through line actually comes from my job in collection preservation at the time. The real history and places all crept in later.

What is the book about?

Ah, The Question; every author’s nightmare. (Does it show that I am currently working on cover copy for the blurb of Book 2?) Totally kidding, here goes:

The Bookminder is, at its heart, the story of Liara of Dvigrad (town in 17th century Istria) who was conceived via magick when the town is attacked, casualty of a larger conflict. Nearly 17 years later, she’s kicked out of the village (ostensibly for thieving but actually due to her magickal tendencies) and immediately takes up with the local wizard, Nagarath. He, of course, has publicly promised not to apprentice her—having reasons of his own for such an edict. Needless to say, this does not sit well with Liara and, well, the rest you just have to read for yourself, yes?

What are the characters like?

I’ve had folks say Liara acts every inch a petulant teenager. To which I say “thank you!” Because she absolutely is. And she believes herself entitled to all the grand plans she’s formed in her head.

In contrast, we have Nagarath. Self-hermited away to the quiet Limska Draga valley, he just wants to retire (at the grand old age of 28) in peace and work whatever magicks he feels like doing at whatever pace he wants. He is, in effect, hiding from the world that Liara wants to conquer. And he’s a huge bookworm. And a bit absentminded.

These two . . . I’m still not sure if I intended for them to drive each other bonkers but I have grand fun orchestrating their interactions. In the end, each is quite good for the other, though.

What is/are one or two pieces of advice that you learned from publishing your earlier books that you wish you had known before you started?

Editing is hard. Don’t fall in love with your words, a specific turn of phrase here and there. But absolutely fight for what you know deep down you must keep. The give and take line? Where that lies is a bit tougher to explain. It’s an instinct you develop, especially if you’re lucky enough to work with the same team each time around.

Publishing is a long game. Years. Thousands upon thousands of words—many of which get tossed in the putting-to-print of the “good stuff” (see editing comment above). You hear it over and over, come in prepared for the long haul and yet it still comes as a surprise how long things can take.

Traditional or self-publishing? Why?

For me, traditional. I’ve landed with an exceptional publisher who has great instinct and wonderful folks. They get me out of my head when I’m too close to a project, something I’d have a hard time doing on my own. And, on my gosh, considering how much non-writing takes up my time already, I’d not want to have more on my plate. But I know both are great options for authors. The benefits and drawbacks of each are really dependent on one’s work style/process.

What do you think authors can do to help make editors and publishers interested in their manuscripts?

Keep writing. Don’t rush it. Be patient with your story. Your characters are people, treat them as such. (Okay, that is quite possibly the oddest thing I have said with regards writing. You’re welcome?) Be authentic. Be available. Be open to critique but also have that backbone when your instinct kicks in. Gosh this is getting advice-y, isn’t it? But I cannot leave off without adding: Read. Read widely.

This is random but fun one, if you could pick any time period to live in, when would you live and why?

This is actually a tough question because I tend to be hyper practical when it comes to such things. (And am a Whovian who has dreamed widely on this very topic.) While living further back in time would be interesting, I don’t know how I’d do without indoor plumbing at the least. I’ve said recently that far far distant future might be interesting. Kinda goes with my tendency to read ahead.

What is one book you think every YA writer should read at least once?

I’d say Katherine Paterson’s “Bridge to Terabithia” is a must.

If you can read it young, let it sit for years and then go back to it, even better!

Thanks for the great interview M.K! Check out her books and don’t forget to say hi on Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest @FaublesFables!

If you liked this post, please scroll to the top of the page and type in your email to follow my blog and get an update every time I post new content. I have authors of all genres coming on my blog to interview in the coming weeks! Don’t miss it!

As always, keep making magic, word weavers!