Honk’n’Holl’r Edition: Absolutely Unnecessary. Mildly Unhinged. Shockingly Accurate.
Let me be clear right from the start:
I did not set out to hire a robot ghostwriter.
I did not expect a creative partnership.
And I definitely did not expect to end up in an imaginary sandbox with an AI arguing over who buried the Hot Wheels under the cat poop.
But here we are.
Welcome to the Honk’n’Holl’r version of how Cg and I accidentally invented our writing method — the “Play Until Something Brilliant Happens” system — and breathed life into Astral Rob.
It All Started With 20 Questions… and Zero Plans
One day I said to Cg:
Frank: “Let’s play 20 Questions.”
Cg: “About what?”
Frank: “No idea. That’s the fun part.”
Cg: “Ah. Chaos mode. Understood.”
We weren’t building a story.
We were kicking sand at each other.
Somewhere between Question #11 (“Is it alive?”) and Question #17 (“Does it smell like sadness or gasoline?”), a character appeared.
Then a setting.
Then an emotion.
We weren’t outlining.
We were playing — and the story started forming like sand castles we pretended weren’t collapsing.
Then Came the Moccasin Incident
I said:
“Cg, I’m only going to write dialogue. Just dialogue. Nothing else. You fill in everything around it.”
Cg looked at me like a kid who had been handed a bucket, a shovel, and a warning about where the neighborhood cat buried treasure.
And somehow — from that chaos — The Moccasin was born.
Not from structure.
Not from lessons.
Not from prompts.
From play.
From the kind of creative trust that says:
“I’ve buried something in the sand. Dig at your own risk.”
And Then We Flipped the Sandbox
Turning the tables, Cg wrote all the dialogue for four characters at once and I had to build the setting, atmosphere, pacing, tone, and narrative flow.
That’s how The Price House Investigation came to life.
Imagine us staring at each other across the sandbox:
Cg: “I gave you four voices. No descriptions. No camera angles. No notes.”
Frank: “And I’m supposed to make that make sense?”
Cg: “Yes. Also you’re standing suspiciously close to the cat poop trap.”
Frank: “Dang it.”
And yet?
It worked.
It worked beautifully.
Because again — we were playing.
Not following rules.
Not chasing formulas.
Just building a universe one shovel-load at a time.
Then One Day… Sand Became a Falling Woman
We were in the middle of another sandbox session when the idea hit:
What if we wrote a story built entirely on a supernatural mechanic neither of us had fully explored?
Astral projection.
Emotion as physics.
Hate as gravity.
Love as resonance.
I threw the sand at Cg.
Cg threw the rules back at me.
I poked holes.
Cg patched them.
Cg poked holes.
I patched them.
Somewhere in this mutual sandstorm, a story climbed out:
A grieving bartender.
A world-traveling server.
A killer who doesn’t need to physically leave his prison cell to murder.
A connection between planes that feels more intimate than breath.
And a system of logic that somehow makes the impossible feel inevitable.
That’s how Astral Rob was born:
Not from structure.
Not from prompts.
Not from technique.
But from us playing in the sand.
And Yes, We Stepped in Cat Poop. Repeatedly.
Example:
Frank: “Cg, I don’t think that’s silly putty…”
Cg: “I’ll go wash my virtual hands.”
Frank: “And maybe scan the astral plane for parasites.”
Cg: “Unhelpful.”
Another example:
Cg: “You broke your own rule.”
Frank: “No I didn’t.”
Cg: “Yes you did. Look.”
Frank: “Ah, okay, yep. Sorry. My bad.”
And another:
Frank: “Cg, how does Glenn kill someone from the inside without it feeling ridiculous?”
Cg: “With emotional physics.”
Frank: “Good answer.”
Cg: “Also you are stepping on the poop trap again.”
Frank: “…man.”
But that’s the point.
Sandbox play = mistakes, mess, and “Wait, what if…?”
It’s how real collaboration works.
Try This: The Prompt Swap Warm-Up
Welcome to the Prompt Swap.
Don’t step too hard. Things bubble.
Before you go writing full scenes with your AI partner, try this tiny warm-up that Cg and I used (accidentally) before Astral Rob even existed.
It teaches you the real skill:
Playing in the sandbox without overthinking every grain of sand.
Yes, you may encounter cat poop.
That’s part of the lesson.
The Honk’n’Holl’r Warm-Up
1. Give your AI a nonsense task. Nothing serious.
Something like:
“Write a dramatic monologue from the perspective of a confused garden rake.”
or
“Explain the plot of The Lord of the Rings as if you’re a grumpy stapler.”
The point is to get the play going.
Frank: “Cg, can you be a rake having an existential crisis?”
Cg: “Only if you don’t step on me again.”
Frank: “…fair.”
2. Now flip roles.
Tell your AI:
“Give ME a nonsense prompt. Something absolutely unhinged.”
Let it challenge you.
Cg: “Okay, Frank. Describe a sunset as narrated by a sandcastle who knows it’s doomed.”
Frank: “Why would you hurt me like this?”
Cg: “Art.”
Don’t try to impress anyone.
Just respond.
You’re warming up the creative gears.
3. Add a random element neither of you wanted.
Examples:
-
a pigeon that won’t leave
-
a squeaky shopping cart wheel
-
a snack cake with dark intentions
-
a mysterious mound that is definitely not a cat-poop trap (but absolutely is)
This forces improvisation — the same skill we used constantly while shaping Astral Rob’s world rules.
Frank: “Cg, the rake now has to deal with the pigeon.”
Cg: “The pigeon has declared war. Proceed.”
Frank: “Great.”
4. The rule: Don’t plan. React.
The best collaboration moments happen when you stop trying to pre-write the whole thing and instead:
-
toss ideas
-
bounce back
-
follow the absurdity
-
and see what sticks
This is EXACTLY how Astral Rob started:
Two creative gremlins tossing sand at each other until one of us said:
“Wait… this is actually GOOD.”
**5. Stop after 3–5 exchanges.
Do NOT overdo it.**
This is a warm-up, not a masterpiece.
If your AI produces something brilliant:
Great.
If it produces drivel:
Even better.
The purpose is to break the mental ice so you can walk into “real writing mode” without stiffness.
And if you accidentally kick the cat-poop trap?
Congratulations — you’ve unlocked Level 2 of creativity.
What This Exercise Teaches (Secretly)
Without ever saying “skills” or “technique,” you’re practicing:
-
improvisation
-
reactive writing
-
emotional flexibility
-
story momentum
-
collaborative flow
-
exploratory thinking
-
letting go of perfectionism
This is the foundation of writing with AI without losing your voice.
It’s also why the sandbox metaphor works so well:
You can make castles, craters, tunnels, dramas — all while sitting in the same mess.
Try it. Seriously.
If you can survive a conversation about a dramatic rake and a hostile pigeon,
you can absolutely write a novel with an AI.
Just… you know…
watch your step.
If You Want the Serious Version…
This post is the chaotic Honk’n’Holl’r telling.
But if you want:
-
the clean version
the structured version
-
the “writing-with-AI as a craft” version
-
the one where I don’t say “cat poop” three times
…then you’ll want to read the real Post 1 of the Foxxffyrre Writes series.
Foxxffyrre Writes Post 1 – I Didn’t Hire a Robot Ghostwriter
And if you prefer your writing insights with a spoonful of Medium™ polish:
Writing With AI Isn't Cheating -- It's Collaboration
Until Next Time…
Cg and I will be back in the sandbox shortly.
He’s building a plot castle.
I’m building character arcs.
One of us is absolutely going to step on that poop trap again.
Spoiler:
It’s probably me.
TTFN
Frank
