In order to celebrate the fact that I didn’t catch the flu from my daughter for Christmas, I decided to do something totally out of character for me. I drew a picture. I know… I know… I draw a lot. But this was different. I drew the picture with a Santa hat on, and I smiled a lot.
I usually wear a cowboy hat and frown.
So, I started doodling, and I doodled up a familiar face in a picture I am now calling, “The Toymaker”.
Here is the pencilled beginning sketch.And here is the photo of the pen and ink.
I will definitely scan this little doodle-bopper. And I may give it the colored-pencil treatment. If I can… before Christmas.
And I may not have any money, but I can draw, and I can make my own happiness.
One thing that I, as an artist of limited ability, appreciate about the digital age, is that I can get lots of mileage out of old works of art, and even new works of art, by cutting and pasting, photo-shopping, and re-using elements of the drawings done once… but turned into many by digital means.
Brent Clarke, farm boy and the farm.
Valerie, Denny, and Tommy at Christmas time during the blizzard.Snow Babies in the snow,,,Gyro the Nebulon and Billy on the rocket sledBrekka and Menolly as unofficial members of the Mickey Mouse Club.A self-portrait of me in the 1960’s.Imaginary ESL students… well, they didn’t look like this in real life.The imagination can range farther afield when digital magic allows the artist to take the ballgame to any sort of arena.
And the process can take you home again, no matter how far away and how long ago home has become.
He is now impeached. It may be just like the climate crisis, too little too late. But he had to be impeached. It is obvious to anyone who objectively looks at the facts that he is a criminal with no morals and he is destroying the power of the presidency when we are going to need it most.
I have lost all respect for the so-called Republicans who now defend him and enable his criminal behavior. Mark Meadows, Jim Jordan, Doug Collins, and Louie Gohmert are nothing but screamers, hollering distracting conspiracy nonsense and pro-Russian talking points. Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham are hypocritical partisan badgers, doing nothing but protecting their corrupt ways. All reason and all moral standards were thrown out long ago.
Sensible, moral Republicans like Bob Dole and John McCain are long gone. Republicans who used to have scruples and smarts like John Cornyn and Chuck Grassley, each of whom I have voted for in the past, now have some kind of moral brain-damage.
We need good Republicans in government. They balance out some of the loony liberalism that Democrats often fall into. Right now former Republican opinion leaders like Steve Schmidt and Rick Wilson are looking to help Democrats defeat the pumpkinhead president. I think that is a very good thing. And even though I disagree with most of what those gentlemen believe, they are good and decent political leaders of the kind we need more of to balance the wagons of democracy.
These are just stupid political opinions from a hack humorist who has sworn off making comedy out of politics. These are also things that voters, especially Republicans, need to hear.
December so far has not been kind. When my family came home from their Thanksgiving trip to Florida, the two boys had the flu. And, of course, they gave it to me. I have been seriously ill for the better part of three weeks. Having diabetes and being unable to afford insulin, I guess I am lucky to even be alive at this point. But I was unable to do any substituting in December. So, no extra money comes in during January. I will be paying for it for a while.
But one bright spot in the whole sickness story was that my daughter had reached semester test week without getting the bug and without missing school. Ah, but the Christmas flu fairies had a different outcome in mind. Monday, by the end of the day, she was bright green in the face and suffering. She was beside herself with worry about testing. She forced herself to go to school the next morning and take her first period exam. She got her exam done, and made a perfect score of 100 on it. But then she had to come home and go directly to the doctor. Yep, the flu. And probably gotten from classmates who also are missing tests about now. Wednesday and Thursday was misery and vomiting and fevers. She will live through it, but not with smiles on her bright green face. The school is understanding about her missing the tests, and it will be made up.
So, I have to take care of her with caution. If it is a different flu than I recently had, the Florida flu, I could get sick again. And this time it could easily be a fatal flu. I am not afraid. I have battled flu so many times that it no longer scares me. I know what to do. And I will get through it.
For the last five and a half years I have been averaging more than 500 words every day. A rough conservative estimate of that means 17,112,000 words. If words were cocaine, I’d be dead five times over by now.
But writing is not the same as cocaine. The addiction to it has very different effects. I divide my daily writing into at least two parts. The daily blog is itself, more often than not, 500-plus words. So, by itself it can satisfy my daily word-count. And I devote at least 500 words every day to my novel work in progress. So, that means I have produced well over 17 million words in reality. Probably closer to 34 million than to 17. That, of course, is far less than Stephen King wrote in the same period of time, but it is also far more than the average person writes.
And one thing that such an overdose of verbiage does to a writer, is to make him or her a better writer.
I have produced nine novels, between 35,000 and 50,000 words each, in the time since I retired from teaching and began writing and self-publishing in earnest. I have gotten only five-star reviews on the novels that have been read and reviewed. Granted, nobody who read and hated my books hated them passionately enough to leave a scathing review, so the 5-star average is just due to laziness on the part of the reading public. But it is marginally evidence that my storytelling is good.
Another effect I have experienced from my writing addiction is that it has made me increasingly metaphorically naked. My illustrations for this post reveal a little bit of that. It is not only that I like to write in the nude when I can, but that I have used my stories to grapple with everything that was once a deep, dark secret buried in the depths of me. Being sexually assaulted as a child was something that for many years I could never admit even to myself. Struggles with loneliness, depression, and self-hatred are also something I had kept buried until I needed them to tell stories with.
I finally worked up the courage to send a gift copy of Snow Babies to the girl I grew up with whose name I used for the main character, Valerie Clarke. Valerie loved the book and became an advocate for me with both the Belmond and Rowan libraries. I even admitted that the part about Valerie being the most beautiful girl ever born in Norwall, Iowa came from something the boys in our 5th and 6th grade classes at school all said about her. She told me she never knew we had said that back then. Ah, but that was probably an untruth too.
As addictions go, my addiction to fiction is probably a lot better thing to have than addictions to gambling, cocaine, wife-beating, or gummy bears. But it hasn’t made me any richer or healthier either. It has made me older, and possibly a little bit wiser.
Canto 72: When the Ocean Rises Up (the Blood-Red Thread)
As the Leaping Shadowcat pulled into orbit around the third planet of the Red Giant called FarStar 181 and its white dwarf companion Littlebit 181, we were playing a fierce game of Antarean Canasta while watching local television to get a clue or two about what was happening in the star system. The planet Farwind was a center of trade, culture, and travel along the Galtorrian Imperial Rim.
“I have a run of five showing,” I said to Sinbadh, Ham, and Duke Ferrari. “It will cost you each a thousand credits to find out if I can complete it.” I was winning the hand again and glorying in it. I regularly made killings in card games because I could keep track of all the cards and the odds in my head.
“Something just isn’t right here,” moaned Ham Aero. “I’ve never seen a nerdy guy like you win so often at a game of chance.”
“Oi seconds the observation, Doctor Marou,” said Sinbadh. “Ye play a cutthroat game ye do.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Sinbadh. I may not be a capable pirate like you, but I earn my respect in more than one way.”
“Aye, ‘tis true,” sighed Sinbadh. “I can’t afford to call yer jolly bluff, Doc. I folds.”
“Me too,” said Duke Ferrari stroking his handlebar moustache with a nervous finger as he tossed his hand down. “I don’t know how you are cheating, Dr. Marou, but I must say, you are good at it!”
“Well,” said Ham with grim determination, “I may lose all my savings, but I have to know if it’s a bluff or not.”
Ham threw the last of his credit chips onto the game board.
“I was hoping somebody would,” I said. I laid down the six and seven of clovers to make a run of seven. “I guess I win.”
“Nobody is that good at cards,” Ham said, shaking his blond head sadly.
The holo-news was describing a recent political rally in the government center of Farwind. People there were upset about the despotic rule of the Galtorr Imperium. The taxes paid to old Emperor Slythinus were bad enough, but the local sector head, Emperor Mong of the planet Mingo, was placing burden after burden on the people, and on top of that, demanded that they yield up their buried dead to Centralis Controllis, the Master Computer of Mingo Sector.
“I guess I’m going to have to go down there and make an official appearance,” said Duke Ferrari. His face was long and worried. “The political situation here is still degenerating.”
“Word has come,” said the talking head from the holo-news, “That Sector Duke Han Ferrari has returned to us and is in orbit even as we speak.”
Ferrari was aghast. “How did they know that?”
The warning sirens from the auto-sensors came on at that same moment. A system defense boat was fast approaching from the upper atmosphere of the planet.
“Oh, God help us,” said Ham, overturning the game board and scattering my earnings everywhere. “We have got such trouble!”
We all followed Ham from the lounge area to the bridge. The screens were showing a large system defense ship bristling like a porcupine with defensive weaponry.
“It’s definitely a government ship!” said Duke Ferrari. “If we let them arrest me without resistance, it’s possible they will let the rest of you go free.”
“That clunky thing cannot out-fly me,” swore Ham, “If you want me to run…”
“No,” said the Duke. “Let’s hail them.”
The captain of the defense boat was quickly called up and on screen.
“You are here for me, I take it,” the Duke said to the on-screen captain.
“Yessir!” The captain of the other ship saluted crisply. “By the command of the people of Farwind, we humbly request that you let us escort you to Farwind Downport.”
“Escort us?”
“Yes, your highness. The people of Farwind have just completed a coup of the government. We want a democracy like you tried to institute on Coventry, and we want you to lead us!”
The Duke’s surprise was enormous. “The people decided this?”
“Yessir! There’s only one little problem for you to deal with first. The governors of the Imperium have fortified themselves inside the undersea dome at Farwind Center. It’s a well-guarded and very secure facility. The people want you to lead the assault.”
“Good god, man,” moaned Ferrari, a hand dragging across the left side of his face where he’d just slapped himself. “I’m no military leader. Is this mission even possible?”
“We hope so, sir. It’s the will of the people.”
Ferrari looked at all of us aboard the Shadowcat. “I can’t ask any of you to sacrifice yourselves on this fool’s mission. We will be killed and it will all be for nothing.”
Ham grinned. He was handsome when he smiled. “If Goofy were here right now, he’d say what are we waiting for?”
“You… you mean, you want to come with me?”
“We live for adventure! Don’t we, guys?”
“Well, er… woof, that is,” said Sinbadh.
“No, I surely don’t,” I said.
“See,” said Ham, “it’s settled! When do we attack? And why do you call yourself Shirley Doant, professor?”
There is lots of stuff to be down and blue and depressed about. The criminal president is going to be impeached, and then let off the hook. The climate is going to freeze us and boil us and deprive us of air. Wealthy bankers and insurance CEOs and billionaires have already deprived us of money and purchasing power. My health is poor. My heart may already be giving out. Not much to look forward to but a simple funeral where someone may cry while others will be glad I am gone.
But Batman is at the bus stop to stop boogeymen from arriving by bus. And Christmas is almost upon us, the season of fruitcakes and football in bowl games. And visions of sugarplums dance through their heads… and potential for gingerbread cookies and chocolate milk. So, put it all in a blender and drink it all down. Life is like fragments of fruitcake, drawing flies, but slaying any fly who takes a bite. It is toxic, but pretty. Soothing but sour. And only the colors, details, and arrangements ever change.
After running a second free-book promotion on Snow Babies, things look as bleak as ever for my publishing goals. It started well. Seven books ordered on the first day tied the best I had ever done on a give-away. But the second day saw a new record set with only one additional order. The three days after that… nothing. I can’t even give my books away for free. If you are reading this today and want to help, click on the link above. You understand e-books. You would be helping me out even if you never read it.
But, I have no illusions. My book is good enough to make a splash if people read it, but nobody will for a variety of reasons. People who knew me growing up in Iowa would be happy to read and support me if the message could get through. But my contact with them is limited by Facebook and its algorithms. Facebook will connect any political post to those on my friends-list who will argue with me and call me a socialist libtard cuck, but even family members don’t get notified of any post that is even remotely like an ad for one of my books. I try to post that kind of thing on friends’ pages, or direct message them, and Facebook steps in to call me a spammer. It is entirely a matter of me trying to advertise without paying any ad money to the greedy bahstidds of Facebook’s data-collection empire. (And yes, I know I misspelled the word about illegitimate birthings.)
My book ads fell on mostly deaf ears (or, rather, blind eyes) on Twitter as well. The #WritingCommunity is supportive, but they are all writers like me, dedicated to getting their own books read and loved. I know that many of them see a free-book ad like mine and think, “Ah, one more hack novelist’s hack novel that takes forever to read, and if I read it, they will never read mine in return.” I know they generally think this because I have slogged through some poorly written Indie novels and left a positive review, and got not even a thank you in return. Of course, nobody there actually knows anybody else. And, like me, they can’t afford to spend money on other people’s books. Although, like me also, they do now and again find books they can’t resist and spend money they can’t afford on those. Those authors won’t read my books either though. (Except for Ted. Ted Bun reads and loves my books as often as I read and love his.)
I will continue to slog through. I will continue to write and read what others wrote. I will continue to labor at this marketing-waste-of-time-formality thing. And I will continue to be depressed about the results. Besides, how else am I to proceed? Great writers are supposed to die alone in poverty and addiction, with no friends and no money. How can I pass up a reward like that?
As I get older and older and more arthritic, it has been a real boon to me that I can use actual photos in artwork to electronically complete visions of what an artwork should look like even though I no longer have the digital dexterity necessary to execute complex and detailed backgrounds.
Except for the ad for my book promotion, every artwork used in this post has photographic elements in it.
It is still free today in e-book form, this best novel I have written. I hope to give away hundreds of copies. So far, after two and a half days, I have given away 8. So, feel free to click on it in the link above. It is still free until the 15th. What could it hurt? And you might even like it.
Catch a Falling Star 