Here is a brief and very surrealistic comic story that I have published before… but a long time ago.
I know it is a bit bizarre, and hard to tell what the theme really is… but isn’t that what art is really for? Telling highly personal stories that make you think hard about seeing things through the eyes of an artist.
Filed under artwork, comic strips, foolishness, horror writing, humor, Paffooney, surrealism
Unable to get well enough to drive for Uber without risk, I now face economic and health uncertainties that could bring about the end of everything for me personally.
I have submitted an application for substitute teaching in the local school district. They still haven’t offered me a job, which I am clearly qualified for, and which I did for the same district successfully more than a decade ago. School is starting Monday. And even if they give me the job, there is no guarantee that I will be well enough to do it.
So, do I panic now? Or wait and panic next week? Or give up already?
That, of course, is not my way. I always approached teaching as a swashbuckling adventure. I may die in the attempt, either at the cruel hands of little school bunnies, or possibly behind the wheel of my rusty, trusty Uber car, But, either way, I will go down fighting with my pirate boots on.
So, I will sign on with Zorah the Sea Witch, joining her pirate crew, and I will set sail towards the sunrise of a new and potentially dangerous new day.
Filed under battling depression, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, Pirates
Last night I watched the movie version of Jersey Boys the musical. It touched me deeply. And the band was asked to each answer the question,
“What was your best year as a member of the Four Seasons, your peak year?” Frankie Valli’s answer got me thinking about the answer to that question as it applies to who I am and what was the peak year of my career.
Now, I can’t deny that, having been a successful public school teacher who loved teaching for more than 30 years, there were a number of very successful years I could point to. But scoring well on State writing tests and reading tests despite teaching in a poor rural school district in South Texas, nor competing in the Odyssey of the Mind creativity contest with my gifted students were really what I would call my peak year. That honor has to go to the year I was twelve (for most of the year), 1969,
That was the year that men walked on the moon. I had followed the whole thing for several years, since Mom and Dad had gotten me excited about space by trying to spot John Glenn in his Mercury capsule crossing the blue sky in our back yard. I had watched religiously as Walter Cronkite and Wally Schirra told us on CBS about Mercury and Gemini and finally Apollo.
It made me believe in myself and the power of people for the first time since the tornado and the sexual assault from 1966 had toppled my world.
I had numerous self-confidence issues after 1966. I really, deep down, blamed myself for what happened to me. I was convinced that I was worthless and evil. But watching Neil Armstrong step onto the surface of the moon on that late July evening made me yearn to reshape the world the way he did, even if I could only do it in a much smaller way.
’69 was the “Summer of Love” in more than one way for me. I wasn’t really able to think about myself as a virgin in ’69 for… reasons. But it was the summer that I got to see a girl who wasn’t my sister naked because she wanted me to see her. We were not able to actually do what both of us wanted to do, and my double-clutching at the last moment destroyed any chance of her ever even talking to me again for the rest of my life, but it proved that I was at least desirable to girls. And music from that moment on began to underscore everything in my life. She had “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies playing in her bedroom. And the same song was playing again at the roller rink in Lake Cornelia the night she refused to do the couple’s skate with me, and I asked Leslie instead. Leslie accepted. I was not a monster made from the horror of ’66. i proved that to myself to the beat of “Sugar Sugar”.
And, of course, even though I was a Cardinals fan, the New York Mets proved to me that year that the impossible can happen. Of course, I rooted for the Orioles. You know, a team with a bird for a mascot.
But 1969 was also a year of big decision for me. I already knew at that point that I was destined to be a storyteller. But that was the year of the My Lai massacre. I remember looking at the photos in Life and Look magazines of the dead bodies of women and children, killed by American bullets. I could not, at that point, stomach the idea of going to war after turning 18, a possibility that became very real to me that year.
It was the year I made up my mind I would never kill anyone in my lifetime, never pick up a gun to harm others, or be a part of any such atrocity. I still have great respect for soldiers and what they do, but if I had been there, I would’ve been moved to lay down my weapon and stand with the victims in front of the machine guns. They would’ve had to kill me too. And I was determined to go to jail sooner than fight in the war. Luckily, that was never put to the test. The war ended in 1975, before I graduated high school.
The peak year was not for me a year of great personal success or wealth or accomplishment. 1969 was the year I chose who I was going to be in life. The year of decision. The year that brought me all the way through from there to now. It was 50 years ago. It was the year I was 12.
I am now actually pursuing a return to the classroom. Even worse news… I am seriously looking at returning to the campuses where they pursue calming of the hormones in the monkey years, grades 6 through 8.
Yes, I have foolishly applied to become a substitute teacher for Carrollton-Farmers Branch School District. So, in this essay, I intend to successfully talk myself into a final adventure in bunny wrangling.
It is fairly obvious, if you look at today’s Paffooney, that Reluctant Rabbit is me. I am the wackadoo with the big pencil, whether I am in full carrot-eating mode or not. Absolutely necessary now is earning extra money, since life is only going to get more expensive now that I am permanently on a fixed income. And Uber driving is only going to get me killed now that the fees have gone down and the expenses have gone up. Too much driving in heat and Dallas traffic is wearing away my limited health points indicated by the red bar that floats above my head. And yes, I know that only happens in video games, but driving is like a video game, except you only have one life to lose in collisions.
And teaching is what I know best. I know I do not get the chance to get to know the kids like I did as a regular classroom bunny wrangler. But I still get to work with kids. And I don’t have to do lesson plans or grade papers. I do not have to work on days when I am too ill to cope. And I can make better pocket change each month than I can driving for less than slave wages.
So, I found the one person from the Garland district that knew me as a teacher and is still not dead, fired, or retired to give me a letter of reference, the one required to be a sub. The application is in. And there is a way-better-than-even chance that they will hire me. I have a lifetime teaching certificate. And schools around here are so desperate for subs that they kidnap drunks in back alleys to have enough of them to cover all the classes.
Now I must prepare myself for spitball and booger flinging, bizarre insults about my supposed rabbit ancestry, and ugly-face standoffs between hate-filled little bunnies. The monkey years. And Reluctant Rabbit has been away from them for too long.
Filed under autobiography, humor, Paffooney, plans, rabbit people, teaching
In my newest book When the Captain Came Calling, there is a fantasy character who is basically an invisible man. Captain Noah Dettbarn is the captain of a ship called the Reefer Mary Celeste. It is an ill-fated ship on a fatal voyage. It runs afoul of a mermaid with man-eating intentions, a witch-doctor with a hungry volcano-god to feed, and a beautiful young girl who bewitches the captain.
All of this happens in the log book of the mysterious invisible captain who has returned to the Iowa farm town where he was born and raised just as the local kids’ adventurer’s club, the Norwall Pirates, is being re-organized with a girl as their leader.
Today’s first Paffooney is an illustration that I intend to use in the book.
Filed under characters, humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney
Up until now I have been putting chapters of When the Captain Came Calling on this blog, in order, as I have been finishing the manuscript, and revising and editing at the same time. I used this method to show you all the work in progress, step-by-step, as I did the revision and editing.
30 chapters (that I mysteriously call cantos for illicit poetical reasons) posted on 30 Tuesdays for the last 30 weeks. That is less than half of the novel.
I took the 22,000-word first draft and turned it into a 57,000-word completed novel in that time. The illustration above is the final copy of the cover art for When the Captain Came Calling. It is a slightly altered version of the concept cover art I have been posting for 30 weeks. Val is wearing a skate-boarder’s t-shirt that up til now had a fairly accurate portrayal of what is probably a copyrighted cartoon character. So, I turned Rude Dog into a parody called Ride, Dog! and gave him two black eyes… or possibly sunglasses. I should know better than to draw other people’s cartoons too accurately, even though it was a real detail about 80’s skate-boarders that they often wore that same cropped t-shirt.
I have also shown you character art for some of the most important characters in the story. Pictured to the right are Mary Philips, the leader of the re-formed Norwall Pirates, a small-town adventure club and 4-H softball team. She’s a practical girl-next-door sort of leader, mentor, and friend who believes all the kids who have reached their middle teenage years need to stick together and help each other through the common problems of growing up, and dealing with moving from the fantasy worlds of who they want to become, into the practical worlds of who you really can become, if only somebody gives you a boost. And the Invisible Captain Noah Dettbarn, the victim of a South Seas Voodoo curse which he is trying to overcome by finding a virgin to throw into a volcano is pictured also. He’s not exactly the villain of the story, but he turns out to be a relative of the witch-doctor. And also, Valerie-squirrel is in that picture, clinging to Mary’s arm. At one point Valerie has to run through the trees to escape an ugly, evil, killer cat who wants to eat her while she is still the squirrel the witch-doctor turned her into.
And, for some reason, people in Norwall (not just kids) think that Mazie Haire is a witch. True, she is the current resident of the Gingerbread House that has always been associated with magic and witches. Also true, she has a telescope in that upstairs room and always seems to know things about other people in the community that she shouldn’t. by rights, actually know. But that doesn’t make her the villain of the story. It also doesn’t make her the hero.
These character sketches and short explanations were a kind of crafting of the puzzle pieces that helped me to put the entire big picture together piece by piece.
I am now moving into the final proof-reading and formatting that will lead to being able to publish this book on KDP with Amazon. You should look for that book to appear there in a couple of weeks. And I intend to make some noise about it here when it is done.
Filed under humor, novel, novel writing, Paffooney, writing humor
Pen and ink, black and white drawings are the place where my art career started. Line drawings like the ones in the newspaper cartoon pages. I collected newspaper comics. I copied them. I drew Blondie Bumstead and Moonshine McSwine naked. I drew Pogo Possum, Popeye, and Hagar the Horrible. I also drew Steve Canyon and Buzz Sawyer. I still draw Mickey Mouse. I learned cartoonist skills from the best in comic strips and comic books.
Filed under artwork, cartoons, comic strips, drawing, humor, illustrations, Paffooney, pen and ink
This week I ran afoul of the gypsy fortuneteller Madame Pumpkinwrinkle. She crossed my path and gave me the eye.
I, of course, immediately gave it back, and she popped the glass eye back into her right eye socket.
“You shud be seeing wot I am seeing, you silly, seely man.”
“Why? What are you seeing?”
“Your future is weary grave. You needs to be gibbing me ein nickel, und I weel tell you ov it.”
Well, I don’t credit her prophesying ability any more than the Trojans credited Cassandra. But I had a nickel in my pocket. So, I thought, “What the heck! Why not?”
She took the nickel and handed me the eye again.
“Yeck! I don’t want this!”
“I will look into your mind. Hold it up to the ear so I can see in.”
I held it up to my ear.
“What do you see?”
“Light from the udder side.”
“Somehow I knew that is what you would say.”
“I see many grave tings.”
“Like what?”
“Trumpy is elected again 2020. You is gedding so mad that you is having a strobe.”
“You mean a stroke?”
:”No, you is flashing in and out of existence. Strobe!”
“Ah, yes. So, is that what kills me?”
“No, you is not gonna die until after dat.”
“So, will I die before I get out of bankruptcy?”
“No, Bank-o-Merica not gonna let you die until day after you pay off everting.”
“Oh, so I die with everybody else from global warming?”
“No. You is gonna die before that.”
“Oh? How?”
“You is gonna try to be a substie-toot teachum. You will forget to wear cloze one day, and you is dying of embarrassment.”
“Well, then, I guess I already got my nickel’s worth. That’s enough for today… and maybe for a lifetime.”
“You come back wit anudder nickel. I got lots more.”
“Oh, good.”
Canto Thirty – Rage in the Clarke Name
Kyle Clarke came storming into the Zeffer house before either the sheriff’s deputy or Mrs. Philips could arrive. He was angry to the point of curse words over what apparently had happened to Valerie. He made Mrs. Zeffer and Ray repeat the story of how Ray found her three times before he even started calming down. He made it clear he wanted the story from Ray, not Valerie. Once he had learned she had been unconscious, he didn’t even want to hear her version of events. He told her she would not be able to make sense of things until she was well rested and recovered. He wanted Mrs. Philips, a registered nurse, to examine her before any other investigation took place. Valerie could only imagine in horror what he suspected.
“Mrs. Philips! We need you to examine little Valerie Clarke,” said Mrs. Zeffer as Mary’s mother arrived at the Zeffer home. “She’s been attacked by someone.”
Mrs. Philips was very pale, and also seemed shaken.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Philips?” Kyle asked. “You seem unwell.”
“My daughter Mary and her boyfriend Pidney Breslow are missing. I’m afraid it has something to do with what happened to Valerie.”
“Oh, no! We’ve phoned the sheriff already and he’s sending Deputy Harper from Belle City to investigate,” Kyle said in a concerned tone.
“Do you know what happened?” asked Mrs. Zeffer.
Ray was sitting on the bed in Bobby’s room next to Valerie who was already wearing the clothes Kyle had brought her. Both of them looked at the adults standing just outside the bedroom doorway. Valerie’s fear for what might’ve happened to Mary and Pid was overwhelming. She leaned against Ray’s shoulder and began to cry softly.
“It was the strangest thing. The three of them were all in our basement, reading some old book. Then, suddenly there was a purple fog in the house. It smelled so sweet it made me sick to my stomach. It apparently knocked me out. When I came to, I found my daughter Amy and her brother Jason were both sleeping on the floor. They had been knocked out too.”
“And the kids were taken from your house?” Kyle looked alarmed and upset.
“Yes, all we found were their clothes in the basement. I have never seen anything so strange. Whoever took them must have stripped them naked first.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” said Mrs. Zeffer, taking hold of Lady Philips’ shaking hands and guiding her to a chair in Bobby’s room. “Sit here. Let me get you some tea.”
“Was there any indication who might have done this terrible thing?” asked Kyle.
“I… I don’t know,” Mrs. Philips said as Mrs. Zeffer bustled out of the room to make tea. “We found the empty clothes… and then you called asking me to come here and examine Valerie.”
“You should’ve said something then,” Kyle said.
“I… I just felt numb. I told Jason to look after Amy and came right here to see what I could find out.”
“All right… um, Mrs. Philips… I called you over here to examine my daughter Valerie. I was worried someone might have… well, she was found naked in the alley, unconscious.”
Lady Philips made a small strangling sound in her throat. Valerie knew immediately what she must have thought had happened to Mary.
“I’m okay, Daddy. I know for a fact that nobody did anything like that to me.”
“Valerie, princess, you were unconscious. Somebody drugged you and stripped you naked. We need to be certain what happened.” Daddy Kyle was trying to be comforting and soothing, but there was a cold, desperate edge to his voice that actually scared Valerie. She looked at Ray. Ray’s eyes were frightened too.
“Your dad is right, Val. You need to be checked. Mrs. Philips is an RN, a professional nurse. She’ll be able to tell.”
“Okay, Ray,” said Valerie’s dad coolly, “You should go help your mother in the kitchen. Deputy Harper will be here soon.”
Ray reluctantly let go of Valerie and stood up. “You know, sir, that I would never hurt your daughter.”
Kyle’s angry glare softened a bit. “I… I do know that, son. And believe me, I am grateful for the way you rescued her and brought her somewhere safe. I’m on edge right now. I don’t know what was done or who did it. You know what I mean?”
“Of course. If I were in your shoes, I’d be afraid for my daughter too.”
Ray nodded resolutely. Then he went out of the room.
“I will examine her in private, Mr. Clarke. I will be able to tell. I have treated rape victims before. I don’t have a kit with me, but I will know if one needs to be used… Only…”
“What?” Kyle asked.
“After we know, I am going to need you and Deputy Harper to find Mary.” Valerie’s dad was grim-faced, but he nodded his agreement.
Table Scraps
While the family dog was watching me intently as I was cooking the breakfast sausages, she decided to strike up a conversation with me.
“You know, beloved father and giver of people food, a lot of other dogs tell me that they get table scraps at meal time.”
“That’s a self-serving comment. And when do you ever talk to other dogs? You’re a house dog that stays inside all the time.”
“I listen to news on the nightly howl, and it’s been a fool moon lately.”
“You mean full moon, not fool moon.”
“That’s not what other dogs call it. It makes their people act like fools.”
“It doesn’t take a phase of the moon to make that happen.”
“So, you will give me table scraps more often?”
“Dogs who eat table scraps get fat and unhealthy and die of heart attacks.”
“Sausages would be worth it.”
“You get enough fat and cholesterol in your diet from eating the burglars that come into the house at night.”
“No burglars came in last night, or any other night that I can remember.”
“Well, that’s probably because in Texas, we elect our burglars to office, especially in the Senate.”
“Euw! I could never eat Cruz or Cornyn. I don’t like the taste of oil mixed with hairspray and arthritis cream. But I could eat Trump, probably. Of all the politicians, he’s probably the only one that looks like he’s made of cheddar cheese.”
“You’d never survive the fat content in the head. Instant myocardial infarction. “
“Well, I don’t know what those last two words mean, but I’ll bet I could survive it. So, when are you gonna start substitute teaching? You get rushed when you have stuff like that to do, and you drop more food on the floor.”
“Well, the school districts are in no hurry to hire me. They seem to have enough subs for the start of this semester, so I have to wait for them to schedule another sub orientation. We could be facing some tough economic times.”
“Oh, that’s not good. No money for even dog food?”
“If things get really bad, we may have to eat table scraps from the floor. And when those are gone, we might even have to eat the family dog.”
“What?! Even if she’s a talking dog and a valuable member of the family?”
“Dogs get eaten before the children do.”
“Oh, I get it. That’s supposed to be black humor. Not funny!”
“It got you to stop thinking about table scraps while I finished cooking the sausages.”
“We’ll see who gets what. I can still give the Princess the beg-eye and make her pity me enough to give me some.”
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Filed under autobiography, commentary, family dog, humor, Paffooney, politics, self pity