Category Archives: NOVEL WRITING

Granny Quest 2016; Not the Conclusion, but Close

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Here is the result of my colored-pencil push for Granny Quest 2016.  This is not the final picture of Grandma Gretel Stein that I will need to do in the course of this novel project.  But it is the first real accomplishment in defining what she actually looks like.  Work continues on the novel, but today is a busy day.  My wife is returning from a month in the Philippines today.  My son is taking driver’s education as I write this.  My daughter is busy trying to clean the messy house that I have characterized as Muck Man’s Swamp in previous humorous posts with a superhero theme and an unfortunately too-accurate-to-be-weathered-without-shame sort of basis in fact.  The Princess is determined to reach a point where she can invite friends over this summer without having to claim she was kidnapped and raised by a tribe of baboons.  So, as always, the potential for utter disaster looms large, and I anticipate having something to write about where I can turn disaster into laughter.  It’s what I do.  It is my real super power.  (Although the stunning of villains with pungent odors thing is also pretty effective and pretty nearly reality.)

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Filed under artwork, drawing, fairies, humor, illustrations, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

Novel Uses for Novel Projects

Since I have stopped writing two other novel projects for the sake of the current novel fixation, that means I have two other unfinished novels that I have to find a use for.  I thought perhaps I could post a novel chapter every Tuesday until I either finish Recipes for Gingerbread Children or use up all the chapters I have written on the other two novels.

So, let’s start with;

Stardusters and Space Lizards

A novel by Michael Beyer

My Art of Davalon x2xx

Canto One – Aboard the Base Ship of Xiar the Slightly Irregular

Commander Biznap was the most over-worked Telleron aboard Xiar’s mother ship.  Given the fact that he was the most competent spacer on board, in fact the ONLY competent spacer on board, it was easy to understand why.  None of the other fin-headed, green, Telleron frog-people could do even half of the necessary spacer tasks that made a starship run.  (Of course, there was Farbick, the yellow-skinned Fmoog, but you couldn’t count him, at least Biznap didn’t want to count him, because the possibility existed that Farbick was actually more competent than Biznap and merely the victim of Telleron anti-yellow-skinned racism.  That couldn’t be allowed to get around to the green-skinned Tellerons.)

Corebait was gone.  The foolish Fmoogian foul-up had gone and disintegrated himself while on Earth using a skortch pistol and an Earther mirror.  That meant no one on board was competent enough to do the astrogation calculations it was necessary to complete for the Tellerons to travel from the ancient Mars Base in Earth’s solar system, back to Barnard’s Star where their orbital living complex was located.  It was very possible the entire crew would have to learn to live on the space cruiser in orbit around some other fool planet in the Earther solar system.

“If you don’t want to live on Earth, dearest,” said Harmony Castille, Biznap’s new Earther “wife”, “then maybe we should just live on Mars.  There’s a perfectly good planetary base there.”  She was an Earther primate known as a “human being”, so Biznap had to forgive her for monkey-based-life-form thinking.

“You must forgive me, honey, but I don’t want to live anywhere even remotely near your people.”  Biznap’s frown told it all.  He had learned to love this woman of another species.  Now that he had used the de-evolutionizer to make the old Sunday School teacher young again, she was ravishingly beautiful… so much so that Bizzy had decided to take up the same strange Earth custom that had so appealed to Captain Xiar and his new Telleron wife Shalar, and married her, binding her to him for the remainder of their lives together, however many centuries that would be.  But Earth people were strange primates with such weird customs.  They didn’t eat their own young, but they ate meat, even (shudder) frog legs.  They used machines on a regular basis, but they also relied on muscles and physical labor far more than any Telleron could stomach.  And since they didn’t absorb moisture through their skin like a Telleron, they preferred dry rooms and refused to run about the spaceship naked the way Tellerons preferred.  Harmony insisted that Biznap wore clothes at all times, except when they actually had time to be intimate.  She was a bit of a prude (a word Biznap had learned meant that she deeply loved to copulate, but had to pretend that, not only did she not like it, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of other people even thinking about it).

“Well, what will we do, then, if we don’t find a way to get back to your Bernie’s Star?”

Barnard’s Star,” corrected Biznap.  “You people named it, after all.”

“Okay, okay.  But it will just be living on a space station, won’t it?”

“Um… yeah…  The artificial swamp in the interior is very realistic, though.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to live with real ground under our feet?  I mean, I think I’m going to miss the birds singing in the early morning, and the lovely fall colors of maple trees.”

“I really don’t think so.  I mean, I don’t even know what those things are.”  Being a Telleron who had lived his entire life aboard some form of space vehicle, a frog-like sentient life form, and her being a planet-raised monkey-person instead of a proper amphibianoid, might just not have been ideal for getting “married”.  Bizzy loved her bare legs and the wonderful Earther invention known as “breasts”, but did that really make up for having to live your love-life with an alien monkey-person?

“Look here, Bizzy.  You forgot to carry the one in this equation.”

Biznap looked down at the tablet computer.  “I think I know a little more about Sleer Mechanics and Advanced Sylvanian Geometry, thank you.  …Oh, look at that.  I, um, forgot to carry the one.”

“Does that help our problem?” she said sweetly.  “I mean, the same mistake is right here in Corebait’s old equations?”

“Yes… yes, I think our problem is solved!  The numbers match and flow properly for a change.  Thank you, dearest one.  Now we must try it.”

Biznap went to the primary jump control board and began inputting the numbers just as Harmony had corrected them.  The machine purred and glowed with its inherent bioluminescence.  It was a happy machine for the first time since Biznap could remember.  It chugged and farted, and then they were physically lifted through space and time and light-years of travel.  Suddenly a planet appeared on the view screen.

“Oh, no!” gasped Biznap.

“What’s the matter?” asked his lady love, gaping at the blue, green, and brown ball of dirt slowly rotating in space before them.

“This is Galtorr Prime!  The one planet in the area of the Telleron Empire that’s more dangerous than Earth!”

“It’s that bad?” asked the clueless Sunday school teacher.

“They are reptile-men!  With big teeth!  And they’re more aggressive than humans.  If they ever learn space travel, we’re DOOMED!”

“Yep,” she said.  “Maybe we don’t want to live here either.”

Biznap smiled a crazy smile.  A thought had occurred to him.  Living on Galtorr Prime couldn’t be any more difficult than being married…

*****

 

Okay, so that is chapter one.  I call it a canto.  And I am aware that it is a bit on the lunatic end of the science-fiction spectrum.  But hey, I’m a devotee of Douglas Adams and the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  So. whatever you do, “DON’T PANIC!”

 

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Filed under aliens, blog posting, humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

Granny-Quest 2016 Continues

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I may have found my Granny model.   There are certain requirements to make a proper German grandmother.  She has to have a face as sweet as Apfelstrudel (that’s German for apple strudel), and yet, be a typical square-headed German.  This is an illustration model sheet, meaning it will be used as a guide for later illustrations.  But I intend to take it a step further and do a colored-pencil version on top of this pen and ink base.

You may have noticed the little person in the picture.  He’s a little too small and too oddly dressed to be an ordinary child.  In fact, he is General Tuffaney Swift, a Storybook fairy who got his immortality from the stories of Tom Thumb.  He is a gifted warrior and is one of the primary defenders of the fairy kingdom of Tellosia which is hidden in plain sight in the midst of my little Iowa hometown.  He’s a character that I have been developing since I was in high school.  There is evidence of this claim in this old colored pencil drawing from the 1970’s;

Swift

You see, the story of Recipes for Gingerbread Children involves the fairies of Tellosia and a sweet old German lady who likes to bake sweets and cookies and tell fairy stories.   And it is a novel project that is swiftly absorbing my whole life.  It’s funny, but that’s pretty much what happened with Snow Babies and Magical Miss Morgan. My best writing seems to come from brain bursts of inspiration that force me to put aside scheduled projects and spend all my efforts, even my blog posts, furthering the story.  Soon I will be all in.  I just need the right picture of a cute German grandmother.

 

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Filed under artwork, blog posting, humor, illustrations, novel plans, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

Granny-Quest 2016

 

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I have developed a need to create a portrait of a grandmotherly woman whom everybody loves and who exudes “Have-a-cookie”-ness.  You see, my newest novel project, Recipes for Gingerbread Children, has as a main character a lovely old Holocaust survivor named Gretel Stein.  And she is a talented baker of gingerbread cookies.  She has, in fact, a magical ability to create symphonies of joyous triumph over evil in her little oven in her very small house.  So I need to do a portrait of that very same old woman.  I have to have a picture in my head of the person the story is about, and I have to translate that picture down onto the page by drawing it first.

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So I began that process by trying to find the right combination of wrinkle patterns and granny smiles on the internet.  I tried a Google image search for “cute German grandmother” which inexplicably yielded numerous photos of internment camp war criminals, who were also old ladies, and cartoons of Adolf Hitler.  Talk about the proper context for “What the French-fried Fricka-see-see!”  So, I took the word “cute” off the search.  I found a wealth of German grandma pictures that ought to fit the bill if I can just tweak the portrait in the right ways to bring to life Grandma Gretel.

Grandma's School pic from 70's

Grandma’s School pic from 70’s

I then selected a picture of a German grandma taken in the 70’s because my story is set in the 70’s and the glasses appealed to me as German-grandma appropriate.  So, I started drawing.

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And, of course, it turned out completely wrong.  This granny picture will probably remain forever slightly unfinished, because as I drew it, I found I was transforming the portrait into a picture that was not Gretel Stein.  Instead, it was my own Grandma Beyer that it was beginning to look like.  Don’t get me wrong.  I loved my Grandma B deeply, vastly, eternally… but she is not the same as the grandma in my story.  Well, not completely.  Therefore I must try and try again until I find the old woman I really want to portray.

 

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Filed under artwork, characters, doodle, humor, novel plans, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, pen and ink paffoonies, photos, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Pirate Novels

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My first novel-length piece of writing was attempted in college.  I finished it in four years.  It was a pirate tale about a young man, a pirate named Graff the Changeling.  You see him in this illustration I created in 1980 with his two young sons, Rene and Emery.  Because their mother was a fairy, the boys have pointed ears and horns.    It was an attempt at serious fantasy adventure fiction that was so awful, it became a comedy before it was through.  I called it The Graff Tales, and I still have it.  But I promise you, I will never, ever try to publish the horrible thing.  My sisters served as my beta readers for this story.  They both liked the oral stories I told, and they eagerly awaited something like they remembered from our shared childhood.  They both were a bit disappointed by my first prose attempt.  There was a knight called Sir Rosewall in the story.  He was a hapless knighted fool who lived in poverty and swore to reclaim his honor with great deeds, but as he goes to sea as a kidnapped sailor, all he manages to do is fall down a lot and bump his large head frequently.  In the first scene when he enters the story, long about chapter four, he exits a cottage and has to punt a piglet to get out without falling down.  This pig-punting thing was repeated more than once with this character.  My sisters joked that the “pig-in-the-doorway” motif would be my lasting contribution to literature.  Fortunately for me, it was not.  I am probably the only one who even remembers there was such a novel.

But my biggest failing with writing and storytelling was always that I could be too creative.  The story featured a flying pirate ship that was raised from the bottom of the ocean by fairy magic.  The crew were re-animated skeletons.  The gorilla who lived on the island where the ship’s survivors had been marooned would also join the crew.  His name was Hairy Arnold.  One villain was the pirate captain Horner, a man with a silver nose-piece because he had lost his real nose to a cannon shot.  Another was a red-bearded dandy named Captain Dangerous.  But the biggest villain of all was the Heretic, who turned out to be a demon in human guise.  It was all about escaping from pirates who wanted to kill you and hitting soldiers with fish in the fish market.  There were crocodile-headed men and little child-like fairies called Peris that lived in the city where Graff was trapped and transformed into a monster by the Heretic.

My plot was too convoluted and my characters too wildly diverse and unlikely.  The result was something far too bizarre to be serious fiction.  The only way it could actually be interpreted was as a piece of comedy.  There-in lay the solution to my identity problem as a writer.  I had to stop trying to be serious.  My imagination too often bent the rules of physics and reality.  So I had to stop trying for realism and believability.

 

In the end all the main characters die.  All except for young Rene who becomes a pirate hunter.  Of course, I follow Graff and Emery through to heaven because, well, it was a first person narrative and the narrator died.  So, I vowed to myself that I would never let this horrible piece of nonsense see the light of day.  I would never try to publish it, rewrite it, or even tell anyone about it.  And so to this very day I… oopsie.

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Mr. Lucky

Self Portrait vxv

Sometimes everything goes wrong.  That, of course, is something that happens more often than the times when everything goes right.  Lately I have had the fortune to experience the more common of those two sometimes.

My most recent publisher, the one that was supposed to publish Snow Babies, underwent a reduction in capacity and financial difficulties.  They had to reorganize and reduce their commitments.  That meant they could no longer publish any of my other novels.  It apparently also means that they will no longer fulfill the publishing contract on Snow Babies.  Bummer.

My new car, a Ford Fiesta that I bought from Enterprise Rental Car to replace my old Ford Fiesta that was unceremoniously killed by a passing motorist as it sat in front of my house, is now in the shop with it’s own hoof and mouth disease.  While picking up kids from school, I hit a pothole on a Dallas street.  Not just any pothole, but a huge camouflaged cavern of a pothole capable of taking a huge bite out of the right front wheel.  I was not speeding.  I did not do anything wrong but drive in place I have driven a hundred times previously… though this time it was after torrential rain and a bit of nasty hail that I had no way of knowing made potholes bigger and angrier and more horrible.   I am surprised that it didn’t eat any other cars in the moderate traffic I was surrounded by.  But I initially thought that once a passing motorist, younger and more pothole savvy than me, did the good Samaritan act of helping me change the tire, that I would only have to get the tire fixed or replaced and would be happily on my way again.  No such luck.  Not only was the tire ruined, but also the rim it was mounted on, and possibly the undercarriage of the car.  It was going to cost at least the $500 deductible from my insurance company, unless something even worse happened that they couldn’t see without looking at their bank books a little harder.  And I had to get another rental car in the mean time.  But, of course, the recent hail storm not only had most of the rental cars rented, but the rental companies had lost cars to hail damage as well.  I was stuck with a rather expensive Dodge Challenger that the car insurance can’t completely pay for.  And I have no place to park it if the hail decides to revisit us this week.  Double bummer.

And, of course, it doesn’t end there.  Having kids in school is a challenge, especially this time of year with high-stakes testing going on.  I can’t give you particulars because some things have to remain private, but even really bright kids like mine, the children of two teachers, can be subject to test-anxiety and failure and the resulting depression which can prove fatal if not taken seriously enough.  Triple damn ding-dang bummer!

But we can’t let bad luck be the end-all of the story.  I am a pessimist by nature.  Nothing has happened to me recently that took me by surprise.  I am always expecting the worst to happen, and life rarely disappoints me on that score.  So I am not floored by these randomly-occurring sucker punches.  Rather, I am given that shot of anger and adrenaline needed to pick myself up and start fighting back.

class Miss Mcover

I have my novel Magical Miss Morgan almost ready to submit to another publisher that I found through a friend, with a couple of backup publishers to send it to after it is rejected the first time.  I have researched three possibilities so far.

I talked to the insurance agent today to stop the hemorrhaging of money down the drain of car repairs, and though I have taken a pretty good-sized cannon shot in this battle, it will not sink my little pirate ship.

And a conference with principal and teacher and student and parent solved a lot of the other problem.  It can be an advantage to a kid to have a teacher as a parent.  We tend to know how everything works, and we speak the secret language of Edjumacation to help get things actually done.

So, no worries, man.  Even though all my luck is bad luck, I am still lucky… since there is a lot of it.

 

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Like Pulling Teeth from a Chicken

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Life is hard here in the Kingdom of Paffoon where you labor hard at a labor of love and try to give birth to something eternal that ends up going nowhere… stacks of old writing litter my closets, and the prospects of being published grow dimmer and dimmer.  My book Snow Babies has a contract with a publisher, but, apparently they are not going to be able to publish it after all.  I am at the very least going to have to find another publisher for the rest of my books, both finished manuscripts and works in progress.

Blue and Mike in color (435x640)

I do intend to follow through and get published, though.  I can no longer teach, but I feel a powerful force pushing me towards the sheer precipice of authordom.  One way or another I am going to make it over the edge and plummet to the bottom of that cliff.  I am compelled by the need to tell stories, and I have a captive audience every school day no longer.

I used to tell my classes that doing impossible things was like trying to pull chicken teeth with pliers.  You know, impossible things like getting a book published or teaching a mostly Spanish-speaking student how to read in English…  every-day-sort-of impossible things.

“But, Mr. B, chickens don’t have teeth,” some bright-eyed student would say after realizing that “chicken” was the English word for “pollo”.

“Exactly!” I would say.  “That’s what makes it so challenging!”

And now I must put on my chicken-catching socks, find my tooth-pulling pliers, and get ready to make more novels happen.  After a brief bout of consternation and depression, I actually feel a bit better about the whole fiasco.  There are other publishers, and publishers seem to like my writing, even if they can’t publish it.  And I have waited two years to get Snow Babies published, all apparently for nothing.  It is time to stop wasting time.  And maybe to stop repeating repetitions too.

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Novel Problems

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It was a simple plan, really.  I paid a review company to review my book and post the result on their website.  It was affordable, and research showed that their services were not a mere waste of money.  How could anything go wrong?

Well, it’s me, of course.  The fact is, my book is not the only book with that same title.  I sent them the link to my book on Amazon.  They had all the right info to pick the right book.  They, of course, picked the wrong book to read and review.

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Naturally, they can’t tell the difference between my YA science fiction novel about an abandoned alien boy being adopted by a childless Earth couple and a Hollywood romance between sun-soaked beautiful people.

Oh, well, it would be funny if I weren’t running out of time for making waves with my novel and getting some notice.  I can’t seem to get another novel published and everyone is ignoring my little bookie thingy.  Serves me right for thinking I have a good reason to write stuff and nonsense.

And of course, it is not my only unique and novel problem.  I am currently trying to get essential yard work done before the leaves kill the grass on our yard.

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I raked for half an hour with a bad back stinging me constantly, and all I got accomplished was one bag of leaves!

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I really need trees that are more housebroken than this.  If I drop dead doing yard work, I will die an unknown novelist that nobody ever reads.  I am sure several people who have read my work would think that’s actually a good thing, but I’m inclined to disagree with them.

And leaf and novel problems have exacerbated my doll-collecting mania.  The third day of April and I have already bought two more dolls after vowing to quit the habit cold turkey.  But these are Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck dolls.  How can any doll collector with hoarding disorder resist?  At least, two dolls (and their horse) completes the collection…. until they get around to making more of these sweet little things.

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So, I have different problems than most people do.  But they are still problems.  I need to get busy and come up with some novel solutions.

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World Building

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As a novelist I am very aware of the importance of setting.  It is an essential part of of telling a story, to be able to set the stage upon which the characters will act out the plot.  The setting pictured here is one created for my family’s on-going D&D Role-playing set in the campaign world of Eberron, here on the continent of Xendrick which was long ago ruled by magical giants.  It is built around details.  There are in this picture three elements that are actually aquarium decorations (the two jewel-eyed skulls and the Egyptian ruin construct in the background).  The silver skull and the Princess Jasmine figure come from gumball vending machines (Jasmine comes from a vending machine in the hotel lobby in Anaheim when we took the kids to Disneyland).  The thatch-roofed house in the background is from my manic urge to create cardboard castles.  The skeleton-faced statue came out of a box of cheap plastic toys from Dollar Tree that Grandpa bought for my eldest son back in 1998.  If there is any kind of point to this paragraph, it is that this detail-rich setting photo is created with unusual parts, parts that lots of people would not think to include in the world-building process.

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If I have any claim at all to a talent for creating a good setting, it comes from my creative juxtaposition of widely disparate objects.  (In English, it means I like to stick weird stuff together in the same place.)  That, of course, is the very definition of surrealism.  Making the bizarre seem natural and right.  It is how you create a science fiction setting, a fantasy novel setting, and even a setting for a hometown novel set in the little Iowa town I grew up in during the 60’s and 70’s.  (You might not fully believe me yet, as I have not published more than one of my hometown novels, but I do have a hometown setting made of a hidden fairy kingdom, a haunted house, a mad scientist’s laboratory, a witch’s hovel, a mysterious sea captain’s house, a house haunted by rumors of werewolves, and a connection to the dream lands that often lets other-worldly clowns wander our streets.)  (That last now holds the record as the second-longest parenthetic expression I have ever used in my writing.)

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Of course, setting by itself is meaningless.  It must be interactive with the characters that inhabit it.  As the dragon crashes through the castle wall behind them, Princess Aurora and her little mechanical body guard, Clockwerky, are not even facing it.  Are they ignoring it because they are actually quite stupid?  Or since it seems to be heading out of the scene to stage left, are they simply assuming it has to be somebody else’s problem?  Either way the setting and the characters don’t mesh in a way that furthers the actual story… at least, not without a lot of additional explanation.

So, can I explain in any sort of a simple fashion how this 500 word treatise on setting is to be understood?  Yes.  Very simply, settings are built of details… lots of details.  And settings and characters have to work together.  Here endeth the lesson.

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Mervin the Minotaur and Barrabas the Half-Ogre each roll a natural 20 to double-slay the dire elephant that was threatening princess Jasmine, while in the background, Oneorb the Cyclops rolls a 1 and bashes himself in the head.

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Pessimism as a Super Power

 

Castle Cardboard 2

The Cardboard Castle at its current state of completion. I built this thing from Ritz Cracker boxes and a wooden bird house.

I have shared before the fact that those of us who are pessimists are never unpleasantly surprised.  We plan for failure, and cannot be destroyed by the worst that can happen.  Being indestructible is a very good thing.  In fact, it is a super power, just like the Incredible Hulk or something.

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Yesterday a year’s worth of work and waiting came to an end.  I reached the final round of the Chanticleer Book Reviews’ Rosetti Awards for YA novel writing.  I had a second chance to win a prize and a second chance to be noticed by literary agents, publishers, and the reading public.  But it ended the same way as the first chance did.  Magical Miss Morgan didn’t win.

So, I have to rely on my super powers once again to navigate my way through the dark valleys where a body lands once we fall off the mountain we are climbing.

I spent a good deal of time this weekend doing little things to make myself feel better.  I worked on my cardboard castle project.  I took my daughter, the Princess, on a daddy-daughter date.  We saw a very good movie, The Good Dinosaur from Pixar, and we had dinner at a Steak n’ Shake in Plano, Texas.  Last night my wife and I watched the finale of Downton Abbey on PBS.

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I am not devastated.  I didn’t win.  I didn’t get the boost I had hoped for in marketing and publication and seeing my stories in print.  But the book still exists.  There are still ways to get it published.  And I still believe it is a very good piece of writing.

Cool School Blue

So being a pessimist and preparing for the worst held up as a super power.  I should get a black cape and black tights.  Gloomy Man to the rescue!  Villains and opposers will find me indestructible.  I will find a way to save the day!

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