So, there you have the weekly update of work on this graphic novel. I intend to extend it further next week as I work on the scanning and the putting pieces together to get a clear and well-reproduced comic product. I will re-post these pages and the added pages each Saturday as I work towards completing this unfinished work.
Filed under artwork, comic strips, fairies, heroes, Hidden Kingdom, humor, Paffooney, pen and ink
So the time came to make the planned return trip to the nudist park in Alvord, Texas. I was going to finally get to make my second visit to the place for the Labor Day holiday weekend. But once again it was not to be. My daughter caught a virus during her first week of school. She gave it to me and her brother. Of course, neither of them were planning to go along, and their mother would sooner find another husband than be naked in a place where other people would see. They all think I am nuts for wanting to go spend time with other naturists gadding about naked in the hot Texas sunshine. My wife wants me to get my head examined. She thinks all the stories about aliens from outer space may have gotten my head artificially replaced by the Men in Black.
And she may be totally correct in her assessment. She is a school teacher, after all. I, probably just like you, was carefully taught to never be seen naked in public because it is probably a sin, and it is definitely against the law, and it is very likely something only crazy people do on purpose. Never-the-less, I did it once as a writing assignment for a nudist website that told me the review was wonderful and they were definitely going to publish it, and as of this writing, over a year later, they still haven’t done so (though a rival website reblogged one of my nudist posts from this blog).
I have come to the idiotic conclusion, though, that nudism isn’t sinful if practiced around like-minded people who are also comfortably nude. I met and talked to nudists last year who were .very easy to get to know. They were likable and no prettier in the buff than I am myself (and with my psoriasis pink leopard spots I am pretty horrible to look at naked.) And the nudist park is not a place for sexual goings-on and sinful behavior. It is a family environment where some people bring their naked kids.
I remember enjoying being naked as a kid even though I had been taught that Jesus is ashamed by seeing my nudity even though he is always watching over me, even when I am in the bathtub. I remember one time when I was a pre-teen that I took my bicycle to the Bingham Park woods and rode it up and down the trails there completely naked. And even though I had been carefully taught how evil that was, the cool wind on my skin felt good, and it was glorious to listen to the birds sing in a green wood almost as if it were the Garden of Eden and I was Adam, the first man. (Hence the illustration of the bare bike boy.)
It seems to me, now that I am old, retired, and probably at least a little bit senile, that nakedness is really a form of innocence. I can tell you for a fact from being a parent and having, at one point, worked in a daycare center for ages five and below, that it is actually far easier to get a kid to go completely starkers than it is to get them to put on and comfortably wear clothes. Nakedness is natural. And if God had really wanted us to be naked all the time, then we wouldn’t have been born with a full suit of clothes on… er, wait… what? Nakedness is innocent. Anything bad that comes from it happens because of the things we have been taught about it as children. A more enlightened society would probably be naked more than we are, especially inside temperature-controlled sealed environments… like houses, cars, and even spaceships. Ah, yes, back to the Men in Black and possible head-switching again. Aliens in their saucers are apparently often naked. I wonder if Jesus is ashamed by their nudity too?
Anyway, I once again have failed to manage the planned nakedness I had been looking forward to. I have to settle for the indoor, sealed-environment form of nudity as I am too sick to get to the nudist park, and would promptly be arrested if I tried to walk around the neighborhood like that. But the failed evil plan did give me something to write about that at least makes me laugh. And it is an innocent laugh, not an evil one.
Filed under aliens, goofy thoughts, health, humor, nudes, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life
To be perfectly honest, I can’t think of a single recommended use for a virus, either the computer kind or the kind I have right now that floored me for the past five days. The computer kind damages expensive hardware and ruins expensive software, and serves no purpose I can fathom beyond usefulness in acts of evil. And I do not recommend getting sick with a virus. Every viral illness I have gotten over the past two decades has been, for me being a diabetic, potentially fatal.
But the book that Raggedy Clown and Baby Clown are displaying here in a vain attempt at marketing was written during a continuing siege of virally-induced bronchitis… Six times in four years. Writing benefitted from lost work time and extended usage of sick days from my teaching job. Some of my most creative work has happened because of bizarre dreams dreamed while having a fever.
Idiotically I leaped out of bed with a feverish inspiration in the middle of a mostly sleepless night to write down a song, as if I had any business trying to be a songwriter. I had listened earlier in the evening to a compilation of sad songs on YouTube obtained by typing the words “sad songs of the 80’s” into the search box. I listened to a totally gawd-awful mess of weepers because in the book I am now writing, Sing Sad Songs, the main character Francois sings almost exclusively only sad songs. That listening session must have caused just enough brain damage to make me think I could somehow compose a worthy sad song of my own to horrify readers with as an original song written by the character in the book. Clever idea. Impossible to carry out with my croaking toad-like musical abilities. I can probably polish up the poetry to an acceptably awful level, but the tune half-heard in my dream is now completely lost and inapplicable.
So, on the whole, I would have to say I have been decidedly unwell. But, overall, it has not proved to be a barrier to my creative work. It has really only served to make the strange little imaginary realm I live in a little bit stranger.
This is, of course, not a medical dissertation, or any sort of health and wellness advice that I am not qualified to give. But it would be ironic if lots of people suddenly re-posted this essay and it ended up going viral like my post on visiting a nudist park did.
Canto 35 – Stardog Attack
As the Megadeath popped out of jump into the Phoebus IV Star System, the crew was amazed to find a school of Lupin corsairs in an apparent feeding frenzy. The old merchant vessel that they were attacking carried a Psion Empire logo.
“Vince!” cried Tkriashav, “Take us into attack mode!”
“Um… Yeah.” Vince Niell locked on a nearby target and drove at it in flank speed. “Cold Death! You got weapon-duty, dude!”
“Wha…?” Cold Death grabbed the controls for the rail guns in both shaky white hands.
“Vince, babe, we don’t know how to do this stuff!” cried Nikki Sixx. “We never got this far in the space academy!”
“Oh, great!” swore Tkriashav. He probed with his mind and locked onto the weak brainwaves of Cold Death. He took control and aimed the weapons with Cold Death’s hands.
“Wha…?” Cold Death popped three super-accelerated slugs through the hull of the nearest corsair. The Stardog warrior spewed sparks, parts, and dying crewmen into space.
“<Who are you, friend?>” called the merchant ship in the Zaradese language. “<We thank you for the help.>”
“<I am Tkriashav, returning home with great news!>”
“<You are a miracle, then!>”
The Megadeath was faster and more deadly than anything the Lupins had to fight back with. Vince’s able piloting combined with the ship’s superior design to lay waste to sixteen of the clunkier Lupin vessels. Finally the Lupins signaled surrender.
“Prepare to be boarded!” commanded Tkriashav to the Stardog flagship.
“Wha…?” said Cold Death. “How we gonna do that? There’s only four of us!”
“They don’t know that,” answered Tkriashav. “Grab laser rifles and come with me. We will all go across and accept their surrender.”
“Dude, I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Vince.
“I hope I do too,” said Tkriashav with a sardonic grin.
The boarding party took an air-raft, a small open-top anti-gravity vehicle, and made the crossing to the largest Stardog corsair. The Lupin vessel was, of course, in a sorry state of disrepair. These corsairs had all been used excessively with only a bare minimum of maintenance. It was little wonder that the Megadeath, newest vessel in this part of space, could cut through the corsair ships like a hot knife through lukewarm cheese. Xavier could count the scratches on the portal side and classify them as plasma burns, bullet holes, or near-miss collision marks. It was amazing that Lupins could still get these ships to fly.
Inside the airlock, the crew removed their vacuum helmets and breathed the stink of Lupin-befouled air. These space mongrels apparently knew little of the steward skills necessary to maintain shipboard environments.
“Welcome Psion Master,” said a red-furred Lupin female who appeared to be the Lupin leader. “We surrender all our treasures and our ships to you.”
“That’s very generous,” said Tkriashav, “but what are your terms for surrender?”
“Unconditional, right?” She looked at the five crewmen who accompanied her to the docking bay for support. They all nodded vigorously. “Yes, unconditional surrender.”
“Very well, then. Follow us down to the planet. We will put your people under the authority of the planet Zarane.”
“Okay,” said the unnaturally pleased Lupin leader.
“Why are you so darn agreeable?” asked Vince, giving voice to the unease that Tkriashav had hoped not to let slip.
“Oh, we need a new government,” said the Lupin Lady. “Our homeworld has been overrun by Nebulon colonists. There are so many Smurfs on Zaell right now that a Stardog can’t spit without messing one.”
“Nebulons?” asked Tkriashav. “I thought they all lived in stars to the leading edge of the Orion Spur. What are they doing trillions of miles from home?”
“Colonizing,” said the Lupin Lady.
“So why were you attacking a Psion merchant if you meant to ask us for sanctuary?”
“Bad habits, I guess. We don’t mean to offend. We even brought a Psion prisoner here to return him to his home. We thought it would be a sign of good faith.”
“A Psion?” asked Xavier, “Who? And where from?”
“He was living in a Psion colony overrun by Nebulons. Mattey! Produce the boy!”
A blond-haired, blue-eyed boy wearing a white cowboy hat and a white tunic was lead into the docking bay. He smiled shyly as Tkriashav was pointed out to him.
“Are you a Psion, boy?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a Pyro. I can’t help it most of the time. These Stardogs have been bringing me back to Zarane.”
“What’s your name, child?” asked Tkriashav.
“I am Rocket Rogers, sir.”
Tkriashav laughed. “I suppose your father’s name was Buck?” he jested.
“Yes. And my grandfather’s name was Will and my Uncle was Roy. We were all Pyros.”
“What happened to your family?”
“All killed by pirates before the Nebulons tried to colonize our world. The Monopoly Brigade wiped out Bradalanth Colony. Stardogs found me in a raid just as the Nebulons were entering our solar system.”
“So they helped you?”
“Well, yes. They helped me and looted what was left of our colony before the Nebulons got there.”
“All right, Stardogs,” said Tkriashav, raising both arms dramatically. “I may not be the leader of the two Psion planets in this system, but I can promise you help and safe harbor. I come bearing good news to the people of the Psion Empire. The Prophecy of Xan is being fulfilled even as we speak. A new White Spider has arisen! A new realm is about to take shape! You will be a part of that, Lupin and Psion alike! Come with me to Zarane and we will make History!”
Both crews cheered, but being rather slow, neither crew probably fully understood what was being said.
Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, science fiction
I’m a Mickey, yes, indeedy…
Foopty-Hoopty-Hoodilly-Hoo!
Chicken-ninja throwing stars,
Hit their targets thrown from Mars…
Foopty-Hoodilly-Hee
And when the pandas drive their cars,
Their tire treads are candy bars!
Take that truth from me!
Foopty-Hoopty-Fiddly-Ho!
Being a Mickey is a rabbity thing…
As if it were Bugs who taught us to sing,
And unmusical music we all start to bring…
Because we use only the words that we know!
Foopty-Hoodilly-Fling-a-ding-Ding!
Filed under goofy thoughts, humor, Mickey, Paffooney, Paffooney cartoony, poetry, rabbit people
I have finally found a way to create clean, bright copies of my pages of the graphic novel Hidden Kingdom. I managed to scan it in portions and then piece it together with a photoshopping program.
Now I will post my re-scanned and puzzled-together masterwork. It will become my regular Saturday feature.
Here now is my first installment;
And so I will continue to work on and add pages of artwork each week.
Filed under art editing, artwork, cartoons, comic strips, Hidden Kingdom, humor, Paffooney, pen and ink
Chances are… I could wear a foolish grin, like a Johnny Mathis Moon in the sky…
I could waltz… all alone in a dark room, never seizing on the chances to fly…
But there’s a time… meant to let the summer in…
And love songs… all make me wonder… Why?
Silly, I know. But silly and surreal is how I go, how I deal with the time. A song in my head leads to rhythm and metaphor and rhyme. And it takes me from old winter and the waning of the moon… to the silly month of June… And my dancing shoes were never quite so spry.
Chances are… if you really read this, you will know I am depressed.
My life is all unfairly messed.
And I barely can get dressed…
To go tripping cross the floor, dancing awkwardly toward the door, ’cause I’m in need of so much more.
But in a poem I find it… the very reason that I rhymed it… like the crooning song that’s stuck in my old head…
I will catch it, and I’ll bind it, like a fool who hopes you’ll find it, and the treasure will be revealed before we’re dead…
Chances are… that you hear that silly tune, as it reels across the page in silent spread. And the song will slowly stop, as I dance a final hop, and the answer is brightly shining in my head.
Filed under Depression, feeling sorry for myself, finding love, healing, humor, magic, music, Paffooney, poetry
Canto 34 – Slinking Out of Paradise
Gaijin is one of the most beautiful worlds in human space according to those humans who have visited enough of them to compare. Its lush, tropical-sea environment is pleasant always and fully climate-controlled by old Sylvani technology. It has far fewer cold places than an Earth-like world such as Talos III or Martin Faulkner’s Dream. It has more resources than an ocean-world like Dancer or Design where no land masses are present. And its greatest features are the people themselves. They are disciplined by the Bushido code, and beautified by the natural Sylvani grace. It was no surprise, then, that Vince Niell and the crew of the Megadeath did not want to leave.
“I have to go to at least three other worlds,” argued Xavier Tkriashav. “I have important missions to complete. You have the only available spaceship on the planet.”
“Dude, like, we don’t got no orders from Ged boss-man,” said Vince Niell. “This ship is his.”
“Ged is very busy now. I am his friend and agent. I tell you, I have important things to do for Ged Aero!”
“And we tell you, Psion Dude, that we don’t go to space for nobody but Ged Aero.”
Xavier smiled. “Can you call him and ask?”
“Dude, we have commo units on board. Did he take a walkie-talkie or a commo dot?”
“No.”
“Then ain’t no way we’re gonna move from this spot.”
Tkriashav looked at the stubborn rock-and-roll starship pilot. He saw only two angry reflections of himself looking back from Vince’s mirrored sunglasses. The hippie freak had started wearing a pair of red Moko-bird feathers in his hair as if he were some kind of Native American.
“I am going to go and disturb Ged now, and get him to write a note to let me use this starship while he is training to be Gaijin’s new White Spider.”
“Sounds good to me, Daddy-o.”
Fuming, the turbaned Psion stalked back into the city, making his way swiftly through crowded streets to the Palace of One Thousand Years.
Ged was on the practice field with Junior, teaching martial arts.
“You were impressive in the arena,” Tkriashav said when Ged acknowledged his presence. “Tell me, how is it you already know the martial arts they teach here?”
“It’s not something I’m proud of, but I absorbed it by eating the flesh of the man they called the Black Spider. I inherited the ability to alter myself into the patterns of his finely trained muscles. Muscle memory is the key to absorbing the skill. Just like the instincts I’ve absorbed from animals I’ve eaten.”
“Did you actually eat one of those invisible cat things?”
“It was during an episode of survival training on the planet Samothrace when I was young. I guess I had my powers even then, though I didn’t know it until the last few years.”
“It’s that kind of knowledge I need you to pass on to other Psions, Ged. Do you mind if I use your starship to round up a couple of students for you?”
“I would be honored to serve,” said Ged with a bow. “Teaching seems to come naturally too, though I don’t ever remember eating a teacher.”
Xavier laughed. “I need a note for your crew, Ged. They don’t want to leave this place. They won’t take my word.”
“No problem. Will you revisit Don’t Go Here?”
“Yes. Young Friashqazatla is there. I want you to teach Freddy especially because he is a shape-changer like you. He is another Psion that we would’ve lost without Tara Salongi.”
“Check on Tara for me. Tell her I miss her. And tell Ham about what’s happened here. I want him to come here and learn about this place too.”
“I would be happy to. You like it here, don’t you?”
“How could I help it? I’m not a monster here. I’m a hero to these people. But I have to say, I don’t understand the praise anymore than I understood the fear.”
The message was quickly written, and within the hour, the Megadeath roared out of Gaijinese orbit, headed directly into trouble.
Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, science fiction
Here is a sample chapter from my rough draft to give you an idea of how this nonsense is progressing.
Canto 25 – Wish Upon a Star
I honestly was just minding my own business. The bar, I mean. I was minding the bar. Ugly Bill and his idiot child were talking to the FBI somewhere they didn’t bother to inform me about. Orgus, Bill’s truck-driving uglier son was in the hospital. And my brother Richard was home in front of the TV pretending to be sick or something. It was just me, Captain Noah Dettbarn, and an amazing number of unwashed glasses in a business that hardly ever had customers enough to get multiple glasses dirty.
The Captain was busy with his one and only bottle for the day, probably thinking about the South Seas Islands where he used to go by cargo ship. A place where palm trees swayed in the breeze and tropical girls danced in grass skirts with no tops on. I envied his memories. So much more colorful than small-town Iowa in October. Why did it always seem to be October in Iowa, anyway? Sweater weather and cold snaps and early frost.
But my regrets and glass-washing were interrupted by the whole gaggle of Norwall Pirates coming into the bar where they really weren’t supposed to be.
Billy was leading the way, followed by that danged Ricky kid. I knew he would be back. And Francois and little silent black kid and then the two girls, Mary and Val.
“Ricky wants to try the singing machine,” Billy said. “Would that be okay? Please?”
I glared at them all. “What have I got to lose? The instruction book is on top of it. And if Ricky breaks it, Ricky’s daddy the cop has to pay for it.”
Ricky grinned at me. “You know he don’t have no money, right?”
So, like a flock of pigeons or a gaggle of geese they circled around the clunky Japanese squawker box and started chirping and arguing and other things that were hard to ignore. I couldn’t help but notice how pretty young Valerie really was. Even in baggy Fall clothes, she had a body and face that were going to take her far in life and going to break more than one heart. I wondered if she was in any danger from the Teddy Bear Killer that Ugly Bill was going to help capture. Of course, I knew the pervert only killed boys. Still, I had to wonder.
“So that’s what you have to do,” Billy was explaining from the manual. “And now all you have to do is pick one, put the number in, and sing.”
“I try first!” Sang out Ricky.
“Don’t you wanna let the deaf kid sing first?” I asked. “I have never heard his voice.”
“Uncle Victor, you know he can’t speak except in sign language.” Billy was glaring back at me. That skinny little hairball on stick legs was trying to correct my social skills. Nuts to that. I ate a few more antacid tablets.
“That would be perfect for me,” I grumbled to myself.
“Here’s the one I want,” Ricky declared, “Steppenwolf, Born to be Wild.”
Billy helped him type in the right series of numbers, then the screeching began.
“Get your motor running…!” he bellowed like a moose during mating season. “Head out on the highway…”
I regretted not buying earplugs when I bought the damned karaoke thingy. I regretted it almost as much as not being on a South Sea island with girls in grass skirts and no tops.
“Looking for adventure…!” I started fixating on counting the bar glasses on the counter behind me, anything but listening to that moose-mating noise pollution. I also re-stacked the coasters and cleaned the peanut bowls. I successfully refocused my attention to totally ignore Ricky destroying that song.
“Oh, gawd! I only get twenty-five percent on that score? I thought I sang better than that!”
“That was pretty awful, Rick,” Valerie said diplomatically.
Ricky looked angry, but everybody else was nodding agreement. So, the kid gave up and pressed the microphone into Francois’s hand. The French boy entered a code surprisingly quickly.
“When you wish upon a star…”
My beloved Jesus! It was electrifyingly good right from the very first note.
“Makes no difference who you are…”
They were all listening with their mouths open.
“Anything your heart desires… will come to you…”
Even the Captain was listening. I swear I saw tears in his old red eyes.
“If your heart is in your dreams… no request is too extreme…”
I couldn’t help but think about how depressed this kid had been since I brought him here. He’d lost his whole family. He’d been in the back seat of the car with them when they had died. He’d been sleeping hour after hour at our house because he was too sad to do anything but dream. And here he was putting his whole soul into a song about dreams and wishes and stars… and I… um… I was about to cry too when he hit that last long beautiful note.
The song ended, and everyone was stunned. The machine put fireworks on the screen and scored him one hundred percent.
“Sing it again,” said Valerie, softly. It was the only thing anyone could say. And then he sang it again, just as amazingly beautiful as the first time. And he scored one hundred again. Everyone was sniffling or openly crying because it was so touching. Especially pretty little Valerie who had lost her own father only a couple of years ago. Her cheeks were dripping wet.
“Vicar, you gotta have him sing that again tonight,” said the Captain. “People have got to hear that. I mean… gawd dang! That was amazing! I gotta bring folks here to hear that.”
And I knew he was right. That was not something we could afford to keep to ourselves. That kid had real talent.
After four days of working on getting my car fixed, there is finally light at the end of the tunnel. I have not gotten it into the shop yet. I still have to climb over the middle divider from the passenger door because neither door on the left side of my car can be opened. Both are bent and jammed.
But the gaggle of insurance agents squabbling over who pays for it all is beginning to sound like I might not have to shoulder the entire burden myself. There is a consensus that the accident was not my fault. (Probably due to the fact that the police officer making the accident report clearly stated it was the other goofball’s fault in his written report.) So, Geico, the perpetrator’s insurance, has generously agreed to pay 85 percent of the cost of repair and rental car. (85 percent??? Why not a hundred??? Apparently, because I couldn’t testify with 100 percent certainty with my hand on a Bible that I had my lights on at a quarter to noon in the rain, even though I am in the habit of having my lights turned on even if it is just cloudy and would’ve automatically turned them off when I got out of the car to prevent the warning dinger from dinging. That should cost me $300, right?) My insurance agent from Progressive is willing to argue all the way to arbitration that I deserve 100% coverage, especially since Geico is paying for it, and Uber also stands ready to be coerced to pay if need be because I was on my way to pick up a meal delivery at the time of the accident.
So, I am hopeful in a pessimistic sort of way that I am not going to be socked with another bill that is higher than my emergency fund (which I maintain on the orders of my bankruptcy lawyer).
But it is not only good news about car repair that I am finding questionable today. I have also made progress on a stubborn printer/scanner that has been failing to work properly since I bought it new. I discovered I needed to go online to download an HP printer driver, not once, but twice. Apparently, it had been rendered useless because just after I downloaded and made it work the day I bought the thing, HP decided to update that software with critical patches that I did not have. So, the second download allowed me to discover…
…That the scanner bed was still too small to scan the size of art needed to scan my graphic novel and get that usefully re-created through scans on the internet. You can see the cover is too large to scan the whole thing in one go. I am, however, tricksy enough to scan it in parts and paste the whole together with the paint and art editing tools I already have on the computer. I intend to start doing that to get Hidden Kingdom up and running on my Dungeons and Dragons Saturday posts.
Here’s an adjusted scan to increase my ability to copy and paste a whole together from parts…
It should be easy to quilt together the artwork over time and provide a view not grayed out by having to reproduce the black and white pen and ink art in shades of gray, the way I must if I try to do the thing photographically.
And I can definitely say that scanned art is better than photographed art.
I have included a couple more scans to prove the point.
Filed under angry rant, art editing, feeling sorry for myself, grumpiness, humor, Paffooney
