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One More Time?

I have a good start on the fifth and final novel in the AeroQuest Trilogy. The question is… “Will Mickey finish it and publish it before he takes up harp polishing for angels in the repair shops of H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. Maybe there are two left in him before the bullfrog croaks out the finale.

Here’s the link for the previous book.

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Snow and Cold in Iowa Again

It is cold again. The snow is light, but it has made the world white again. And I have the blues as illness has hit me in the abdomen again, and I hate the medication for that. Bad guys won today’s football playoff games. I am still hoping the Bears beat the despicable Rams. Hopefully, I will still be alive tomorrow.

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One More Picture

On

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New Pix…

I have not been able to write every day in 2025 and now into 2026. However, I have been drawing whenever I can. And I am posting art on Instagram,

beyer5292

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Rereading Me

If the two girls up above are Sherry and Shelly Cobble, the twins from several of my novels, they are wearing too many clothes. These two fictional characters are true nudists and go naked whenever possible. (The twins they are based on in real life were probably lying to me about going to nude beaches to embarrass their English teacher (me).)

I have often thought that the reason my novels are so rarely read by anyone (except nudists, of course) is that I use ridiculous situations and purple paisley prose to tell improbable stories. It is entirely possible that I am a lousy writer.

So, I spent the recent holidays rereading what I believe is my best book, Snow Babies. It is a comedy about a small town coming together to survive a severe blizzard. In other words, it is a humorous story about bus passengers, runaway orphans, and farm town citizens being harassed by snow ghosts and some of them freezing to death. It has many intense moments. There are witches, a mysterious stranger, a group of kids in a liars’ club, a couple of orphans with severe medical problems, and a clown or two to become vivid characters that someone somewhere will identify with. (After all, most of them are based on real people I was related to or met sometime in my nonfictional past life.) There are hauntings and magic and near-death experiences. And rereading it gave me chills down my spine as well as moments of loud laughter and a few spots where I shed a few tears. Maybe it isn’t so terrible. I found it fascinating in spite of having read it ten times or more, on top of writing it and editing it.

I am now rereading this book, The Bicycle-Wheel Genius. It is a story about friendship, losing friends, and renewing friendships. It is also about family, losing family, finding a new family, and learning to properly love the family you are stuck with. Besides having some serious themes, it is also a rollicking adventure about time-travelling, fighting a dogfight in World War I biplanes, killer alien robots, man-eating chinchillas, and rabbits who become human. And a girl with special problems to overcome gets to turn a boy into a girl for a while with an alien ray gun to exact the perfect revenge. You know, all very sensible, realistic stuff. And it makes me laugh in some parts, and cry in some parts, and even feel the tension in parts where good characters face terrible consequences. I am finding again that I enjoy my own writing when I go back to things I have already written and published.

Maybe I am not a bad writer. There is a good chance you will like them too if you try them.

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This is the book to read to find out about the Cobble Sisters. Recipes for Gingerbread Children. It is the one I plan to reread next.

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Unpleasantness

I learned from the urologist today that I am going to have to have surgery on my prostate. It is not cancer (hopefully), but it will have to cut a new channel for emptying my bladder, a procedure eerily nicknamed “a Rotor Rooter job.”

I learned from YouTube today that an ICE agent in Minnesota murdered a woman in her car, and the government is lying about what clearly happened, according to bystanders’ videos.

Today was not the best day for Michael. And Mickey isn’t happy either.

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Time For Wasting

wonderful teaching

When I was still alive and still teaching, maximizing and managing time was an incredibly important part of the day.    You had to activate learners with an attention step, a lesson focus that grabbed them.  Usually that had to follow a warm-up, something you got them to do as soon as you had smiled at them at the doorway, offered to shake their hand, and then pulled them into the classroom to do some work for you.  fifteen minutes at the start of the class to rev up mental engines and get the gears turning… shake out the rust and the cobwebs that accumulate the instant the final bell rang in the previous class. I timed that part of class down to the second with my pocket watch… or phone in later years.  Then, once the engines started, the focus is in place, you introduce the learning objective.  Never more than ten minutes… timed to the second… you give the explanation, the road map of the day ahead, the instruction.  Then for the next ten to fifteen minutes you let them discover stuff.  In groups, with a partner, teacher to class, student to class, or (rarely) individually, they must apply what you pointed out and figure something out.  It could be complicated, but probably it was simple.  All answers are welcome and accepted… because all answers will be evaluated and you learn more from wrong answers than you do from correct guesses.  Evaluation comes in the five to ten minutes at the end when you evaluate.  “What have I learned today?”  You try your hardest to pin something new to the mental note-board hanging on the brain walls of each and every student.  Depending on how much or how few minutes you are given before the final bell kills the lesson for the day, you have to put the big pink ribbon on it.  That tightly-wound lesson cycle goes on all day, repeated as many times as you have classes.  In that time you have to be teacher, policeman, friend, devil’s advocate, entertainer, counselor, psychotherapist, chief explainer, and sometimes God.  And you time it to the second by your pocket watch.

Teacher

I miss being the rabbit holding the BIG PENCIL.  Now that I am retired, I am no longer on the clock… no longer subject to careful time management.  My pocket watch is broken and lying in a box somewhere in my library.  I live now in non-consecutive time periods of sleep and illness and writing and playing with dolls.  I have entered a second childhood now.  Not really a simple one because of diabetes and arthritis and COPD and psoriasis and all the other wonderful things that old age makes possible.  But a childhood free of school politics and mandates from the school board and from the State.  A childhood where I can once again dream and imagine and create and play.  That’s what this post is if you haven’t already figured it out.  I am playing with words and ideas.  They are my toys.  Toys like this one;

turtleboy

This, of course, is Tim, the turtleboy of irony, holding his magic flatiron that he uses for ironing out irony.  He is flattening it out now with a cartoony Paffooney and wickedly waggled words.  Ironically, I have often taught students to write just like this, making connections between words and pictures and ideas through free association and fast-writing.  Have you learned anything from today’s retired-teacher post?  If you did, it is ironic, because you were never meant to from the start.

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Snow Babies

Last week, a white-out blizzard hit Iowa, my first winter back in Iowa since 1981. It was the perfect time to finish reading my best novel, Snow Babies.

I have reread this book at least seven times since finishing the final edit. The humor still makes me laugh. Some of the most poignant moments still make me cry. And I recognize my former students in some of the main characters. Not that any of those same students could recognize themselves after my total rewrite of who they actually are. The key is the inner goodness that is evident in each of the young-adult characters. I know who they are better than they themselves do. And, of course, I recognize the blizzard. I went through it long ago in the 1970s. I can still savor the complex and well-woven multi-level plot. It really is my best shot at writing a memorable story.

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And So… A New Year Cometh

And so, 2026 begins. My seventieth year. Will I get to live it? Will the Pumpkinhead Dicktater be thrown off our backs? Or will the evil Empire tighten its suffocating grip? Will I publish at least one more book? Will the sun continue to shine without withering the world?

The adventure will be in finding out the answers.

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2025

This year has been the worst year of my life. I was hospitalized in May and came out of the hospital with a pacemaker implanted under my collarbone. I was in the Emergency Room five times this year. Two of those were probably not necessary. The other three prevented my death.

My ability to write and complete novel projects has nearly disappeared. One e-book novella was the only thing I published. I successfully moved to the farm in Iowa, separating from my wife in an attempt to live a little longer, leaving her to finish her teaching career in Texas by herself.

The year could only be worse if I die tonight, before the year ends.

But for now, I am still hopeful of more good things to come before the end. Did I live the life I was supposed to live? How could I be wrong about that? I am not. Life was good.

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