It doesn’t matter what you believe in. This time of year is special. People are generally in a good mood, upward turns at the corners of the lips, singing out loud, or even singing in the heart alone. The magic we all believe in comes from the people we love and turning our attention to them.
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It’s that time of year again.
No, that is not a typo. I only meant “gifts” in pun form. Sometimes you don’t feel much like talking and, after all, the “picture can be worth a thousand words”, especially if the picture moves.
As you can see, I am spending the day with the Ghost of Christmases Past. Have a wonderful holiday, however you may celebrate it. I will offer more goofy stuff by Mickey after the Ghost of Christmases Future gets done with me.
As things heat up for old Trumpy, I decided to re-post this old Smurf tale for no good reason whatsoever.
Trumpy Smurf and General Kelly Smurf, his chief of staff
Right now I think this country needs a good lesson in how to avoid a fascist dictatorship. And we can’t look to 1930’s Germany to get an example. They didn’t avoid it. They got Hitler even though he did not have a Twitter account to use for making himself der Fuhrer.
So let’s tell a story about fascists and infringe on copyrights at the same time by telling you a Smurf story.
There was a time in Smurf village when their local politics became entirely too polarized into only two factions. One side was made up of the good-time Smurfs who had all the money. They called themselves the Pub-Lickins because they liked to win elections by cheating and through massive donations from the richest Smurfs among them, and also because they loved to lick up all the liquor at…
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My novel, The Baby Werewolf, is in the process of being published. The Kindle e-Book version is already approved. The paperback is pending.
I was actually beginning to worry that I might not live long enough to get this one published. But it has turned out to be a very good book. I am pleased with the story, themes, and sense of depth and complexity. It is a young adult novel, basically because the characters are young adults. Well, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds, actually. So, almost adults.
Todd Niland, an eighth-grade farm boy, and fan of black-and-white horror movies like The Wolfman, is the main character and first first-person narrator of the book. He is in love with a freckle-faced girl and too shy to ever tell her how he feels. He has a keen sense of adventure and longs for the day when he can do something heroic.
Sherry Cobble is his girlfriend’s best friend, and ends up being the first girl Todd sees naked. But that’s because she and her twin sister Shelly are both nudists and like to walk around with nothing covering them but skin and wind and sunshine. She is the one who decides she is going to help Todd discover romance and the secret fact that the girl he loves actually feels the same way about him. Sherry becomes the third of the trio of narrators who tell this story.
Torrie Brownfield is the second narrator of the story. And even though he is, in some ways, the werewolf of the title, he is not really a werewolf. He is a boy with a condition called hypertrichosis, a hair-growth genetic disorder like the one that created P.T. Barnum’s sideshow sensation, Jo Jo the Dog-faced Boy. And he has a tremendously difficult time finding his place in a world that sees him as a freak and even fears him.
I find my computer acting up as I try to write this, so time for different measures. More about this matter soon.
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Here’s an old post about an old humorist who isn’t me, but who I wish was me… or I wish I was him… or him is good and me is good but him as me would be good-er… or something like that.
dave barry
I threatened to write a post about Dave Barry and the writing gods apparently thought that was a very very bad idea. They have tried to prevent me from carrying out this idle threat by attacking my computer with gremlins. Now my WordPress page is shrinking practically out of sight. I can barely see what I am typing. You don’t believe me? Here’s what it looks like at the moment;
They obviously tricked me into pressing the secret shrink button on my computer, and I have no idea where to find the un-shrink features. Not only that, but my Facebook page is automatically translating everything it can into French. They really don’t want me to tell you about Dave Barry. And why do you suppose that is?
Well, Dave Barry may actually be me from a parallel dimension. He started writing for The Miami Herald in the early…
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Here’s a good old post to make you groan about the depths of Mickian humor.
If you have the bad habit of reading this particular blog more than once, then you are probably aware that I used to be a public school teacher. Even worse, I used to be a middle school English teacher. Aagh! Seventh graders! It explains a lot about how life has warped my intelligence, personality, and world view. It also explains somewhat where I found such a fountain-like source for some of the worst jokes you ever heard.
Now, as to the question of why I have chosen in my retirement early-onset senility to become a humor-blogger… well, that is simply not something I can answer in one post… or even a thousand. But kids are the source of my goofball clown-brain joking around.
Kid-humor, you see, is stunted and warped in weird ways by the time period you are talking about. The eighties, nineties, two thousands, and the tens are…
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These are my seven good novels published with three different publishers;
Soon I will be adding number eight. The Baby Werewolf should be ready to self-publish by next week.
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Here’s an interesting old post that I can re-use to give myself a bit of a blogging break today.
My wife brought treasure back from the Philippines for my kids and me. She spent over a thousand Filipino pesos at a book store over there and apparently bought out the store’s entire supply of “How-to-Draw-Manga/Anime” (though the amount she spent is not so impressive when you realize the exchange rate for a Filipino peso is .025 of an American dollar). Anyway, I happen to love the Japanese anime-style cartoons. I have since I was a kid in the 60’s watching Astroboy in black and white on the old Motorola TV set. So, just as you would expect, I had to go on a drawing binge, copying ideas from the books, but putting my own spin on them.
It is not the first time I have gone on anime-drawing binges. Let me provide some proof of that from past posts;
So, there’s my original content for today. The day after…
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Canto 42 – The Dancing Doll
After three days of Ged’s attempts at teaching, Shu Kwai was still kneeling stark naked in the practice grounds. He refused to accept any clothing he felt he had not earned. Ged quietly shook his head in despair. Junior Aero and Sarah Smith each had a linen robe with the White Spider symbol stitched into it. They also had tabai boots for their feet, cloth footwear with the big toe tied off for climbing and sure footholds. The two of them worked together with their telepathy to absorb the thoughts of their sensei. Shu Kwai would only stubbornly continue to struggle.
“What is it about the inner eye that you can’t get, Shu-sama?” Ged asked.
“I apologize, Aero-sensei, I do not see the pictures in my mind that you suggest. What do they look like to you?”
“I suppose the problem is that all Psions do not use the same inner eye to focus their power.”
“How do you mean, honored one?”
“I mean, I see molecules. I can read DNA strings with my inner eye. If I have eaten the meat, I can call up the proper shapes and spirals to make the creature. I can focus my power and shift my own DNA molecules in every cell of my body. I don’t know how I know this, or can do this, but the power wells up in me like a cup that fills itself.”
Shu Kwai’s face showed stern concentration. As the boy knelt there, quivering in the cool breeze, he continued trying with all his youthful might.
“Please, Master Ged, let me help,” said Sara, large eyes pooling with liquid sympathy for Shu’s dilemma.
“All right,please, Sara-san.”
“Shu-bozu, it is true that we all see the inner eye in different ways. Mine is like Ged-sensei’s vision. I can see molecules and DNA. I can rearrange the flow of power in the minds of others to effect healing. I have seen into Junior’s mind as well. His is different. He sees circuits and electrical links. He can trace the patterns in a human mind as I can, or in a computer mind, as I cannot.”
“So, what does my mind, my eye, look like?” asked Shu Kwai, looking with puzzled eyes into Sara’s face.
“Can I take a look?”
Sara reached over to Shu with a tender hand and touched his temple. Shu cracked a smile as her beautiful essence flooded into his head.
“Your inner eye sees motion. Flickering motions. Energy paths of movement.”
Shu nodded with his eyes closed. “I see it. It is just like chi.”
“Spirit force, yes,” said Ged, finally realizing where he had gone wrong. “Girl! Come here!” He motioned to a girl attendant who waited beside the practice field for just such an order. “Girl, we need a loose-jointed doll or a puppet. Can you fetch one for me?”
“Yes, Ged Aero-dono!” she said in breathless awe.
In minutes the girl had returned with a small wooden marionette from the Akito House, smiling and well-pleased that she had been honored to do this service for the White Spider’s special school. Ged took the doll and gratefully patted her powdered cheek.
“Picture this doll in your mind’s eye, Shu Kwai.” Ged sat the doll on the grass. “Picture it rising to its feet. Make it do something.”
As Shu Kwai concentrated, the doll stood up and bowed to Master Ged. Then it slowly began an undulating dance. The dance got wilder and happier as Shu Kwai began to feel his success. Finally, it ended with a flourish and a bow.
“Clever boy!” said Ged, feeling warm inside for the first time all day. “Let me give you a robe!”
“No, Sensei. I made only a first step. Give me a loin cover only. I must work harder still.”
“As your teacher, I say you accomplished at least two steps today. You learned to focus the inner eye, and you learned not only from me but from your classmate Sara. That is worth a robe, surely.”
“You are anxious to cover me in cloth, Sensei. If I may choose, I would rather have the tabai boots like Sara and Junior.”
“Very well,” said Ged with a smile. “You are determined to remain a naked barbarian. But I respect you very much as a student, Shu Kwai. Your victories make me proud.”
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The truth of the matter is, this blog is meant to promote my books, and I need to be using it more for that purpose.
Recipes for Gingerbread Children is a self-published book. And I do not at present have enough money to live on, let alone pay for a professional-quality editor. So, it is possible that, if you bought one right now on Amazon, you could be the very first person to ever read the book aside from me, the idiot who wrote it. I am aware that, sadly, the fact of it means I have done a terrible job promoting this book so far. Other authors have buyers lined up to buy a copy as soon as the book debuts. And it is a very good book (so says the author-guy who is prejudiced by his own pitiful teacher-ego).
I am not going to beg anybody or bribe anybody to read this book. (Unless that would work… in which case, “Please! Please! Please!” and what would it take to convince you?) But I trust that sooner or later it will find a reader. And there will be someone, somewhere that falls in love with this story. I would like to live long enough to see that happen. But if I don’t, I wouldn’t be the first writer or artist to go through that. You’ve heard of Vincent Van Gogh and Franz Kafka, haven’t you?
Here is a link to that book on Amazon; https://www.amazon.com/Recipes-Gingerbread-Children-Michael-Beyer-ebook/dp/B07KQTMN7R/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1544407586&sr=8-1&keywords=michael+beyer+books+recipes+for+gingerbread+children
And now I dare you to be the first person ever to read it.
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Catch a Falling Star 