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Ever have one of those days where you feel the need to write, but you don’t know what to write about?

Today my second vaccine appointment was postponed until next week. The weather is blustery and rainy. So, I am left with unexpected writing time and no ideas on the yet-to-write-about list.

Well, this book is listed as a free Kindle book from today until Tuesday, the 20th, the day my vaccination was rescheduled for. This is the third time Recipes for Gingerbread Children has been in a free-book promotion. I am hoping it does better than the last couple of promotions. It really is a good book, but it gets passed over because of its connections to nudism, or because people see the title and think it’s a cookbook. I promise, if you try it, you will find it’s much more complex and fascinating then that. The story began as a retelling of Hansel and Gretel. but this time the witch in the Gingerbread House is Grandma Gretel, a Holocaust survivor trying to deal with what she lost by telling stories and baking magical cookies. And it has a werewolf in it for good measure, a little one who is not a predator, but himself a victim.

The book I am working on now… my work in progress, is a story I am calling The Boy Who Rose on a Golden Wing. This is a novel idea about handling depression, and it was originally titled Valerie in Darkness. Valerie Clarke is still the protagonist, but the story is not solely about her depression.

I used this picture to illustrate it, but this will not be the cover of the book. It will have a cardinal in it, but the girl in this picture is not Valerie.

I recently got the book The Baby Werewolf reviewed on Pubby, but the reader did not actually buy the book, which is what I paid for, and he or she probably did not actually read it. 75,000 words in just a couple of hours? I think not. So, the five-star review will be pretty useless to me in the long run.

So, now I have basically written about nothing in this post. And I have written to my goal, but achieved only that and nothing more. Still, if you are interested at all in how a writer’s mind works on a disappointingly bad day, you now have some evidence for the formation of negative opinions. And you may have some idea of what to avoid in future blogs. (And I messed with the colored-text feature out of sheer goofiness and do apologize if you actually read this far only to be disappointed by the content of this paragraph.)

I confess it. I have not gotten much done since I got the first half of my Pfizer vaccine on Friday evening. I have been lazy and kinda ill for the entire weekend. But I am not feeling any lingering reactions to the medicine at this point. So, reposting an old post for today was simply a matter of me still being lazy. I will get back to regular daily posting later on… maybe tomorrow… but maybe not.

It is not in my nature to be the wrong kind of dog-owner. Or the person who throws trash in the creek. But I cannot change the nature of other men. Is the situation hopeless?

I surely do Hope not!

To be a writer, you always have to have something to say.

That’s what being a writer is.

And when you have something to say, you have to say it. And you have to use your best skills to say it well.

I took years and years to collect and organize what I wanted to say. I gathered thoughts and ideas by being a public school teacher. Not just talking to and learning from a select few kids, but every kid and any kid that God saw fit to throw in front of me. Even the crazy ones and the evil ones.

And then, I had to decide how to say what I was going to say.

Would I write an autobiography? Like retired teacher Frank McCourt did with Angela’s Ashes?

Or would I try to fight against my prosaic inclinations and write poetry like Walt Whitman did with Leaves of Grass?

Or maybe essays like Henry David Thoreau in Walden?

Or would I try to explain my world view and the wisdom it contained through fiction like Harper Lee did with To Kill a Mockingbird?

Obviously, I lean heavily towards fiction. Of my 19 published books, only two of them are not fiction. The ones that are not, Laughing Blue (barely visible in the terrible photo,) and Mickey’s Rememberries are both made up of the best essays from this blog.

And since I am now published, both through publishing companies and as a self-published author through Amazon KDP, I can examine my work and it’s public impact to try to determine what kind of a writer I really am.

Looking at this totally scientific graphic shamelessly borrowed from someone else who borrowed it shamelessly on Twitter, I can safely say I am not The Greasy Palm (I am a terrible salesman, proven by my book sales numbers every single month since I learned how to read that,) The Ray of Sunshine (My books only fly off the shelves during tornados and earthquakes,) or The Bitter Failure (because I am too ignorantly happy with myself most of the time to be that.)

So, hmm… that leaves….

Well, I confess to Space Cadet. That is what helps me be happy. And I do get enraged by some of the things that I am moved to write about, but I am definitely not a journalist. I prefer fiction.

But that last one is the most likely. Assuming I am actually Creative and Talented, and not just deluded. I definitely don’t have anyone advocating my literary genius. And my house does not have a basement. My bedroom prison during the pandemic is on the second floor.

So, what would I be if I were not a writer?

I would make a good time traveler.

It seems I always know exactly what I would change if I had a time machine disguised as a soda-vending dispenser that, for a quarter, could take me back in time to do-over points in my life.

I would ask her to dance with me in Miss Malkin’s Music Class instead of chickening out.

I would have told him that he saved my life when he answered my phone call that Saturday afternoon. I never actually told him I was thinking about killing myself, and probably would have done it if he hadn’t been there to prove to me that I had friends who cared enough…

I would tell my much younger self that I would not regret deciding to be a teacher instead of a cartoonist.

I might have made a good nudist. I like being dressed only in sunlight and good nature. I wrote a book about being a nudist. You can see it in the picture where I am trying to make you believe I am nude while holding it. Actually I had pants on. But that is not nearly as funny. I gave up notions of naturism in order not to have parents look at me funny while telling them about their “wonderful kids” during parent/teacher conferences.

What would I actually be if I couldn’t be a writer? I really have no non-joke ideas. I need to be a writer, even if nobody wants to read it.

I am still writing, still trying to get ideas and stories down in sentences, paragraphs, essays, and tales.

But the work is getting harder.

My computer is wearing out. The glitching has gotten steadily worse. And the way the stimulus/tax/price-pf-gas computation works out will determine if I can squeeze out enough money from my budget to replace it.

I have untreated glaucoma in diabetic eyes. So, being able to see is getting harder.

Of course, diabetes is also threatening me with heart attack or stroke.

But all of these are just excuses. I am hoping to write and publish more. I have some great ideas. And I will make more writing happen. The last few weeks have been mostly watching TV while in pain. I’ve seen some excellent shows. Especially WandaVision on Disney Plus. But, if today is not the end, then more will be written. Just as I have done in this posting, I will overcome the difficulties.

Canto 131 – The Necessary Gathering

The Super Rooster sat down softly on the green just outside the Palace of a Thousand Years.  The grav engines even more softly whirred off.  It can be surprising to see a starship land.  Because pilots always talk about “blasting off,” you tend to imagine roaring fire coming out of interstellar engines with powerful photon drives.  But starships use the anti-grav engines for planetary travels, especially for landings, and those purr like soft-furred gray kittens with their tummies full of milk, if they bother to make any noise at all.

Ged came striding down the gangway with purpose and furious energy in every step.

“Shen Ming-dono!  Where is your army?  And is Jai Chaing recovered enough to lead them?  We need him!”

Shen Ming smiled and quickly moved to meet Ged with a multitude of very tiny steps.

“Um, ah… the army is not here right now.  And you remember that we had Jai-Chang-sama in custody for his own protection.”

“Well, we have a situation that requires an army.  Can we at least give Jai-sama a chance to redeem himself?”

“Ah, so… you see… Jai-Chang has escaped custody.  The whole army is chasing him.”

“So, nobody is available?”

“Well, there are your faithful students…”

“Good.  Let’s get them together.  We must deal with a fascist incursion on a planet we just discovered.  They have a oppressing army of plant-warriors called Throckpods we must defeat, and an evil dictator called the Grainmaster we must overthrow.”

Nervously, Shen Ming gathered the remaining students.

“Hassan Parker, Mai Ling, Taffy King, and Shu Kwai… Wait, is this all that are available?  Where’s Rocket and Phoenix?  Freddy?  And Jackie?”

“Um, ahem… they are away on a little mission for me,” the old man said shiftily.

“Well, these will have to do.”

Ged handed a supply list to Shu. 

“Get me these things for the invasion.  We are dropping onto a hostile planet where everything is alive and sentient.  We have a war to fight and a dictator to overthrow.”

“Yes, Sensei!” said Shu obediently.

Shu recruited Taffy as a telekinetic to help him float the supplies to the space ship.

“Will you be coming with us, Shen Ming-dono?”

“Oh, no… no…  I have things here to take care of.  Irons in the fire, one might say.”

“Very well, then.  We must take off again as soon as we are refilled and loaded with those supplies.”

“There are material synthesizers aboard, you know, Ged-sama.”

“Yes, but not as good as the real thing.  We need some serious weed-killer and yard-trimmers.  This is no easy opponent we face.”

“Weed-killer?  Yard-trimmers?  Most not-easy indeed, my friend.”