Equipment Makes the Adventurer

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You cannot cleave a ghost in twain with a cast-iron fireplace poker. Throwing snowballs at vampires will not keep your blood from being drained.  And bugbears don’t really have an aversion to little girls in pink dresses (except for little Tessie Trueheart of the Green Dale; that little booger has a temper as large as her love for the color pink).

To go adventuring in Mickey the Dungeonmaster’s dungeons, you need the right equipment.  Of course, whole books full of weapons and armor and adventuring doodads have been published.  Some of the stuff we use in the family games comes from the game books, as exemplified by the items pictured above.  The Blue Wood Armor of the Forest Guardian is a collection of items put together from the books published for D&D by Wizards of the Coast Publishing.

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My daughter’s favorite weapon is a sentient throwing knife that always flies back to its current master after being thrown.  It also never misses, adjusting its own flight to always strike the target for the greatest possible damage.  It has a mind and intelligence of its own.  It became sentient and alive in the middle of an epic combat with a magical giant golem who hit it with a spell that went disastrously wrong for the caster. This item was created on the spur of the moment in the midst of a published adventure, based on a disasterously low roll of the dice for the monster side of the combat.

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Some items in the game are actually treasures from the published adventure scenarios I like to use. Instead of simply selling off items when they are discovered in the cold, dead hands of defeated evil druids whose dreams of conquest and tyrannical rule you have thwarted, you can take them for your own personal use.  I have a tendency to embellish what is described in the pages of the adventure with both really good powers and effects, and really insidious concealed curses.  The Legendary Black Blades are both demon-laced and deadly.  And both, though fatal to your enemies, will eventually darken your own heart and possibly shorten your adventuring life the hard way.

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Not all equipment is made of swords and armor.  The Evil Heads of Dr. Zorgo are a collection of living zombie heads that can impart wisdom and information (allowing characters to add skills) and can also direct you to places of adventure and great treasure.  Of course, they are evil.  There is always that little factor to consider.  But come on, how can you not be tempted by treasures talked about by the Ghost Elf’s head when you tried to ask her for the time of day in her native land?

So the point of this post is that I am really proud of my drawings of D&D equipment and wanted to show them off.  This post is merely an excuse for doing that.  I have one more to show you, though I must confess, while I drew this one, it was designed by number one son to be used for his character, though as soon as he got it made, he sold it for lots of gold to use on the next project.

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The Haunted Toy Store… Canto 17

Canto 17 – The Balcony Scene

Rogelio found himself looking up at the second-floor balcony of the Zuniga Inn.

“So, you wanna climb up there?” he asked Steven.

“I have now done it countless times in more than a century of practicing this moment over and over again.”

“So, I won’t die if we fall headfirst on our stupid head?”

“You can’t actually die in this reality unless another living human kills you here.”

“And that’s what we’re gonna do to Yesenia when we get up there?”  Rogelio felt a bit panicky over having no control over his own body.

“Not here.  Not now.  I told you I would give you the reasons for why we have to kill her.  But those reasons don’t apply to this moment.”

Steven took control of Rogelio’s arms and legs.  He began to shinny up one of the columns that supported the balcony on the second floor.  Then like a monkey he swung his legs up over the edge of the balcony railing.  It was all solid wood, but Rogelio still felt as if it could fall apart at any moment and they would plummet headfirst to the ground.  But he found himself standing on both legs outside the first room on the second floor. 

“What if the balcony door is locked?” Rogelio asked.

“It’s not.  These balcony doors don’t even have locks.”

He reached over and slowly, silently pulled open the balcony door.  Quietly, he entered the room.  It was a simple, sparsely furnished room in a Spanish inn.  The bed was occupied by two skeletons, a large, blue male one and a smaller pink one that looked like it could be Imelda’s mother.

“Don’t say anything with your mouth.  You’ll wake them,” said Steven.

“Are they both asleep?” Rogelio asked nervously in his head only.

Then the male snored loudly enough to remove all doubt.  The female moaned at the noise, but merely poked her husband and rolled over.

Steven quietly moved them out of the room and closed the door after them.

“So, I was supposed to expect you to sneak into Momma and Poppa’s room?” said Yesenia/Imelda on the next balcony.

Steven grinned sheepishly.  Rogelio noticed that the moonlight made the ghost nightgown she was wearing more visible, but you could still see through it to Yesenia’s beautiful naked body underneath.

“Why don’t you try this room instead?”

The two balcony railings were separated by only about three feet of empty space.  Getting up on the railing, it was easy for Steven/Rogelio to step across the gap.

“Gringo, I am surprised that you actually did this.  I thought it was just talking.”

“I was talking… to a pretty girl whom I may have fallen in love with at first sight.”  Steven was laying it on thick, but Rogelio also knew he was deeply in love with Imelda.

Imelda blushed using Yesenia’s face.

“Come into my room where Momma won’t hear you.  If she finds out, she will make Poppa kill you.”

Steven let Imelda take him by the hand and pull him into the bedroom.

“Is what I think is about to happen really going to happen?” Rogelio asked Steven.

“It depends on what you mean by really happen?” he answered by thought alone.

“Have you ever made love to a woman?”

“Only one time in my whole life, but I have relived it more times than I can count on all the fingers in Dallas.”

“And you are going to relive it again now?”

“Yeah… so?”

“In my body?  And Imelda in Yesenia’s body?”

“And you are a virgin… huh?”

Then Rogelio saw Imelda pulling them toward the bed.  And he began to remember how beautiful Yesenia was in real life.  He was about to become a man in the world of the ghosts and skeletons.

                                                *****

“You will come to my quinceañera, Steven?”

“I will.  And we will run away together?”

“I will go anywhere with you.  I love you, Steven.”

At that moment, a loud banging at the door frightened them both.

“Imelda!  LET ME IN!  I will kill him!”

“It is my padre!  He will kill us both!  Get out now!”

 Steven scrambled out of the bed and grabbed at his clothing.  The ghost materials all slipped through his fingers except for his floppy cowboy hat.  He was out over the balcony rail in mere moments.  Completely naked… with a hat on his head.

Several splinters pierced his hands, forearms, and thighs as he shinnied down the support column. “You come back here, gringo!  You will marry my daughter now, or you will die a horrible death!” 

The angry shadow loomed over the street, huge and terrible.  It shook a black skeletal fist at Rogelio and Steven as they ran down the street naked, not wearing even ghost clothing.  Rogelio’s heart hammered hard enough for two people as they barefooted their way down the dirt street.

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The Writing Imperative

I am a writer because I write.

I write because I have to.

I have to because somebody has to control the words.

People are made of words.  Their identity, their inner self, their reason for existence… all made of words.  The very thoughts in their heads are… words.

If I want to control the words I am made of, then I must be the writer who writes his own story.

I don’t want anyone else to write the words that essentially become me.  Do you?

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Of course, authors create characters.  Even autobiographers create characters.  Carl Sandburg could no more make his words into Lincoln than a bird can make its tweets into a cat.   Sandburg can, however, help us to understand Lincoln as Carl Sandburg understands the words that are Lincoln.

Lincoln probably did not have the words for “bikini girls” in his head when he wrote those words in the second quote.  But somebody thought that the picture would help us understand the words.  By all accounts, Lincoln was not a particularly happy man leading a particularly happy life.  But he showed us the meaning of his words when he stood firm against the strong winds of harsh words and bad ideas in a terrible time.  And he was as happy about it as he made up his mind to be.

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I, too, have not lived a particularly happy life.  But I was always the “teacher with a sense of humor” in the classroom, and students loved me for it.  Funny people are often not happy people.  But they make themselves out of funny words because laughter heals pain, and jokes are effective medicine.  And so I choose to write comedy novels.  Novels that are funny even though they are about hard things like freezing to death, losing loved ones, being humiliated, being molested, and fear of death.  Magical purple words can bring light to any darkness.  I am the words I choose to write in my own story.  The words not only reveal me, they make me who I am.  And it is up to me to write those words.  Other people might wish to do it for me.  But they really can’t.  The words are for me alone to write.

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And so it is imperative that I write my words in the form of my novels, my essays, and this goofy blog post.  I am writing myself to life, even if no one ever reads my writing.

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What Internet Memes Mean to Me…Me

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Internet memes apply to me.  It says it in the name.  In fact, it says it twice.  “Me+me = meme”.

This one is uncanny.  I revere Mark Twain.  Apparently I walk in his shoes enough that I am imitating everything he did except becoming wealthy and famous.

And maybe I am not as good of a writer as he was.   Maybe.  But I am heck at living an unhappy life and going bankrupt in the process.

And this is not the only meme that uncannily defines my life.

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They put  a stupid, orange-faced man in charge of the government because they wanted to tell Mickey, “F*** You!  You are not better than me just because you are smarter than me.  We are going to burn it all down to get revenge for your superiority!”  And they are laughing and enjoying it now as the flames get hotter, even though their houses are on fire too.  But stupid people aren’t really winning the game.  There are evil people lurking in the background waiting to exploit and make money.  They are winning.  They hate Mickey too.

Of course, I never said anything about being better than them.  Mickey is smart, but humble.  I suffer from the wildfires anyway.

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But if you know where to find it, there is helpful wisdom in memes.  Short, pithy wisdom, but wisdom never the less.

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The “Me”” of the memes can be hurtful at times, saying things out of anger or fear.  But he can also be uplifting, making hearts sing and soar.  There is magic and power in words… if they are the right words, delivered in the right way.

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Sometimes people need be appreciated and built up rather than torn down.  Some groups have been hurting more than others.  Having been a teacher, I know this is particularly true.  Teachers need to hear thank yous.

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And I find memes to be a useful way to gain that temporary feel-good nugget of wisdom.  I think it is probably a chicken nugget of wisdom.  You know, bite-sized pieces of white meat protein to fortify you against the cold and the darkness.   And it is important to turn away from the angry and the fearful memes.  Going positive instead of negative is a bit of an antidote to the illnesses that infect social media.  And I know Facebook is evil, but we are sorta stuck with it, so we might as well use it for good as it uses us and our data for evil.

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So, I have shared several memes with you today because that is me…me.  I do stuff like that. And you can’t tell me I am doing it wrong.

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What the Heck is this Blog About?

I read a lot of other people’s blogs for a lot of reasons.  As an old writing teacher and retired Grammar Nazi, I love to see where writers are on the talent spectrum.  I have read everything from the philosophy of Camus and Kant to the beginning writing of ESL kids who are illiterate in two languages.  I view it like a vast flower garden of varied posies where even the weeds can be considered beautiful.  And like rare species of flower, I notice that many of the best blossoms out there in the blogosphere are consistent with their coloring and patterns.  In other words, they have a theme.

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So, do I have an over-all theme for my blog?  It isn’t purely poetical like some of the poetry blogs I like to read.  I really only write comically bad poetry.  It has photos in it, but it isn’t anything like some of the photography blogs I follow.  They actually know how to photograph stuff and make it look perfect and pretty.  It is not strictly an art blog.  I do a lot of drawing and cartooning and inflict it upon you in this blog.  But I am not a professional artist and can’t hold a candle to some of the painters and artists I follow and sometimes even post about.  I enjoy calling Trump President Pumpkinhead, but I can’t say that my blog is a political humor blog, or that I am even passable as a humorous political commentator.

One thing that I can definitely say is that I was once a teacher.  I was one of those organizers and explainers who stand in front of diverse groups of kids five days a week for six shows a day and try to make them understand a little something.  Something wise.  Something wonderful.  Something new.  Look at the video above if you haven’t already watched it.  Not only does it give you a sense of the power of holding the big pencil, it teaches you something you probably didn’t realize before with so much more than mere words.

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But can I say this is an education blog?  No.  It is far too silly and pointless to be that.  If you want a real education blog, you have to look for someone like Diane Ravitch’s blog.  Education is a more serious and sober topic than Mickey.

By the way, were you worried about the poor bunny in that first cartoon getting eaten by the fox and the bear?  Well, maybe this point from that conversation can put your mind at ease.

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Mickey is tricky and gets good mileage out of his cartoons.

You may have gotten the idea that I like Bobby McFerrin by this point in my post.  It is true.  Pure genius and raw creative talent fascinate me.  Is that the end point of my journey to an answer about what the heck this blog is about?  Perhaps.  As good an answer as any.  But I think the question is still open for debate.  It is the journey from thought through many thoughts to theme that make it all fun.  And I don’t anticipate that journey actually ending anytime soon.

 

 

 

 

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Filed under humor, insight, inspiration, music, Paffooney, self portrait, strange and wonderful ideas about life, word games, wordplay, writing, writing teacher

Group Portraits

Yes, these people are all real people, although they only looked like this in their imaginations. These are the game characters of Juan, Daniel, and Alice. (Not their real names.) They became the Wizard Onyx, Gryph the Eagleman, and Sunnyjias, the Cymryllian Sorceress. (Also not their real names.)

Chiron the Centaur and his class of Greek heroes, Achilles, Theseus, Jason, and Heracles.

Characters from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Ariel the sprite, Caliban the monster, Prospero (as played by the Stratfordian Bill,) Ferdinand, and Miranda.

David, Son of Jesse, plays his harp and sings for King Saul along with various other members of the court in Jerusalem.

On the Planet Dionysus in 5438 A.D. Jaak the Dion boy, Michael, son of the Imperial Planetologist, Franklin riding the raptor, and Hrroush the giant pink velociraptor.

Members of the Norwall Pirates, Dorin Dobbs, Francois Martin (in the clown paint,) Davalon the Telleron, and Tim Kellogg.

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Monster Pictures

Here are images from the Monster Movie collection I keep as an obsessive-compulsive hoarding disorder style of thing.  I thought I would present them as a collage since I am lazy today and want to save words for my novel project.

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The scary thing is that people like me obsess about such nonsense, and collect so many silly, fantastic pictures of stuff and nonsense.

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Dear MAGA Republicans, You Should Know…

… I was born in the Eisenhower Administration to a family of loyal Eisenhower Republicans. Nevertheless, I am now a Liberal Democrat by virtue of still holding the same basic values.

… I sympathize over the troubles of your Great Leader with the spoiled-mango sheen and horse-food wig… but only as much as you sympathized with me when Hilary lost the election in 2016. Remember the happy dance you did while wiggling your butt in my face? I certainly do. How sad for you that your Glorious Person is indicted after being impeached twice and has committed crimes in the public eye that we all know he’s guilty of. Remember, “Lock her up!” in 2016? I do.

Gregg Abbott is a mean little man.

… I am a liberal, and I believe that word is not a bad word. It means I want to change the world to make it better. A conservative is someone who wants things to stay the same, supposedly because we have already found what works.

Ron DeSantis is meaner than his bully friend Gregg.

So, forgive me if I don’t understand why the governors of Texas and Florida want to CHANGE the laws to allow concealed carry without permits everywhere in the State for all gun users immediately after the shootings of school children in Uvalde, Texas and Tennessee?

… I also don’t understand why if someone acts in a way that is “WOKE,” it makes you so scared you need to pass laws against it? Really? Being awake to reality around you, especially if you and your children are black and could be beaten to death or shot to death by cops even if they aren’t white cops, is a bad thing? You want everybody who is not white, rich, and entitled to be asleep to reality? Easily fleeced and even destroyed because they are not awake to what’s going on? And don’t you need to be WOKE yourself if you are not also white, rich, and entitled? The powers that be don’t treat poor whites any better. They just lie to them more.

Dear MAGA Republicans, notice what part of their anatomy is pointed at you now. Not with malice. They are simply going forward into the future and leaving you behind.

…Don’t think I don’t sympathize with your current predicament. You need to KNOW I don’t. You got what you voted for. Matt Gaetz, Marjorie Taylor Green, Lauren Boebert, and Kevin McCarthy… You deserve everything they will do to you. I think you should change your politics because you are valuable human beings and don’t deserve to live in hatred and fear. But you believe in making your own choices and pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. So, good luck with that.

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Like Pulling Teeth from a Chicken

This is an old re-purposed post from 2016 to kill some time so that this blog doesn’t kill me.

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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.

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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.

I would like to here note that I now have 21 books published, all but one of which is self-published on Amazon and fully under my control. My other book, the award-winning novel from I-Universe, Catch a Falling Star, continues to be little-purchased and less read, though I discovered they pay all my royalties to my wife’s bank account. That was unexpected. Chicken teeth where they can’t be reached by me.

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Filed under humor, novel plans, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, publishing, self pity, writing, writing humor

Hogfather (a Book Review)

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I finished reading the book Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett,  while sitting in the waiting room as the dentist worked on the wires of my son’s braces in a nearby dentist’s chamber of horrors.  The receptionist and secretary probably thought I was insane for incessantly chortling and making those other rude snorty noises you make when you don’t want to interrupt others with laughing, but can’t help it.  What better way to wait in the cold chambers of dental anxiety than to read a funny, funny book about an assassin named Mr. Teatime who meant to slay the Hogfather, Terry Pratchett’s version of Santa Claus, by stealing children’s teeth from the tooth fairy and using them to control young minds and make them stop believing in the Hogfather, that giver of gifts on the sacred and festive Hogswatch Eve?

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This story has an unusual hero.  Death, that skeletal reaper of souls and talker in ALL CAPITOL LETTERS.  Oh, and not just Death.  His granddaughter Susan is along for the adventure.  So Death puts on the red suit to make people believe in the Hogfather again while Susan tracks down the perpetrators of the tooth fairy plot.

Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels are full of bizarre but highly developed characters who not only make you laugh, but make you think.  The books can be fairly thick and full of complex ideas, and yet, the pages melt away as you read.  And the people who can hear you laughing about the book will think you are absolutely crazy.

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