The story is coming to an end. I am halfway through the last chapter. The climax of the plot is now finished and the final resolutions of the plot are being concluded. And so, soon you will be able to find this book on Amazon and see for yourself if the amazing levels of nonsense and fantastical lunacy were worth the wait.
A fatal car accident seriously alters the lives of the three Brown children, Daisy, Johnny, and Mortie. But they are rescued by their mysterious “Uncle Miltie”, a video-game designer who is somehow involved with the military, the CIA, and other strange things that may have caused their parents’ deaths. And Uncle Miltie takes them to live, not in his house, but inside the weird virtual reality game he has had a hand in creating. And something there is going terribly wrong.
The video game they now live in is called The Legend of Hoodwink. And it is entirely possible that they will become trapped there forever. At least the main characters of the game are nice. Hoodwink is the boy hero who looks pretty good to Daisy, and his sidekick is Babbles, the Kelpie who can’t help but talk so fast you can’t really understand him.
I am ill as I write this, but lately that has been the story of my life too. A life or death game with rules you have to learn as you go, and a bizarre place where what is real and what is an illusion may prove to be exactly the same thing.
I wish I had answers. I woke up with a slight sore throat this morning. I have a cough that comes and goes. That is nothing new for me and my allergies this time of year. Still… it might be COVID. I could be dead before the end of the week. My power to affect anything in the world right now is very limited. I have to wait in Texas until early voting starts on October 13th, a very ominously-numbered day. I still have to finish and publish book number 18. And I feel like it is a very good novel. But I may be too ill to write that last chapter today. And it would be a shame to leave this world without finishing it.
We must never give up hope.
We must remember where we came from.
And look for new dawns more than colorful sunsets.
“Let me understand what you stupid… stupid people are saying! You left the defenses of Outpost and Don’t Go Here to go galivanting all the way to Coventry? And in only three days?” King Killer had never shouted so loudly nor had a face so red as it was in that meeting.
“Dude! It woulda been two days if we hadn’a parked invisioble to watch the battle.” Nikki Sixx appeared shocked that Admiral Killer was so mad.
“Wha… ?” burbled Cold Death stupidly.
“Chill oh soon-to-explode-from-rage dude,” said Vince Niell from his safe place behind mirrored sunglasses. “We followed the orders of the Hooey-dude, man. We know how he worked for you in escaping the Imperium, bro. We just assumed that you gave him the orders he gave us, dude.”
“Vince, grab some whiskey. I need you skunk-levels of drunk so I can understand every word you are saying.”
Besides the Admiral and the crew of the Megadeath, Admiral Tron and his wife Maggie the Knife were also present. Maggie, taking a cue from Admiral Killer went to the bar in the back of the conference room and grabbed two bottles of Mundoploovian Suicide Ale to help make Vince more understandable.
“And where was Captain Lee in all of this, Gentlemen?” asked Tron sounding dangerous.
“Oh, he weren’t with us,” said Nikki Sixx. “He and Pamela left the ship to go be rock and roll stars to the stars! Hooey said they was gonna be megastars!”
“So, he officially abandoned his command and went AWOL?”
“Um, yep, thass about the size of it, boss,” said Nikki. Cold Death nodded stupidly but vigorously to back him up on that.
Maggie put the Suicide Ale down in front of Vince. Then she stuck her shiny knife in the table for emphasis. This particular table had numerous decorations from years’ worth of Maggie’s pointed emphasis.
Vince drank quickly and narrowly avoided vomiting out his liver. He became instantly drunk.
“So, tell me this, Vince, dude… How the hell did you make a round trip to Coventry and back in only three days?” King Killer asked.
“Your friend the time knight brought his little time machine booth device on our ship, interfacing his chrono-circuits with the Megadeath’s Ancient computer brain. It reduced a three week trip to two days via a built in time-accelerator that we knew nothing about until the good Doctor Hooey showed us it’s enhanced space-travel ability.”
“And do you think these other Ancient-built space ships are capable of doing the same thing?”
“I am unsure of the probability… but I believe I can find the device in the other ships if they are indeed present.”
“Okay, Vince,” said Tron, “what was this other nonsense about watching the battle invisioble?”
“Well, of course, the mispronounced word was intended to represent invisibility. The Megadeath, it seems, has a most efficacious ability to go into stealth mode. We delivered the good Doctor Hooey into the Bregohelma with his timeship. And then, per his specific instructions, we became mere observers of the gnarly… err…” Vince had to take another swallow of Suicide Ale. “… most great and glorious battle ever seen since Ancient times ended.”
“Okay, tell us what happened,” demanded Admiral Killer.
“Well, sirs, if it please you, the ship we rendezvoused with was the stolen Apatosaurus Battleship.”
“Did you attack on sight?”
“Of course not, sirs. Our orders were to deliver the good Doctor Hooey to the battleship. He was supposed to meet up with the Lizard Lady there and help her destroy the Bregohelma.”
Everybody gasped at the name of Admiral Tang’s flagship, including Cold Death who had forgotten he knew all of this particular battle story already.
“How were they going to do that with one battleship against Tang’s whole fleet?”
“They were trying to convince the Imperials that they were going to turn over the stolen Ancient tech, since Lizard Lady portrayed herself falsely as an Imperial spy. And when the two ships docked, the Apatosaurus Battleship would blow up and take out the Bregohelma along with it.”
“Did the plan work?” Maggie asked, obviously hoping that it would in spite of having been told the final outcome already.
“Naturally, it did not. But this must’ve been a part of the plan all along, because we were asked to remain invisibly as observers to the battle that followed.”
“That’s when you saw Ham’s safari ship and the First Half-Century?” asked Tron.
“Of course, sir. They flew in bravely to take on Tang’s entire fleet.”
“And what happened after that?”
“Well, it was obvious that the First Half-Century was also equipped with some kind of Ancient weapon system of immense power. The thing went off and destroyed all of the Imperial ships but one, the Bregohelma. But Tang’s ship, as well as the two attacking ships were all rendered powerless and completely damaged when something caused the Ancient weapon to target the planet and blast away about a billion people in the planet’s largest three cities. It was a horrible tragedy. And the three starships were dead in space for a while.”
“Why didn’t you step in at that point and finish off the Bregohelma?”
“We couldn’t. Dr. Hooey told us not to interfere with the battle or we could alter time-lines and keep our side from winning the upcoming Battle of Outpost.”
“Bummer!” said Maggie.
“Naw! Itsa good thing, Mama,” said Cold Death, risking Maggie’s notorious wrath. “Itsa meanin’ we is gonna win dat battle what ain’t happenna yet.”
“Can you give that man a Suicide Ale too please?” asked Tron.
“To make him talk better?”
“No. To kill him if possible.”
“Continue, please, Vince. What happened to Ham Aero and the other ship?”
“Admiral Tang’s ship moved first. They completely loaded the little safari ship on board their ship and took off at a slow crawl. The First Half Century hadn’t gotten more than life support working when we had to leave to bring this report to you.”
“I wish you would’ve at least rescued Ham and the Duke,” said Admiral Killer.
“Doctor Hooey specifically told us not to.”
“Oh. Did Hooey survive the explosion, do you know?”
“No. As far as we know, both he and Lizard Lady are now dead.”
“I really don’t know if that’s good news or bad news,” said Admiral Tron. “It is good that such a large part of the Imperial Navy was destroyed. But we may have lost the heart of the rebellion. And what are we gonna tell Ged Aero?”
“The truth, I would surmise,” said Vince Niell, shortly before passing out dead drunk. Cold Death finished his ale. Sat down next to Niell. And passed out too… where he began snoring loudly, thus proving that he was not, unfortunately, dead.
Today I needed to write something short and sweet to be done with it, and yet, actually do it. This was because my head was hurting with a blood-sugar headache, my computer keyboard is still acting up and interfering with writing, and my ability to actually concentrate is seriously impaired.
On Pubby I have started getting reviews on my book of essays, Laughing Blue. They have shown evidence that people who actually read my book, like it a lot. Today has not been all bad news.
The real news for today is that I am almost finished with my work in progress. The Wizard in His Keep is now past the climax of the plot and winding down. I am at the moment around 42,000 words. I am thinking only two Cantos (Chapters) more.
But I didn’t plan on having to learn a whole new WordPress editing system on a day when my head is aching. So, it ends here for today.
WordPress gave me a new toy to play with. Dang! I couldn’t resist. But this is just a playful practice post. I hope it doesn’t become metaphorically fattening.
I had originally thought to call this post “A Walk with God.” But that would probably offend my Christian friends and alienate my Jehovah’s Witness wife. It would bother my intellectual atheist friends too. Because they know I claim to be a Christian Existentialist, in other words, “an atheist who believes in God.” Agnostics are agnostics because they literally know they don’t know what is true and what is merely made up by men. And not knowing offends most people in the Western world.
But Debussy’s Reverie is a quiet walk in the sacred woods, the forest of as-yet-uncovered truths.
And that is what I need today. A quiet walk in the woods… when no literal woods are available.
This pandemic has been hard on me. I am a prisoner in my room at home most days. My soul is in darkness, knowing that the end could be right around the corner. I am susceptible to the disease. It didn’t slay me on its first visit to the house, but that doesn’t mean it can’t get me on the second or third visit. Health experts are expecting a resurgence of up to 3,000 deaths per day before the end of the year. If I am relying on luck to avoid it, luck will run out.
I am not afraid to die. I have no regrets. But I have been in a reverie about what has been in the past, what might have been, and what yet may be… if only I am granted the time.
And, as always, I feel like I have writing yet to do. I am about to finish The Wizard in his Keep. And I have stories beyond that to complete if I may.
But the most important thing right now is having time to think. Time for Reverie. And reflections upon the great symphony of life as it continues to play on… with or without me.
This was not the picture I was looking to post. This is not the article I intended to write. But sometimes writers and their glitchy computers have different ideas about what to do.
I am having keyboard issues. The enter and the control key both stick and things pop up on the screen while I am composing an essay that I never intended, and some things I ask the computer for never happen.
But for now, Poppa is home. I am tired of writing stuff over three times. It recently made me recreate an entire 300 word passage in my current work in progress.
So, I’m tired of fighting to type coherently. This will be enough for today.
If you are planning to vote for this criminal for four more years, you don’t wanna read this post.
I am not gonna talk about any of the good things that this criminal prexydent has done… because there aren’t any. He has only caused me loss and pain and financial hardship. And it is fairly obvious he won’t win four more years… unless he cheats, which he has publicly promised to do.
And I am not gonna talk about how he and his gang of senatorial hypocrites are stealing another seat on the Supreme Court. It is obvious that they can’t be trusted to tell the truth. They said when they stole Merrick Garland’s seat that it was because it was an election year and the people must decide. But this seat opened up much closer to an election day and suddenly the rules are different. But I am not gonna talk about that.
And I am not gonna talk about how he thinks he can further punish all of us who are against him by making the most right-wing court in recent history with a six to three edge so that he can destroy the Affordable Care Act, all progress in the battle against climate change, women’s right to choose, and any other progressive change that may come up under the next three or five prexydents if we succeed in getting rid of him.
And I am not gonna talk about how thoroughly racist he is, sending unmarked and unidentified militias into cities protesting the police killings of unarmed black people just so they can stir up more violence and help him make his case that black crime is out of control in Democratically run cities.
And I am also not gonna talk about how this orange-skinned man is insulting black and brown congresswomen like Ilhan Omar, calling them unpatriotic for serving in the Congressional seats that voters gave them, based not on their qualifications for the job (they are much more qualified than he is for his job) but solely on the color of their skin and the religion they embrace.
I am not gonna talk about how some real law-enforcement official should’ve removed him from office for crimes already committed a long time ago.
Clint Eastwood is a conservative, but I’ll bet he isn’t in favor of Trump stealing the 2020 election.
So, I am not gonna say anything further about or against this criminal clown that has killed so many of us and continues to scheme about our ultimate demise and his personal profits. He does bad things… especially to my blood pressure. I need to not talk about him anymore. I am gonna vote during Texas early voting, in person, to make sure my vote gets counted. And I am not gonna vote for a Republican ever again. I am simply not gonna!
I have been using the book-reviewing service called Pubby to get readers to actually read and review my books. I have barely gotten any readers to pick up and read one of my books since I first started publishing my work in 2007. And I get it. Beginning authors, no matter how good they are going to be later, are not so very good on the first, second, or even third try. My family is reluctant to read anything I have written because I pester them too much about it. My children are all creative in their own way, and consumed more by their own projects than by anything I have done. And when my wife reads anything I have written, she becomes laser-focused on what is unusual about how I use grammar and how things are spelled.
“You can’t spell that word like that!” she insists.
“But honey, it’s a made-up word that I made up myself.”
“That makes it worse, because the word it makes me think of is a bad word in the Philippines, even though it is spelled nothing like your word for butterflies thinking of ear wax.”
“Okay, I guess I have to change it then.”
Not my wife and me… but close.
But Amazon doesn’t like your relatives writing book reviews anyway. And their rules knocked out a couple of reviews I got from other writers with whom I had a deal for exchanging reviews. So, this review service was supposed to help with the problem. You read books from Pubby’s list and write a review to get points that you can put toward getting your own books reviewed. That seems both reasonable and equitable to me.
So, I started with some of the best books I have written and began getting them reviewed. So far, Snow Babies has gained four five-star reviews. Sing Sad Songs and Recipes for Gingerbread Children have each added three five-star reviews.
And it began to concern me.
It seems that some of the truly terrible writing that I was reviewing were getting overly-generous amounts of five-star reviews, along with their twos and threes. And the closer I looked at some of the comments in the reviews of my books, which were somehow read in only one or two days, were merely restatements of what other reviewers had already written. It was entirely possible that I was getting reviews like I was because writers were slapping an empty five-star on there to justify earning their points to get their own books reviewed. They weren’t actually reading the stories themselves.
I am not going to complain about mere suspicions over a five-star review. But I was looking for proof that people read and like my books. And I expect to see some lower grades on my work. That’s part of how you know things are real. Not everyone likes every good book. The best books ever written have their detractors.
That is an ordinary tractor in the background, not a detractor.
So, I went with my most recently published book, Laughing Blue. I chose the free-review-copy option and gave the reader every opportunity to dislike my book of boring old essays. And I got back a five-star review with some actual proof that the reader did read it and enjoyed it.
Now I feel better. But I would still like to see some three or four-star reviews, and I would definitely survive a one or a two. It would make me think the whole thing is a bit more honest than it has seemed at times.
And that’s how it’s supposed to be… according to Mickey.
Catch a Falling Star 