Once again I am giving away free Kindle e-book copies of one of my books in the hope that a few people will actually read it. In my previous experience I have found that everybody that has read one of my books has loved the book. The book this time is Recipes for Gingerbread Children.
Filed under announcement
Planning on making a trip back to Iowa becomes daunting as I get older and un-wiser. But I have to go home never-the-less. My octogenarian parents are both still alive and both still living on the family farm. I only get to see them once a year. And each year is more likely the last time than the year before. And it is not just them. I am nearly 63 and in really poor health. I have six incurable diseases (diabetes, osteoarthritis, COPD, psoriasis, hypertension, and chronic allergies… geez, it is hard to remember them all). And I am a cancer survivor. Which way the wind is blowing at the moment may completely alter my future.
The saying from the author Thomas Wolfe, the author I alluded to in the title, is, “You can’t go home again.”
In many ways that is an inescapable wisdom. I will go back to my boyhood home of Rowan, Iowa. And it will not be the home I knew. Most of the people I knew there as a boy are long gone… to the graveyard west of town, or to Minnesota, or California, or places distant and unknown to me.
And it is not just the people. The buildings have changed. None of the businesses are the same except for the Post Office and the Library. And the Library is in a different building than it was.
But the memories persist. I know where I am when I am there. It is the center of the universe as I once knew it. And the only reason I can’t go home again, is because I carry home with me wherever I go. And as fallen angels go, sometimes they simply pick themselves up, and fly towards home.
Filed under autobiography
109 degree Heat Index in the Dallas area for the second straight day. It is hot. It is humid. But I can work outside because the heat causes the West-Nile Virus-carrying mosquitoes to burst into flame before they can fly far enough through the Texas air to drink all your blood.
And I have work to do. We are planning to go to Iowa this month. So, I had hoped to have more of the work mending the retaining wall done before we go. You can see that I took Ian Malcolm’s advice from the movie Jurassic Park to heart. I dressed all in black to radiate the heat more efficiently. And I will never do that again. Black is also a color that absorbs heat. The movie-based advice was COMPLETELY AND IGNORANTLY WRONG!!!’
Of course, the dirt that was to be dug out was mostly clay. It was recently moistened by excessive rain in June, and then baked at inside-a-kiln temperatures just long enough to get baked hard as the bricks it needed to be separated from. I almost broke the danged shovel.
And, naturally enough, because I had chosen a time when there was supposed to be morning shade from the live oak trees to work in, there had to be an opening to the sun right above the spot where I was to work and sweat for at least an hour.
And number two son had a dentist’s appointment. I had to work alone.
There was no one besides passers-by and squirrels to complain to. And those squirrels have shorter tempers than I do.
But an old man on a bicycle wobbled by with what had to be either his granddaughter or his daughter, if he was like me and waited until there was gray in the hair on top before he mistakenly decided he was mature enough to have kids. Make no mistake, the girl, about ten years old, was a real mistress of the two-wheel velocipede. Her riding style bespoke grace and mastery and loads of practice. The old man… not so much. He spent most of his time wobbling, stopped, or coasting with his legs splayed out. It looked like she was teaching him how to ride. She even stopped him to ask if he was all right, then let him take the lead so that she could keep an eye on him and make sure he was not going to hurt himself. It was cute. I laughed. But only because they were too busy to look at me and notice how horribly things were going for me and laugh at my expense.
But all is not Laurel and Hardy slapstick comedy with our efforts. All the bricks between the two gaps we are working on have been put back in their proper places by me and number two son working continually since last November. I look at the extent of what we have already done to chill myself out over the literal hot mess this job has become.
Filed under humor
Canto Twenty-Seven – Begging for Counter Spells
Valerie-squirrel scurried through the cat door in the back of Mazie Haire’s Gingerbread House. Once inside the house, she searched all around the downstairs for Miss Haire. Not finding her anywhere around the kitchen cauldron and fireplace, or the sitting room and reading area, or even the bathroom, the little blond squirrel finally found the witch upstairs, watching something through the telescope.
“So, you still aren’t practicing your natural skills of seeing and knowing, I see,” Miss Haire said to the squirrel at the top of the stairs.
“Chit Chitter Chit-it-it!” said Valerie-squirrel angrily, even though she meant to say, “I need help, I’ve been changed into a squirrel!”
“You don’t have to talk like that, you know. Just say it in regular people words.”
“Chit-chitter… do I use regular people words?”
“Just like that, girl. You have to use the acuity of your own intelligent mind to see through the fog the spell put on your brain.”
“Spell?”
“Well, that’s what a witch calls it, of course. But it is more like a bit of chemistry in gaseous form, I believe. Did you not come in contact with a cloud of purple smoke at one point or another?”
“Yes. The Tiki idol filled Mary’s basement with purple smoke right before Mary, Pidney, and I all turned into squirrels.”
“Yes, and somehow you were given some sort of powerful suggestion right before that, I believe.”
“Suggestion?”
“Ideas were placed in your head prior to inhaling the gas, I believe. Someone talking, or chanting, or telling a story perhaps.”
“There was… some chanting… yes.”
“So, that was the trick of it.”
“Can you…? Can you cure me? Or reverse the spell? I don’t want to be a squirrel, Miss Haire.”
“You are not a squirrel, child. You are a rather stupid and completely naked girl. I can’t cure stupid, but you can.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will continue to think you are a squirrel until you take control of your own mind and convince yourself that you are not.”
Valerie-squirrel looked down at her own paws and golden-blond fur. How exactly was that done? Everything she saw, heard, and smelled told her that she was really a squirrel. A human girl in her mind, but definitely a squirrel in all her body parts.
“So, what do I do?”
“Obviously, me telling you that you are not a squirrel is not enough. So, you are going to have to go back out there and find for yourself the proof you need to turn yourself back into a beautiful young lady, and not a silly, naked squirrel.
“Go back… out there? Where the cat is? And that dog, Barky Bill?”
“Yes. Go back out there and find the focus, find the part of your brain that reminds you that are not what somebody else says you are. Go out and find the part of Valerie Clarke that is not a squirrel.” Valerie-squirrel swallowed hard and looked back down the staircase. This was going to be hard.
Filed under humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney cartoony
I recently got my very first unsolicited review on a book I had written when Mr. Ted Bun, one of the leaders of the nudist writer group on Twitter gave me a five star review on Recipes for Gingerbread Children.
I was grateful and reviewed one of his books on Twitter in return.
But it was totally unsolicited. I didn’t even know any of my book promotions had penetrated such an odd corner of the internet. The story does have nudists in it, but that is not what the book is really about. Mr. Bun acknowledged that much in his review, and still liked it and called it well-written.
My first Amazon book promotion, offering the Kindle version of Snow Babies for free, produced the same kind of fruit. I started by sending a paperback copy to the girl I grew up with that I named the main character after. Valerie read the book to her grandchildren and then sent me this message;
Valerie– Hi Michael! I wanted to let you know that I finished reading your book a couple of days ago, and that I thought it was really good! You used so many colorful descriptions of the characters, that I felt like I could really picture the whole scene! I also enjoyed how you used several people’s names and surrounding towns from our past that brought back good memories. It kept my interest and made me excited to keep reading to see how things turned out! I appreciated how you ended it, too! Thanks again, so much for sharing it with me. I plan to share it with a friend of mine to read and then return to me! Do the Rowan and Belmond libraries have copies of your books? I would be happy to talk to the Belmond library about it, if you haven’t already! I will spread the word, and keep writing! Val
Me– I donated a couple of books to Rowan and one to Belmond. But I have written a lot more since
They don’t have Snow Babies. I am so glad you liked the book. It is one of the best things I have ever written.
Valerie– You can be proud of your hard work! Next time I’m in the library, I will take Snow Babies with me and show them. I know they like to support local authors! 🙂
Me– Thank you for the help. I really appreciate it.
Then I find this tweet on Twitter from a fellow author who responded to my book promotion week.
She read Snow Babies and loved it and shared this review with me before she posted it on Amazon.
Headline: This book has a potential to become a classic
The story takes you to Norwall, a secluded midwestern town where people are expecting a snow blizzard to arrive in couple of hours. Among strangers coming to the town during the blizzard are four very special boys, a hobo, a bus driver, a drunken old lady, a stupid salesman, a couple of newly-weds and a lady following the four boys. Each of them, as well as the local people, has their own interesting story and their stories start to intertwine while the town gets buried in snow.
Some from the locals and the newcomers start to see white naked kids in the snow. In the course of events, they learn that those white kids are so called “snow babies”. According to what people say, those who see snow babies, are supposed to die during the blizzard.
The author has a talent for depicting situations in an impressive manner, so they can be humorous and touching at the same time. His mature narrative style enables you to learn deeply but in a light way about individual characters and understand their motives. Interesting are the hobo´s droppings of philosophical reflections and life wisdoms from Walt Whitman’s book. Simultaneously, in connection with snow babies, the author keeps you in suspense until the end. The story is not predictable, and the ending left me smiling and absorbed in thought.
I honestly fell in love with this book from the first page. It is like a fresh breeze compared to a number of today’s books written in similar patterns.
*****
I am amazed that people are beginning to read my books and like them… even love them. I wasn’t expecting that to happen until after I was dead. It is a good feeling that took me by surprise.
Filed under book review, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, publishing
I still dream about being in school, both as a student and as a teacher.
I have delusions now that I am going to be a substitute teacher again this fall. I still have the skills. But will my body cooperate and not fail me in the classroom? I do not wish to die in front of students. That already nearly happened twice.
Still… I need to do something besides Uber. And teaching is what I know and love.
Filed under Uncategorized
If I am not going to publish a Hidden Kingdom page every Saturday, I am going to commit to a feature where I post artwork on Saturday. Saturday art fairs are a thing. And I have gotten far more interest in my artwork from WordPress than I ever have from a local art show. So what if I can’t win blue ribbons online?
There is a certain magical quality about the way that over time you can build a portfolio of many parts, and pictures have many uses.
Is it possible that artworks taken all together are like an autobiography??
In some sense, every portrait the artist draws is a self portrait. Every scene, object, and image is a part of the artist’s ultimate story.
So, do you like my gallery? You can always leave a comment or an insult. You are the viewer, and what you do with this is entirely up to you.
Filed under artwork, autobiography, Paffooney
This old dog needs to learn some new tricks. Uber-ing for extra dollars is getting to be too hard. Especially for someone with my health conditions who really should be behind the wheel less, not more. But more is the only way to keep up with rising expenses on food, insurance of all kinds, hospital bills, doctor’s bills, bankruptcy payments, and, thanks to Trump’s generally fascist tax policies, tax bills with penalties added.
A big part of the problem is how crappy of an employer Uber is. Let me correct that. I am not calling them “crappy” (a term that honors Thomas Crapper, inventor of the flush toilet) but “crappie”, the pugnacious little fish, a member of sunfish family. They are small and defend themselves mostly with bluff and spoof, pretending to be bigger and badder than they really are. Crappies, it may be noted, are predator fish that eat smaller fish, including the young of the muskellunge, northern pike, and walleye that grow up to eat crappies.
Uber doesn’t employ drivers, they make contracts with drivers as “independent contractors”. That means when tax time rolls around, you owe massive debts to the IRS because no monthly withholding has occurred. You have to maintain your own vehicle, pay for all the gas, mechanical maintenance, bottled water, and anything else needed to bribe passengers to give you a good rating.
And any chance of a bonus depends on that rating. But passengers when they are satisfied don’t often remember to give you five stars. You have to maintain a 4.85 star average. But the people who will not forget to rate you are the ones with some complaint or other. “He didn’t speed up to make it through intersections on yellow lights!” “He didn’t stop on stale yellow lights and risked going on red halfway through the intersection!” “The car smells bad!” “The car smells too much like air freshener!” “The driver doesn’t talk enough during the trip!” “The driver talks too much!” You get the idea. There is no winning at this game. Ones and twos kill your star average, and even fours bring it down.
And since I started Ubering as a way to make money whenever I felt well enough to work, I have to consider how little money I can actually make now that safe driving time is more limited by crappie health than ever (I may have meant to honor Thomas Crapper there.) I am now rarely well enough to deal with the red-haired alligators, alien spaceships, and man-eating muskellunges that you encounter in Dallas city traffic. I only made four dollars from Uber last week.
So, the solution is to find a new job. I could probably be the grinning door-guard greeter at Walmart on a part time basis. Maybe I can be a substitute teacher again a couple of days per week when school starts. Whatever, I do, I have to get away from driving for less than minimum wage.
Filed under Uncategorized
Today is a day spent with family. It is also a day I came down with a viral infection, a severe cold, or possibly the flu. I have had a fever and a headache for two days. So, I will not write or post anything today. At least nothing without a lot of irony in it. And, no, irony doesn’t cure headaches.
Filed under Uncategorized
My best writing advice is really probably bad advice. But here is more of it. I make up for what I lack in quality with quantity… lots and lots of quantity.
Teachers of serious writing will often tell you… or more correctly, give you the Word of God, “You want to be a good writer? You have to write every single day.” And having been a teacher of writing at the high school and middle school level, I am committed to passing that on to you also as the inviolable Word of God. You see, I have long been, well, not a serious writer exactly, more of a dedicated writer with warped notions of reality and a tendency towards goofiness. You can see by the view of my WordPress insights page that I have steadily, in five years’ time, been noticed and looked at by increasing amounts of thoroughly duped WordPress viewers.
10,373 visitors have viewed something on my blog 17,383 times in 2017. And I know that most are looking at the pictures and moving on. That’s how I…
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Catch a Falling Star 