Aeroquest… Scherzo 1

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Scherzo 1 – Who?

      In the Central Hospital of downtown Oasis City, Hassan the Elf was awakening from his ordeal.  Maggie the Knife sat by his bed with little Artran hanging out at the foot of the bed.

“He’s awake, Mommy!” announced Artran.

“So he is,” said the red-haired beauty, reaching over to brush a lock of hair out of Hassan’s eyes.  “Welcome back little one.”

In a very soft-spoken voice Hassan said, “I am one hundred and four years old.  I have had fourteen wives and seven hundred children in my time.  I may look young, but I’m not exactly a child.”

“My, my!” said Maggie in the tone of an indulgent parent.  “You are quite the little man!”

“Do I get Daddy?” Artran asked of his mother.

“Please.  Tell him the Peri is awake.”

“Right away!”  Artran tore out of the hospital room as if it were on fire.

“So tell me,” said the elf softly, “will I be kept around for my intellect, or will you do away with me now that I am crippled?”

“Ooh, how you talk!  You’ve been liberated by the Pinwheel Corsairs of Tron Blastarr.  We intend to let you decide your own fate.  Tron is planning to pay for an artificial leg for you.”

“Why would a corsair leader help a poor Peri slave?”  Hassan’s eyes were large and filled with tears.  He couldn’t believe his sudden good luck.

“We Blastarrs believe that all races and individuals have worth.  It’s what has made us so unpopular with the Galtorr Imperium.”

Scan_0005At that moment the room filled with an unnatural pinkish light.  By the wall opposite the bed a really old-style phone booth materialized out of thin air.  One creature was inside, a middle-aged human with shaggy gray hair and a large nose.  He also had bags under his eyes as if from excessive fatigue.  And he carried an umbrella under one arm.  He opened the phone booth and stepped out.

“Who are you?” asked Maggie, staring.

“Exactly!  You can call me Doctor Hooey, or just… Doctor.  I’m a Time Knight from the planet Gallagos.  This is not a phone box; it is my TimeShip, the Star Wars.  It’s really much more impressive than it looks.”

At that moment, Tron and the King of Killers arrived to greet the awakened Peri.

“What is going on here?” demanded the scar-faced boss.

“Er… I was just telling your wife, Maggie, I believe, that I am a Time Knight of Gallagos.  I come from long, long ago and far, far away to find you, Tron.”

“What?  How do you know my name?”

“I told you.  I am a Time Knight of Gallagos.  This telephone box is my TimeShip, the Star Wars.”

“No.  I mean, what are you doing here?  How do you know who I am?”

“I’m not an agent of the late Count Nefaria, if that’s what you fear.  I came here because King Ryan Beowulf of the Time Knights sent me here to find you and do the things the record books said were done in the proper timeline.  We have a pyramid to look into and some Imperial secrets to steal.”

“What is this record book you speak of?  And what PYRAMID?”

“I’m a Time Knight!  I know things that haven’t happened yet… and things that once happened that nobody else alive today knows about.  I travel through time, forwards and backwards, and I know it’s all very confusing!  It gives me a headache to think about it too.”

“What is a Time Knight?” asked Artran, staring out from behind his father’s leg.  “And why do you have those golden question marks on your old, tweedy suit?”

“Ah, you ask good questions, boy!  No wonder you become so famous if you manage to live past the age of thirteen!  A Time Knight…”  Here Dr. Hooey had to pause to take a breath as all the oxygen in his brain was used up.  “…is an adventurer and hero who travels through time, correcting anything that has gone, or might go wrong with the stream of time.”

“Wow,” said Hassan softly.  “You talk funny!”

Artran snickered.  Tron himself began to smile.

“Oh, I’m not the worst one, believe me.  Of all the Time Knights, Dr. Emmit Brown talks the fastest.  Sir H.G. Wells has a funny English accent.  Sir Emerald Man is an original Galtorrian and speaks with a snaky lisp.  No, I’m not the worst one.”

“So what is this nonsense about a pyramid?” asked Tron, sounding more exasperated than he looked.

“It’s the reason I have come.  If we don’t go and look into that pyramid, then your New Star League will never be formed.  You will never become the Grand Admiral of Outpost, and Ged Aero will never become the successor to Shan as the White Spider!”

“So, you better lead the way!” said Tron.

“You know,” said Hooey, “Master Hassan has to be there as well, along with your friend Mr. Killer.”

“Are you ready to travel, elf?” asked Tron.

“You can’t!” said Maggie.  “The boy just woke up from a coma!”

“I will do anything you ask of me,” said Hassan sincerely to Tron.  “You have helped this lowly one in a way that can never be repaid, except by never-ending service.  It is my duty.”

Tron smiled at the elf.  He was almost truly handsome when he smiled, in spite of the nasty scar through his eye.  Hassan felt blessed to have such a brave and generous man as his new lord and master.

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Advertising on E-Bay Ignorantly

skortch

You are probably not going to believe this, but there are certain things you simply cannot safely sell on E-Bay.  My first good novel, Catch a Falling Star, took years to write.  The research, interviews with survivors, fighting off remaining alien invaders left behind when the Telleron invasion failed, and clean-up of sites and inconvenient witnesses took at least from 1990 to 2012.  And then, as part of my marketing-by-blogging strategy for the book, I took a box of leftover skortch pistols and listed them for sale on E-Bay.  They turned out to be a very popular item.  It took the first skortch ray almost a year to sell for a measly five dollars.  It was bought by a woman with a very annoying husband.  She apparently bought the item as a joke, thinking it would not actually work as a molecular disintegration weapon.  But after she surprised her husband with it and then posted the surprising results on Facebook, I quickly sold out the rest of the 26 pistols in the box and made almost $800. I am told by concerned investigative reporters that crotchety old men, ugly wives, and particularly Dennis-the-Menace-like kids were disappearing all across the Midwest.  I also learned that one skortch ray pistol came into the hands of a Republican political operative before the election in 2016.  That fact may have accounted for the disappearances of large numbers of registered Democrats in both Michigan and Pennsylvania in the weeks before the election.

I wanted to inform you that I may have done something stupid on E-Bay.  Therefore I am re-posting the drawing I did of Studpopper the Telleron demonstrating the firing of an example skortch pistol created by Zillokahsitter Industries on Telleri Prime with Sylvani technology.  If you should see one of these in the hands of a spouse that thinks you are grumpy too much of the time, I would suggest an almost instantaneous program of self-improvement.  And if you see one in the hands of someone in a red MAGA baseball cap, immediately put on your own red hat and say something inordinately stupid so they will assume you are one of them, and hope they skortch themselves by accident before they get around to skortching you.

Sorry about that.  I should’ve thought this whole thing through more carefully beforehand.

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Lazy Sunday Non-Posting

dils1

Dilsey Murphy, my favorite minor character

Some days… some rainy, nasty,  high-pollen days… I just don’t feel well enough to do the usual amount of writing.

Five hundred words on the daily post and five hundred words on my novel project are the usual product.

Today I give you a look at an artwork that I scanned in four parts and put together with a cheap photoshop program.  This is a picture of Dilsey Murphy, a supporting character in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius and Magical Miss Morgan.  She’s wearing a Carl Eller jersey for watching Sunday football with her dad Warren Murphy, a rabid Minnesota Vikings fan.  She is one of my favorite characters of all time as a minor player in a large number of my hometown stories, both written and unwritten.

So, that is the best I can do for today in this particular goofy little blog.  Less than 200 words, but with a Paffooney I am proud of.

 

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Hidden Kingdom (Through Page 10)

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HK61

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hk101

 

 

 

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Mickey’s Secret Identities

edo1

Yes, there is very definitely a possibility that there is more than one me.

If you look carefully at the colored pencil drawing above, you will see that it is titled “The Wizard of Edo” and signed by someone called Leah Cim Reyeb.  A sinister sounding Asian name, you think?  I told college friends that my research uncovered the fact that he was an Etruscan artist who started his art career more than two thousand years ago in a cave in France.  But, of course, if you are clever enough to read the name backward, you get, “beyeR miC haeL”.  So, that stupid Etruscan cave artist is actually me.

It turns out that it is a conceit about signing my name as an artist that I stole from an old episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show and have used for well over two decades through college and my teaching career.

And of course, the cartoonist me is Mickey.  Mickey also writes this blog.  Mickey is the humorist identity that I use to write all my published novels and blog posts since I published the novel Catch a Falling Star.

Michael Beyer is the truest form of my secret identity.  That was my teacher name.  It was often simplified by students to simply “Mr. B”.  I was known by that secret identity for 31 years.

Even more sinister are my various fictional identities occurring in my art and my fiction.  You see one of them in this Paffooney.  The name Dr. Seabreez appears in Catch a Falling Star as the Engineer who makes a steam engine train fly into space in the 1890’s with alien technology.  He appears again in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius as a time-traveler.

The young writer in the novel Superchicken, Branch Macmillan, is also me.  As is the English teacher Lawrance “Rance” Kellogg used in multiple novels.

So, disturbing as it may be to realize, there is more than one name and identity that signifies me.  But if you are a writer of fiction, a cartoonist, an artist, or a poet, you will probably understand this idea better.  And you may even have more than one you too.

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How To Avoid Dropping Dead Like a Dunderhead

I have recently been revisiting my obsession with Mark Twain. So, inevitably I had to re-post this old post and pretend it is good. I even edited it so that it no longer claims that Twain died before he was born. (I sometimes get my 8’s and 9’s mixed up.)

authormbeyer's avatarCatch a Falling Star

Pony party

If it is inevitable that I will surely drop dead some day, and if it is likely that it will come sooner rather than later, then I hope to go out with a bit of style and leave something behind that speaks not only to my own children, but to anybody searching for truth and beauty, people of the future that I will never know who are living beyond the confines of my little life.  What makes me think that I can do it?  Well, I’m a writer… and Mark Twain did it… and I don’t have to be vain or loopy or maniacal or delusional to make the same thing happen.

On this day one-hundred-and-five years ago, April 21, 1910, Mark Twain left the world of the living.  He caught a ride on Halley’s Comet (It deposited him on Earth in 1835, appearing in the sky when he was…

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Mark Twain

authormbeyer's avatarCatch a Falling Star

Mark TwainMark Twain, real name Samuel Clemens, is my hero. He lived a long and difficult life, but he lived it with grace and humor… most of the time…well, some of the time. I would very much like to be just like him… ‘cept I ain’t dead yet and have no plans on that score… but I would like to also be like him in having something important to say that can be said to somebody who isn’t even born yet, a hundred years or more from now, the way that Mark Twain spoke to me.

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September 20, 2018 · 2:07 am

Aeroquest… Canto 37

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Canto 37 – On To Dancer

      Arkin Cloudstalker was a natural-born starship captain, the way Ham Aero was a natural-born pilot.  Their abilities and sensibilities meshed in ways Ham had never thought possible.  Arkin took command of the mission without needing to be asked.  Aboard the Leaping Shadowcat Ham had always had the say, but since he retained the captain’s cabin, he had no trouble yielding command.  Arkin was berthed in Ged’s stateroom, a suitably Spartan and undecorated place.  Duke Ferrari took over the Madonna’s stateroom since she moved in with Ham as his wife.  The Duke was made Astrogator and Navigator since he knew the way to both Dancer, and Coventry beyond.  Sinbadh was relegated to ordinary crewman and cook.  Trav was still nominally the engineer.  The young Lupin, Sahleck Kim, was taken on as the cabin boy.  His job was to clean the air systems, wash the freshers, and generally swab the decks.

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The Shadowcat had two decks, an upper deck with the control pit and bridge, computer access room, six staterooms, and three storage lockers.  The lower deck had the trophy lounge in front, under the bridge, and two more staterooms.  It also had a skinning room, a galley, and two large capture tanks which hadn’t had a xenomorph in them since before reaching Don’t Go Here.

Duke Ferrari stood over the Astrogator’s holo-pit on the bridge, studying the route from White Palm to Dancer.  The jump would take them thirty hours over 16 parsecs and nearly exhaust all of the Shadowcat’s fuel.  “Who will take care of your corsair fleet, Cloudstalker, while you’re away?”

“They take care of themselves, Duke,” he answered from the Captain’s chair.  The chair itself had hardly been used the last ten years, since Ham always used the pilot’s seat.  “Besides, we’re allied with Tron Blastarr now.  There aren’t many pirates you can really trust, but I know my Lady Knights are safe with him.  He’s a good man underneath.”

“I sensed that too,” said the Duke.  He twirled the right end of his moustache between thumb and forefinger.  “I know he set me free and offered to help me, but beyond my desperation, I could sense that the man is a hero.”

“He’s a bit boring at times,” offered Trav.

“Explain what you mean to the nice gentlemen, Goofy,” warned Ham.  “They don’t understand your sense of humor.”

“Ach!  I’m just saying, Tron never takes advantage of opportunities the way a good pirate should.  That old jester just doesn’t have it in him to steal the way a pirate should.”

“Sir, I see why they call you Goofy,” said the Duke.  “You are something of a cad yourself.”

“We’ll see who’s goofy when we find the relic on Dancer!”

“Remember, sir,” warned Ferrari, “this is a critical diplomatic mission intended to forge a planetary union to fight against the Imperium.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.  I will use what I gain from the ancient device to help fight the lizard-men of Galtorr.”
“That’s assuming you can get it out from under the nose of old Razor Conn,” laughed Arkin.  “He’s a corsair that knows how to hold onto something that’s valuable.”

“I’m not afraid of the old pirate,” said Trav.  “He’s just another spacesuit full of gas and hot air.”

Ham looked at Goofy hard.  The dumb nut was wearing a bright yellow tie with a screw and a baseball pictured on it.  It was little wonder Trav was willing to put both feet in his mouth at once.

“You will belay such talk, Mr. Dalgoda,” said Arkin.  “If I am to be captain here, then you must show respect to other spacers, especially the ones I most respect.”

“Yes sir, old Jester captain, sir!”  Trav saluted mockingly.

“What do we actually know about Dancer, Duke?” Arkin asked Ferrari.

“Well, Captain, it is a water world.  No land masses exist anywhere.  The limited civilization there dwells in undersea domes.  The Blackhawk Corsairs own and operate out of a domed city called Castle Orpheum.”

“Do we have an underwater vehicle aboard?” Arkin asked Ham.

“No sir, but the Shadowcat can travel underwater herself.  She’s air tight and streamlined.  We can scoop up water for fuel and just extract the hydrogen from it.”

“How cool is that!” said Trav.  “I bet this old girl is more rugged than any of your corsairs.”

“I have to hand it to you there, Mr. Dalgoda.  No White Sword or Pinwheel I ever saw could travel in space, air, and water too.”

Ham’s breast swelled at the unexpected compliment to his space ship.  Few realized how worthy a safari ship could be.  It was designed to get into and out of exotic environments with both the game and the game-hunters alive.  It had to be quite different from the run-of-the-mill space craft.

“I am hoping this mission goes smoothly,” said their new Captain.  “A lot is at stake here.  If we are going to make things work, we are going to have to be more tricky and adaptable than our enemies.  That means we have to out-think the likes of Admiral Tang and the Generals of the Galtorr Imperium.”

Ham nodded in silent agreement.  What he’d taken on was daunting, more daunting than merely jumping out into unknown space.

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The Wolf in My Dreams

wolfgirl

Rosemary Hood was a bright, blond seventh grader who entered my seventh-grade Gifted English class in September of 1998.  She introduced herself to me before the first bell of her first day.

“I am definitely on your class list because my Mom says I belong in gifted classes.”

“Your name is Rosemary, right?”

“Definitely.  Rosemary Bell Hood, related to the Civil War general John Bell Hood.”

“Um, I don’t see your name on my list.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be there, so check with the attendance secretary.  And I will be making A’s all year because I’m a werewolf and I could eat you during the full moon if you make me mad at you.”

I laughed, thinking that she had a bizarre sense of humor.  I let her enter my class and issued her copies of the books we were reading.  Later I called the office to ask about her enrollment.

“Well, Mr. Beyer,” said the secretary nervously, “the principal is out right now with an animal bite that got infected.  But I can assure you that we must change her schedule and put her in your gifted class.  The principal would really like you to give her A’s too.”

So, I had a good chuckle about that.  I never gave students A’s.  Grades had to be earned.  And one of the first rules of being a good teacher is, “Ignore what the principal says you should do in every situation.”

But I did give her A’s because she was a very bright and creative student (also very blond, but that has nothing to do with being a good student).  She had a good work ethic and a marvelous sense of humor.

She developed a crush on Jose Tannenbaum who sat in the seat across from her in the next row.  He was a football player, as well as an A student.  And by October she was telling him daily, “You need to take to me to the Harvest Festival Dance because I am a werewolf, and if you don’t, I will eat you at the next full moon.”

All the members of the class got a good chuckle out of it.  And it was assumed that he would. of course, take her to the dance because she was the prettiest blond girl in class and he obviously kinda liked her.  But the week of the dance we did find out, to our surprise, that he asked Natasha Garcia to the dance instead.

I didn’t think anything more about it until, the day after the next full moon, Jose didn’t show up for class.  I called the attendance secretary and asked about it.

“Jose is missing, Mr. Beyer,” the attendance secretary said.  “The Sherrif’s office has search parties out looking for him.”  That concerned me because he had a writing project due that day, and I thought he might’ve skipped school because he somehow failed to finish it.  When I saw Rosemary in class, though, I asked her if, by any chance, she knew why Jose wasn’t in class.

“Of course I do,” she said simply.  “I ate him last night.”

“Oh.  Bones and all?”

“Bone marrow is the best-tasting part.”

So, that turned out to be one rough school year.  Silver bullets are extremely expensive for a teacher’s salary.  And I did lose a part of my left ear before the year ended.  But it also taught me valuable lessons about being a teacher.  Truthfully, you can’t be a good teacher if you can’t accept and teach anyone who comes through your door, no matter what kind of unique qualities they bring with them into your classroom.

 

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The Surrealist

authormbeyer's avatarCatch a Falling Star

Yes, I admit it.  I am a Surrealist.  I also hope that it is not too terrible a thing to be.  Because I truly think that everyone who was raised by television, and lived through the revolution where computers took over human life, is one too.

definition from Merriam-Webster;

Simple Definition of surrealism;

a 20th-century art form in which an artist or writer combines unrelated images or events in a very strange and dreamlike way

Full Definition of surrealism;

the principles, ideals, or practice of producing fantastic or incongruous imagery or effects in art, literature, film, or theater by means of unnatural or irrational juxtapositions and combinations

  • rooster riding
  • There is a certain satisfaction to be had in knowing for certain how to define oneself.  I learned about Surrealism in high school art class back in the early 70’s.  I saw and admired the works of Salvador Dali, Rene Magritte, and…

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