Pick a Pack of Pictures

As an artist wannabee I have always done the magazine-clipping picture-file thing.  I still have scrapbooks and folders and even bags full of old pictures.  And, of course, the internet makes the whole thing so much easier that my picture files on my laptop are bulging at the seams.  I am going to show you just one of my fer-instances, the unsorted catch-all part of my Miscellaneous File.

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These are not sorted, not source-referenced, not investigated for copyrights… just snipped and clipped from Google and Pinterest and Facebook and etc., etc., etc.

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Here’s one of the wisest pieces of the wisdom puzzle I have ever run across;

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Like any collage, this one has it’s deeper meanings if you think about how you can connect the many unconnectable things in it.

You may have noticed that I like gifs because they add movement to the pictures.  But like salt, if you put too much in the soup… it becomes seawater.

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in the wild

This, of course, is not every picture in the file… not even every picture in this one small part of one file.  But you have enough of my stolen goodies here to get a very good psychological profile of the thief himself.  I don’t sell any of this stuff as being my own intellectual property.  It certainly is not.  It did not even belong to the thieves I stole them from.  But when I pick a pack of pictures, it does reveal a little of the peculiarity of the pilfering picker.

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The Force Awakens (with tornadoes thrown in for excitement)

Star_Wars

At long last I got to see it, another thrilling Star Wars movie.  I couldn’t wait for it to reach the dollar movie theater where I could actually afford it, so I saved up my money to take the family to the theater in Valley View Mall off LBJ in Dallas. (This is a doomed and dying mall that no one ever goes to, so the tickets cost only half as much as elsewhere… but it was still necessary to go an hour early to get tickets before it sold out.)  I have seen every single Star Wars movie within the first two weeks of its run, dating back to the original Star Wars which I saw in college at Ames, Iowa in 1977.  And I confess to loving every minute of every one of the movies.  I even like Jar Jar Binks as a character, which gets me kicked out of the Serious Star Wars Aficionado Club for reasons I still don’t understand.

I was predisposed to passionately love this movie.  And I understand why the critics are saying that it is the exact same plot as the first Star Wars movie, Episode IV; A New Hope.   I am not going to review this movie here because I could not do it without those dreadful spoilers that I had to duck for weeks in everything I read about the movie.  Things happen in this movie that directly parallel the first movie, and that means an unexpected death that tore my heart out as much as when Vader kills Obi Wan Kenobi in the original.  Over time, through movies and books and role-playing games, these characters have become real people to me.  I care deeply about what happens to them.  I almost had to care deeply about what happened to us as well.

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Yesterday was a bad-weather day in Texas.  Tornadoes ripped through the Dallas area  last night.  Eight people were killed as three different funnel clouds touched down and did damage in the area.  As we left the theater and started out for the restaurant where we would get a meal, a tornado warning started ringing on our cell phones and the tornado siren started blaring.  My sister-in-law and her family, visiting from San Antonio, took refuge in the mall we had just left.  They told us that the theaters on the top floor of the mall were evacuated as they sheltered there.  If we hadn’t gone to a matinee, we would’ve been interrupted during the movie.  As it was, we made it to Chili’s Restaurant just ahead of the wind and rain.  We had dinner while the rain poured down, and the Independence Bowl on the restaurant televisions kept getting interrupted by weather coverage like you see above.  We watched the danger zones creep by on three sides of us as we ate burgers and tilapia  in a glassed-in restaurant.  Needless to say, our relatives were unable to join us as they cowered back at Valley View Mall.  The after-movie party and discussion proved to be almost as thrilling an adventure as the movie itself.

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But I simply can’t help myself.  No line or threat of sell-out or adverse weather condition is going to come between me and a Star Wars Movie.  I loved it.  And if I’m still alive when the next one comes out, I’m watching that one too… no matter what.  I love Star Wars!

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Roses at Christmas Time

When bad things happen, we can usually make something good out of them.  I have always believed this.  It is Midwestern pragmatism in action.  Hail destroyed the crops?  Martial your resources for the next growing season, or change from a farmer to something else more profitable.  There is always a way forward, even if you have to learn to be tougher and tighten the belt, or next year’s food supply depends on the farmer in the next county.  Global warming is threatening to cook us in our own juices?  Well, this year our confused roses in the yard are blooming like it was Springtime.  The part of the wheel at the bottom, crushed against the pavement, rises to the top again as we move forward on the bicycle of human life.

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All of these roses have bloomed during the Christmas holiday this year when temperatures sank no lower than the 50’s and got as high as 77 degrees.  It recalls a recent year when dorky daffodils poked their yellow heads out of the ground in January only to be murdered by snowstorm a week later.  Will these roses be subjected to the same fate?  Robert Herrick says, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may…”  We will pragmatically enjoy them while they are here, no matter what happens.  I have been writing a science fiction novel about environmental and political Armageddon.  It is set on another planet, but that planet stands in for Earth in my book.  But the point is that the universe goes on even if we are dumb enough to destroy ourselves by pillaging the natural world.  Yet, I don’t believe that will happen.  I see movement towards renewable energy, and political change for the better is in the wind.  In the end, I think humanity will dig down deep for that magical force we all possess.  We will be able to change for the better when we are forced to.  I don’t expect to live to see it.  I don’t figure I have another whole decade left to live, and the course we are on won’t be decided before 2050… probably.  But, all speculation aside, I am here now to enjoy roses blooming at Christmastime… and to share that rare feeling with you.

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Fiascoes in Gingerbread

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I believe I did warn you that I had serious Gingerbread House plans.  I had high hopes and spent more money on it than I should have.  Such is life in Mickey World.  But I had a plan, and not even disaster was going to stop me.  And it didn’t.

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I didn’t intentionally choose a time when Mom was away, but maybe that was at least subconsciously a factor.  You see, as sober Jehovah’s Witnesses we are not allowed to celebrate Christmas.  And no one says gingerbread is specifically Christmassy.  So we broke out the necessary supplies and started down paths of frosting and sugar plums.

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I warned them that the main objective was to write a blog post.  The Princess broke out a fake smile for the occasion, but Henry decided to duck out of pictures to the best of his ability.  Hands are okay, I guess.

We proceeded with great care according to my evil plan.  And everything seemed to be going well.  Of course, da Momma had to show up to say, “What’s this?  You’re celebrating Christmas?”

“No, Mom,” we all lied.

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It was really starting to look like a success.  But Mom started eating building supplies.  And the whole thing was constructed according to directions, so the weight of the heavily frosted and decorated roof was supported only on the strength of quick-drying frosting that didn’t really dry fast enough.  The dream began to slowly slide apart.

Furious finger supports became absolutely necessary.  We battled to keep it from slipping apart into sugary oblivion.  But what could we ultimately do?  One final picture before the inevitable maybe?

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And then… the end.

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Ah… Phoobah!

But, I think in looking back on it, even though clean-up would prove nearly fatal for old diabetic me… it was a success.  We got away with a bit of Christmas.  My family (except for Dorin who is away this holiday overseas with the Marine Corps) got to spend some quality time together.  We got to make something we were proud of, if only momentarily.  And we had enormous amounts of fun and laughter.  The best things in life are like that.  They are only with us for a moment.  But the memory is a treasure to keep for a lifetime.

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Wordless Christmas Post

tree time_ginger

This is a wordless Christmas post.

Oops!  I shouldn’t have explained.  Okay, a six-word Christmas post.

Wait a minute, I didn’t count those words…

Seventeen words, then… urm… Twenty-seven… Twenty-nine… Is a hyphenated compound two words or one?  Dang it!

Okay… a too-many words Christmas post.

Have another picture to look at while I sort this out.

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Humbuggery

Technically I am not supposed to be celebrating Christmas.  Jehovah’s Witnesses have institutionalized “Bah, Humbug” and made it a religious offense to celebrate Christmas or any other birthdays.  And I have not yet been disfellowshipped from the JW religion.  That is, however, a mere oversight on their part.  They have not read this blog enough to be offended with my worldly views.  I have suggested here that I am a Christian existentialist… something that any JW who understands what that philosophical term means would call an atheist.

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Fozzie tells really bad jokes, which isn’t necessarily irredeemable, but Alf not only tells bad jokes, he also eats cats. How can they be saved by religion?

I definitely understand why atheists avoid proactive religions like the Witnesses.  For one thing, JW’s believe in the redeem-ability of the human race.  Open the door, listen to the proselytizer’s mini-sermon, read the infallible Bible verse, and paradise in an everlasting life on Earth is yours for the taking.  So, get out there and knock on some doors with a Bible in your book bag!  These redeemable Texans whose doors they knock upon being the same ones that have the police arrest Muslim clock-making teens for showing their project to a teacher, and throw hungry school children’s lunches in the trash in front of their friends if they owe $1.70 over the limit for their reduced lunches.  These redeemable Texans are also the ones who sent Ted Cruz to the US Senate and may help elect him president.  Despicable is too good a word for that type of human being… unless Sylvester the cat is the one saying it with extra sloppy spray coming out of the sides of his mouth.

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I confess that I have been working on a comedic science-fiction novel about a planet-wide civilization destroying itself for greed and despicableness.   I even put Ted Cruz in that story as lizard-man alien (which I am not sure if it is an insult or a complement to Cruz).  I also idolize Mark Twain, and often wonder if he isn’t right about the “damned human race”, and how Noah should’ve let them drown.  So I should be embracing humbuggery for so many reasons…

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Senator Tedhkruzh, the lizard-man from the doomed planet Galtorr Prime.

But today I re-connected on Facebook with a former student from not so long ago.  Ronan Pablomia was an ESL student from the streets of Manila in the Philippines.  As a teacher, I normally love students, even the stinky ones, and I tried for three years to get through to this kid.   He was repeatedly in fights in school with other students.  He was disruptive in the classroom, saying intentionally horrible and insane things during class.  He was probably an un-diagnosed bipolar person, but he was definitely diagnosed as having a learning disability and a rage disorder.  He was hostile and made life so miserable for his classmates that they begged both the principal and me to expel his sorry behind from our high school.

Today he had the remarkable good sense to tell me on Facebook that I was the best teacher ever.  He said he finally acknowledged his fighting problem and got help (after getting out of jail).  He has a job now and is helping to support his parents.  He apologized for how stupid he acted in class, and I ended up reminding him that the best students are the ones that learned the most.  He was not the smartest kid ever, but he was bright, and if he has learned to control his bipolar temper, he definitely qualifies as one of kids who came the farthest down the learning path, and probably learned the most after all.

So Ronan gave me an excellent and unexpected Christmas gift.  He added one more hint that my career as a teacher was not in vain, and three years worth of patience and suffering did not go for nothing, even though he never graduated high school.  Maybe the aggressive and carnivorous primates that populate this planet are not all that irredeemable after all.  So have a happy Christmas.  Frohe Weinachten.  Feliz Navidad.  And God bless us, every one.

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Not Letting Go… Yet

I have found out from my publisher that my novel Snow Babies will be delayed even further from publication.  I hope it comes out in 2016, but it I certainly don’t want to hold my breath until it does.  I would be turning undiscovered shades of blue if I do.

But there is no turning back.  Unless the publisher implodes and is no more, I have a contract, and they will publish it either for me or for my heirs.

So today I spent noodling with cover ideas.  They have given me a vague promise to consider my artwork for the cover.  They might even consider my cover designs.  So let me show you what I have been working on.  These are variations on the same design idea.Val at the barn coverxr

The advantage this one has is that the big snowflake is my original drawing.  The drawback is how busy and complex the bottom half is.

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This has the advantage of simplicity and elegance, at least at the bottom.  The snowflake here is real.  (A photo of a real flake.)

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And here I’ve added snow babies to bottom.  No longer as elegant, but giving added information to entice the reader.  The clean-up on this artwork is not yet complete, but I have run out of time for today.

If you’ve got any input you want to add, then by all means, let me know how stinky-awful you find my designs in the comments.  It is, after all, only a shameless attempt to get feedback and commit small acts of heinous self-promotion.

 

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Coasting on the Home Stretch

2015 is a year in which I have been furiously writing.  I made a pact with myself that I would write a blog post every single day.  I am now only 10 more posts from finishing that goal after today.  I have pursued my vow to increase my published novel accomplishments by taking Snow Babies through the editing process with PDMI publishing.  Soon it will be a real book.   Then I will have three published novels, two of which are actually worth something.  I have submitted another contest novel, and made the final judging round in the 2015 YA Novel contest at Chanticleer Book Reviews.  Winning a prize could mean landing a literary agent and becoming somebody who actually gets help from others to tell my goofy little surrealistic stories.  I really don’t have to push all that hard to complete my 2015 goals now.  They are within reach.  I just have to keep plugging a little and coast when I can.

I need to spruce up The Bicycle Wheel Genius and submit it to a publisher.  PDMI has a back log, and as a small independent publisher, they move slowly.  I don’t even have a decision about Superchicken yet.  But therein begins the plans for 2016.  So today’s post is a little short and somewhat content-free because I am coasting.  The final kick in this race is about to start.

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Be Naked More

I admit to being a closet nudist.  By that I mean that I only walk around naked inside my closet.  I flirted with the idea of becoming a nudist once… or as they call it, a naturist.  But I have never overcome the urge not to be naked where anybody can ever see me.  I am a chicken.  Literally.  I look like a plucked chicken when I have no clothes on, especially now that I have all the little pink bleedy spots all over the lower parts of my body.  Bread me and fry me, I am done with this particular metaphor.

I come from Iowa where kids were repeatedly told never to run around like a naked Indian.  I think older people tell you that because they know from experience naked in Iowa in the winter time is tantamount to making parts of yourself into popsicles where you really really really don’t want to get all icy-frozen.  (I mean fingers and toes, of course!  What did you think I meant?)

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But I have learned from long experience of health problems that a little bit of running around like a naked Indian can actually be a beneficial thing to do.  Now, I know that you probably don’t believe I am being completely candid here, and that I may have some kind of pervert’s agenda going on the background… but I have been told it is so not only by naturists, but also by medical professionals.

(http://www.today.com/health/health-benefits-being-naked-how-stripping-down-good-you-t44911)

This link is to an article on Today, Health & Wellness written by

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A Miss Morgan Sampler

Miss Morgan one

 

I told you yesterday the wonderful news about my novel, Magical Miss Morgan.  Since I am still celebrating that, I thought I would share a little peek into that competition novel.  This is chapter two, called a canto in Mickey-speak.  And though it is not the first chapter, it is the place where the largest pile of main characters are introduced.  Chapter one is full of fairies mucking about and searching for a human to help save their kind.

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Canto 2 – Miss Morgan’s Class

“All right, kiddie-winkies,” said Miss Morgan, “now that we have the space for our talking circle created, we must take off our shoes and socks.  Bare feet only!”

“Why must we do that, Miss M?” asked Blueberry Bates, a cute little brown-eyed girl with a very concerned scowl.

Miss Morgan loved the Six-Twos better than any of her other classes… and that was saying something because she really loved them all.  Six-Two, however, had the most Norwall kids in it of all her classes, and Norwall kids were a little more imaginative and empathetic than the Belle City kids, or the Goodwell kids, or the Klemmens kids.  Those other little towns were charming, but not nearly so wondrous.  Besides, she had once been a Norwall kid herself.  It was a very special little Iowa farm town to Miss Morgan, and it meant more to her than all the other three towns in the rural school district combined.

“Who can tell Blueberry why we have to have bare feet for this discussion?” Miss M asked the whole group.

“Well,” said Mike Murphy, a Norwall rapscallion and a Pirate, “we’re studying the Hobbit by Tolkien.   Hobbits all go barefoot all the time.”

“Very good, Michael.  He’s right.  But why does it help for us all to be barefoot?”

“Maybe it helps us feel like the main character Bilbo,” said Billy Klatthammer, the plump son of the Klemmens, Iowa farm implement king.

“Right.  But why is it important to feel like Bilbo?”

“He’s an every-man character,” said Frosty Anderson, a Norwall farm kid.  “We have to identify with him as we travel through the world of Middle Earth.  He’s supposed to be just like us.”

“My, my… Someone was listening when I was talking about the book yesterday.  Thank you very much, Forrest.”

“And I think,” said Barbie Andersen from Belle City, “that people are more sensitive when they are barefooted.   You want us to feel what Bilbo feels and think like Bilbo thinks.”

“That’s very good, Barbie.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The real reason,” said Tim Kellogg, Norwall boy and most difficult child in the class, “is that you like the smell of stinky feet.”

Everyone burst out in a belly laugh, including Miss Morgan.

“Okay,” said Miss Morgan, “Now that I can smell all of your stinky feet, I need you to gather around in a circle.  As we take on each question from the study guide, we will go around the circle and get an answer or a comment from each of you.  We will talk about each question until everyone has said at least one thing and we have made an agreement on what the best answer is.”

At that moment, the first-year teacher from next door appeared in the doorway.  “Miss Morgan,” said Miss Krapplemacher, “the noise from this classroom is eroding my standards of discipline again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Abby,” said Miss Morgan, smiling and speaking through gritted teeth.  She resisted the urge to call her Miss Krabby, the way all Krabby’s science students did.  Miss Krabby insisted on a silent classroom and made students fill out worksheets all period.  “We will try to be quieter.  We are doing a discussion assignment, though.”

“Well, okay.  But stifle the laughing.  It’s hard to achieve serious learning with all the laughing going on next door.”

“We promise we will only talk about depressing things this period,” piped up Tim Kellogg.  “No more laughter this period.”

Bless the little black-hearted teacher’s kid.  Yes, Tim’s father was a teacher, one of the main reasons that Tim was difficult to handle.  Miss Morgan silently appreciated the imp with his special insight into teacher-buttons as Miss Krapplemacher made vibrating fists with both hands and stormed out.  Tim was Miss Krabby’s least favorite science student of all time.

*****

Donner n Silkie

I do promise you too that this book is a fairy tale as well as a story about being a school teacher in the United States.  I have included a Paffooney of Donner and Silkie in this post to show you what some of the main fairy characters look like.  You have to imagine them as less than three inches tall, however, because fairies are no longer big in the modern world.

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