Tag Archives: books

Finding My Voice

As Big MacIntosh welcomes more little ponies into my insanely large doll collection, I have been reading my published novel Snow Babies.  The novel is written in third person viewpoint with a single focus character for each scene.  But because the story is about a whole community surviving a blizzard with multiple story lines criss-crossing and converging only to diverge and dance away from each other again, the focus character varies from scene to scene.

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Big MacIntosh finds himself to be the leader of a new group of My Little Ponies.

In Canto Two, Valerie Clarke, the central main character of the story, is the focus character.  Any and all thoughts suggested by the narrative occur only in Valerie’s pretty little head.  Canto Three is focused through the mind of Trailways bus driver Ed Grosland.  Canto Four focuses on Sheriff’s Deputy Cliff Baily.  And so, on it goes through a multitude of different heads, some heroic, some wise, some idiotic, and some mildly insane.  Because it is a comedy about orphans freezing to death, some of the focus characters are even thinking at the reader through frozen brains.

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The ponies decide to visit Minnie Mouse’s recycled Barbie Dreamhouse where Olaf the Snowman is the acting butler.

That kind of fractured character focus threatens to turn me schizophrenic.  I enjoy thinking like varied characters and changing it up, but the more I write, the more the characters become like me, and the more I become them.  How exactly do you manage a humorous narrative voice when you are constantly becoming someone else and morphing the way you talk to fit different people?  Especially when some of your characters are stupid people with limited vocabularies and limited understanding?

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The ponies are invited to live upstairs with the evil rabbit, Pokemon, and Minions.

I did an entire novel, Superchicken, in third person viewpoint with one focus character, Edward-Andrew Campbell, the Superchicken himself.  That is considerably less schizophrenic than the other book.  But it is still telling a story in my voice with my penchant for big words, metaphors, and exaggerations.

The novel I am working on in rough draft manuscript form right now, The Baby Werewolf, is done entirely in first person point of view.  That is even more of an exercise of losing yourself inside the head of a character who is not you.  One of the first person narrators is a girl, and one is a werewolf.  So, I have really had to stretch my writing ability to make myself into someone else multiple times.

I assure you, I am working hard to find a proper voice with which to share my personal wit and wisdom with the world.  But if the men in white coats come to lock me away in a loony bin somewhere, it won’t be because I am playing a lot with My Little Ponies.

 

 

 

My best novel is free to own in ebook form for today and tomorrow. Buy it now with the link above. The offer is good until the end of the day on 12/14/2021.

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If the Show Does Go On

The audience has begun to actually form. My stories are being read and evaluated as a good thing. It could really take off if only I had the power to fan the flames of reading and liking the kind of stories I create. But so many things threaten to literally break my legs. Tornado season is here, and our house is so poorly defended that the insurance company threatens to take away the expensive coverage we have been paying for. Mango-flavored Hitler is creating a tsunami of economic waves of crash and failure. My worldly wealth may be taken away to feather the nests of all the Trump-approved grifter birds. Banko Merricka no longer has my accounts, but they have a reputation for re-collecting already-paid debts.

If I can continue filmmaking in the theater of my imagination, I should produce a few more books. The one that is now done and edited twice is Cissy Moonskipper Meets the Nebulons. It is the second book in the Cissy Moonskipper’s Travels series of science fiction novellas. Cissy meets the blue-skinned race that produced Suki Vorranac (pictured above), Cissy’s pilot, rescued from pirates in the first book. All that is left to accomplish is the publication step.

I also have half a manuscript of the above novel created already. The Haunted Toy Store is a break from my usual interconnected stories. It tells of people’s weird encounters with a decrepit old toy store that never seems to sell any of its antique toys. It turns out that the toys they do sell are the customers they lure in, bought by a customer base of dead people who need to play with human souls to try to solve their ghost problems.

I also have this book well underway as a manuscript that’s about one-fourth of the way through a longer-than-usual story that weaves together the loose ends of several previous Hometown Novels. He Rose on a Golden Wing is a story originally titled Valerie in Darkness. It is about teenagers working as a group to overcome their collective traumas.

If I can do it, I will publish these books before I die. The show must go on… if possible. Don’t wish me a broken leg because that may well happen.

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Is Mickey Icky?


This post is about writer doubt. And Stephen King. Do those two things go together? If they don’t then Mickey is an awful writer and does not know how to do what he does. It would mean Mickey is icky.
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I used to think Stephen King was a totally over-rated writer. Back in the early eighties I read Carrie, King’s first novel, and got halfway through Firestarter, and had to give up. Partly because the book was overdue at the library, and also because I found the books mechanical and somewhat joyless in the writing. I thought he suffered greatly in comparison to writers I was in love with at the time like Ray Bradbury and Thomas Mann. I began to tell others that King was somewhat icky.
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But King was obviously also somewhat successful. He began to get his books made into movies and people who don’t read discovered the evil genius of a man who tells stories to scare them and laces them with a bit of real humanity, real human feeling, and love.
I saw it first in Stand by Me. That movie, starring young Wil Wheaton as the Steven King autobiographical character, really touched my heart and really made for me a deep psyche-to-psyche connection to somebody who wasn’t just a filmmaker, but somebody who was, at heart, a real human being, a real story-teller.

Now, the psyche I was connecting to may very well have been Rob Reiner, a gifted story-teller and film-maker. But it wasn’t the only King movie that reached me. The television mini-series made from It touched a lot more than just the fear centers of my brain as well. And people whose opinions I respect began telling me that the books The Dark Tower Trilogy and Misery were also amazing pieces of literature.
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So I picked up a copy of Hearts in Atlantis at Half-Price Books and began reading a Stephen King novel for the first time since the 80’s. MY HOLY GOD! King is not a little bit icky. He is so NOT ICKY that it makes Mickey sicky to have ever thought King was even a little bit icky! Here is a writer who loves to write. He whirls through pages with the writer’s equivalent of ballet moves, pirouettes of prose, grand jetés of character building, and thematic arabesque penchées on every side of the stage. I love what I have discovered in a writer I thought was somewhat icky. Growth and power, passion and precision, a real love of both the words and the story. He may not know what he is doing. But I know. And I love it.
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And so, while I have been editing the first novel I ever wrote, Superchicken, to make it ready for self-publishing, I have begun to ask myself the self-critical question, “Is Mickey really icky when he writes?” My first novel is full of winces and blunders and head-banging wonders that make me want to throw the whole thing out. But I can’t throw it out. It is the baby in the first bathwater that I ever drew from the tap. The answer to the questions of Micky ickiness have yet to be determined, and not by me. I guess I have to leave it up to you.

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H.P. Lovecraft, The Master of Madness

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When I was but a young teacher, unmarried, and using what free time I had to play role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons and Traveller with students and former students and fatherless boys, I came across a game that really creeped me out.  And it was quite popular with the kids who relied on me to fill their Saturday afternoons with adventure.  It led me on a journey through the darkness to find a fascination with the gruesome, the macabre, and the monstrous.  The Call of Cthulhu game brought me to the doorsteps of Miskatonic University and the perilous portals of the infected fishing village of Innsmouth.  It introduced me to the nightmare world of Howard Phillips Lovecraft.

“H. P. Lovecraft, June 1934” by Lucius B. Truesdell
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Old H.P. is as fascinating a character as any of the people who inhabit his deeply disturbing horror tales.  He was a loner and a “nightbird” but with little social contact in the real world.  He lived a reclusive life that included a rather unsuccessful “contract” marriage to an older woman and supporting himself mostly by burning through his modest inheritance.  As a writer, he got his start by so irritating pulp fiction publishers with his letters-page rants that he was challenged to write something for a contest article, and won a job as a regular contributor to “Weird Tales” pulp magazine.  He was so good that he was offered the editorship of the magazine, but true to form, he turned it down.  He resembled most the dreamer characters who accessed the Dreamlands in various ways, but let their mortal lives wither as they explored unknown continents in the Dreamlands and the Mountains of the Moon.  He created a detailed mythos in his stories about Cthulhu and Deep Ones and the Elder Gods.  He died a pauper, well before his stories received the acclaim they have today.

I have to say that I was so enamored of his stories that I had to read them as fast as I could acquire them from bookstores and libraries all over Texas.  My favorites include, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Dunwich Horror, and At the Mountains of Madness.  But reading these stories lost me hour upon hour of sleep, and developed in me a habit of sleeping with the lights on.  In Lovecraft’s fiction, sins of your ancestors hang like thunderheads over your life, and we are punished for original sin.  A man’s fate can be determined before he is born, and events hurl him along towards his appointed doom.  H.P. makes you feel guilty about being alive, and he shakes you to the core with unease about the greater universe we live in, a cold, unfeeling universe that has no love for mankind, and offers no shelter from the horrors of what really goes on beyond the knowing of mortal men.

Loving the stories of H.P. Lovecraft is about deeper things than just loving a good scare.  If you are looking for that in a book, read something by Stephen King.  H.P. will twist the corners of your soul, and make you think deep thoughts to keep your head above water in deep pools of insanity.  I know some of his books belong in yesterday’s post, but we are not talking about happy craziness today.  This is the insanity of catharsis and redemption.

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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? Purple words 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. Miltie223408 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. Green words 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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Catch a Falling Star – Book Review

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I finally got the book review from Serious Reading.  If you are actually interested, you can find it here;

Seriousreading.com Book Review

I have not been a very successful marketer of my own book.  But I have made attempts to get help with it.  This book review is an example of that.  I have chosen to reproduce the interview here as a way of ditching my responsibility for writing anything new in this post.

Interview with Michael Beyer, author of “Catch a Falling Star”

A common misconception entwined with authors is that they are socially inept, how true is that?

Quite true… the person who goes on to become a successful author is the sociopath who sits in the back of the classroom during his freshman year of high school watching everybody through pop-bottle-bottom glasses and taking notes on everything everyone else is doing or saying. But, the rub is that you cannot successfully write anything without learning how to talk to people first. This is why most of them take years to get their books successfully completed. It is also why some authors have closets full of manuscripts that no one has ever seen.

Do all authors have to be grammar Nazis?

Alle begrüßen die heiligen Worte! Yes, authors must pass through the grammar Nazi stage, even if they are to become grammar anarchists like Kurt Vonnegut or Terry Pratchett. You have to know the rules you are breaking before you can break them without simply being stupid.

If you could have been the original author of any book, what would it have been and why?

My own book. The good books that are out there are good only because you couldn’t rewrite it and make it any better than it already is. I also don’t want to waste my time re-writing a dumb book or an evil book or a goofy book… well, I might have to think twice about the goofy book.

What makes this particular genre you are involved in so special?

I was a public school English teacher for 31 years in Texas. I write YA novels because, not only are kids my main audience, but also my primary source material. All the best fantasy, science fiction, and humor ideas can be accidentally happened upon and written down somewhere in a middle school classroom. All the best characters and clowns too.

What works best for you: Typewriters, fountain pen, dictate, computer or longhand?

For twenty years I wrote everything out in longhand in spiral notebooks. It took considerable work to copy it all out on a typewriter. Then some nut invented that computer thing, and an even nuttier nut showed me how to use one. The world will live to regret those two big mistakes.

When did it dawn upon you that you wanted to be a writer?

I started writing things down in the back of the classroom when I was about twelve. Before that I told stories to everyone who would listen… or couldn’t escape listening. My sisters still blame me for recurring nightmares and my grade school best friend still reminds me that I am not actually a changeling left on Earth by Martians. I guess I haven’t actually made up my mind yet about becoming a writer.

How often do you write?

Are you asking how many times a day? Or how often I stop writing? The second one is easier to answer… never.

Do you have a set schedule for writing, or are you one of those who write only when they feel inspired?

I write whenever life doesn’t interfere. Now that I am retired from teaching I write every morning for at least an hour and at least 500 finished words. But I am writing in my head even when I am at Wal-Mart returning the sneakers my daughter begged me for because I wasn’t smart enough not to buy pink ones.

How hard was it to sit down and actually start writing something?

About as hard as it is to remember to breathe. As an English teacher I always made it my policy to write any writing assignment I ever assigned to my students. Other members of the faculty all knew that I was willing to write anything that needed writing, and the State of Texas requires teachers to write huge stacks of B.S. daily. So at least some of their lesson plans look suspiciously like mine.

Writers are often associated with loner tendencies; is there any truth to that?

I know a lot of other writers who are stressed by being around stupid people too much. But, as a former school teacher, I like people… especially kid people… even the stupid ones.

Do you think writers have a normal life like others?

No. I don’t have to explain that one, do I? The world does not have as many writers as there are normal people. There has to be a reason for that, don’t you think?

Do you set a plot or prefer going wherever an idea takes you?

I have in the past mapped out elaborate road-maps of plot and character motivation. I never followed a single one to the “X marks the spot”. You only find treasure if you learn to dig for treasure along the way.

What, according to you, is the hardest thing about writing?

Quitting for the session. I try always to leave something unwritten that I wanted to say to pick up next time… and it often brings me back to do some more well before I had planned to.

What would you say is the easiest aspect of writing?

Everything about writing is hard. I do it easily now only because I have worked at it since I was twelve. Years of practice and re-writing, trying new things and failing badly, trying again and failing again, ironing out the wrinkles and then putting them back in… It takes effort, just like building the Great Wall of China, one brick at a time… but isn’t it a danged big old wall now?

Have you ever experienced “Writer’s Block”? How long do they usually last?

Dang! How am I ever going to answer that? I have to really think about it. Maybe I can answer by next Tuesday.

Any tips you would like to share to overcome it?

Well, I guess that wasn’t really that hard after all. All I did was write something down as soon as it came into my head. If it turns out to be a stupid idea, computers make it easy to erase and replace. I told you that you were going to regret that particular invention, didn’t I?

Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors?

Terry Pratchett, Michael Crichton, Louis L’Amour, R. A. Salvatore, William Faulkner, William Shakespeare, J.R.R. Tolkein, Madeleine L’Engle, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain… and these are just the authors I have read three or more books from (over ten from each of the first four) Reading allows me to live more than one life.

Over the years, what would you say has improved significantly in your writing?

My ability to finish a story to the point I don’t feel that it has to be totally re-written.

What is the most important thing about a book in your opinion?

Whether it makes you laugh or makes you cry or both, the most important thing is that one sweet-sad moment when you have to tell yourself, “Yes,this is true.”

If you had the choice to rewrite any of your books, which one would it be and why?

I am busy rewriting all of them now, except for the two I already have published, and I am busily thinking about at least one of those.

What is your take on the importance of a good cover and title?

Something about the title and cover has to entice the reader into making the mistake of picking the book up and looking inside. It is the essential booby trap that makes or breaks a book.

Have you ever designed your own book cover?

Yes. And so far publishers have ignored my wishes every time. I have found a small publisher called PDMI that may let me do the cover illustrations for the book they have foolishly agreed to publish.

Does a bad review affect your writing?

If I get a review that honestly defines the problem the reader had with my work, then of course I will try to fix the problem. Most bad reviews however are of the sort where very little thought went into it, and the only purpose was to vent and take something out on me as the author. It doesn’t always seem to be reflecting my writing… rather the prejudices that stand between the reader and my work.

Any advice you would like to give to your younger self?

Don’t worry about looking like an idiot, because you will, and you are, and the only thing you can do about it is write more and worry less.

What did you want to become when you were a kid?

I told my parents when I was five that I wanted to be a clown. When I was in junior high I decided I wanted to be a writer and a cartoonist. I said in high school that the last thing I would ever want to be is a teacher. So I went to college and learned to be a teacher, and along the way I got to be the other three things as well.

Do you recall the first ever book/novel you read?

The White Stag by Kate Seredy. I picked it off the classroom reading shelf in third grade because it had a plain red cover… the dust jacket was long lost. I believed that wonderful things were concealed by plain and ordinary appearances. I kept it for three months and read it at least four times. My teacher thought I was crazy. But by the end of fourth grade she asked for my help reading the book Ribsy by Beverly Cleary aloud to the whole class. I turned into a surprisingly good oral reader, and had from that first book onwards developed a lifelong love of reading.

Which book inspired you to begin writing?

I suppose it was Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island which I read in the fourth grade. It colored all the stories I told my friends and cousins in our little Iowa town. I loved adventure. I loved N. C. Wyeth’s illustrations in the edition my Grandma had in her house. I knew from halfway through the first chapter that I had to be like young Jim Hawkins and tell a story like that.

Did you ever think you would be unable to finish your first novel?

Yes. For most of the twenty-two years it took me to finally reach the last page.

Do you read any of your own work?

How can I write anything without reading it? I like to go back regularly to re-read as much as I can, and every time I do that, I get to the point that I almost think I actually know that dumb old guy who wrote that nonsense.

Tell us about your writing style, how is it different from other writers?

I can’t say, really. When I am writing I hear the voices in my head not as my own voice, but as the characters in the story. The characters are all people I know, though every character has some part of me mixed in too. I try to write what makes me laugh and makes me cry and makes me feel good inside… and I leave it up to the reader to try to feel that too.

Do your novels carry a message?

Every novel has to be full of metaphor and meaning. If we can’t as readers jump inside the characters and walk around in their lives for a bit, then what was the point of even writing it? There is no one message. There is a multitude of messages. And readers should maybe read stuff backwards and upside down to look for clues. You never know what else might be in there. Maybe Elvis is really alive and ordering chili every day at a Wendy’s in Michigan and that can only be revealed by reading the paragraph on page 23 in reverse order.

How much of yourself do you put into your books?

Jeez! I have to work hard to keep some stuff out of my books and save it for myself. Otherwise there would soon be nothing left of me. I don’t have any secrets left in life that aren’t found in my writing somewhere. I keep my ears out of my writing, or else what would I hear with? I keep my fingers out too so I have something to draw pictures with. I use much more of me than I should.

Have you ever incorporated something that happened to you in real life into your novels?

Yes. My friend Robert remembers when the aliens tried and failed to invade my hometown when we were boys. That became the basis for Catch a Falling Star. Of course, I changed a few things, because if Robert realized which character in the book was him, he’d probably want to punch me in the nose. The characters in my stories are all students I have taught, kids I grew up with, and people I have known. Even the really weird ones were real once upon a time. Sorry, Robert, but it’s true.

How realistic are your books?

I write humorous books about science fiction subjects and fantasy adventures. They are filled with lies and exaggerations. So everything is photo realistic. You believe me, don’t you?

What books have influenced your life the most?

Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy… er quadrilogy… or maybe five-ilogy… I don’t know…, and Frank Herbert’s Dune. I have a thing for realistic fiction.

Are there any books that you are currently reading and why?

I started reading Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather because it is the only Terry Pratchett book I own that I haven’t read yet, and I haven’t gotten hold of a copy of Hat Full of Sky already.

Have any new writers grasped your interest recently?

I love John Green’s books Paper Towns and The Fault in Our Stars.

Is there anything you are currently working on that may intrigue the interest of your readers?

I am trying to get published a novel called Snow Babies. It is a fantasy-comedy about freezing to death in a blizzard and it has snow ghosts and clowns in it. That is a rather fast and flippant summation about a book that I think will make you cry a little and laugh a lot, but it is also fairly accurate. I am hoping the publisher I signed the contract with stays in business long enough to publish it. They have also made the mistake of allowing me to submit a cover illustration.

Who are your books mostly dedicated to?

I dedicate what I write to the people I have known and used as characters. I dedicate my writing to former students, friends, family, and co-workers, because what other reason could I have for writing?

It is often believed that almost all writers have had their hearts broken at some point in time, does that remain true for you as well?

My heart breaks every time a child fails in the classroom. My heart breaks every time I see something incredibly beautiful that I know will not last much longer. I have fallen in love at least five times, and had my heart broken by that at least ten times, maybe more. The scars you carry on the inside either fester and kill you, or they turn over time into pearls, the same way oysters deal with irritants inside their shells, and they can also be called “books you have to write” once they become pearls.

 

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Pirate Novels

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My first novel-length piece of writing was attempted in college.  I finished it in four years.  It was a pirate tale about a young man, a pirate named Graff the Changeling.  You see him in this illustration I created in 1980 with his two young sons, Rene and Emery.  Because their mother was a fairy, the boys have pointed ears and horns.    It was an attempt at serious fantasy adventure fiction that was so awful, it became a comedy before it was through.  I called it The Graff Tales, and I still have it.  But I promise you, I will never, ever try to publish the horrible thing.  My sisters served as my beta readers for this story.  They both liked the oral stories I told, and they eagerly awaited something like they remembered from our shared childhood.  They both were a bit disappointed by my first prose attempt.  There was a knight called Sir Rosewall in the story.  He was a hapless knighted fool who lived in poverty and swore to reclaim his honor with great deeds, but as he goes to sea as a kidnapped sailor, all he manages to do is fall down a lot and bump his large head frequently.  In the first scene when he enters the story, long about chapter four, he exits a cottage and has to punt a piglet to get out without falling down.  This pig-punting thing was repeated more than once with this character.  My sisters joked that the “pig-in-the-doorway” motif would be my lasting contribution to literature.  Fortunately for me, it was not.  I am probably the only one who even remembers there was such a novel.

But my biggest failing with writing and storytelling was always that I could be too creative.  The story featured a flying pirate ship that was raised from the bottom of the ocean by fairy magic.  The crew were re-animated skeletons.  The gorilla who lived on the island where the ship’s survivors had been marooned would also join the crew.  His name was Hairy Arnold.  One villain was the pirate captain Horner, a man with a silver nose-piece because he had lost his real nose to a cannon shot.  Another was a red-bearded dandy named Captain Dangerous.  But the biggest villain of all was the Heretic, who turned out to be a demon in human guise.  It was all about escaping from pirates who wanted to kill you and hitting soldiers with fish in the fish market.  There were crocodile-headed men and little child-like fairies called Peris that lived in the city where Graff was trapped and transformed into a monster by the Heretic.

My plot was too convoluted and my characters too wildly diverse and unlikely.  The result was something far too bizarre to be serious fiction.  The only way it could actually be interpreted was as a piece of comedy.  There-in lay the solution to my identity problem as a writer.  I had to stop trying to be serious.  My imagination too often bent the rules of physics and reality.  So I had to stop trying for realism and believability.

 

In the end all the main characters die.  All except for young Rene who becomes a pirate hunter.  Of course, I follow Graff and Emery through to heaven because, well, it was a first person narrative and the narrator died.  So, I vowed to myself that I would never let this horrible piece of nonsense see the light of day.  I would never try to publish it, rewrite it, or even tell anyone about it.  And so to this very day I… oopsie.

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Synesthesia (Part One; French Blue Monday)

This link will help you understand Synesthesia

Francois spotlight

Yes, Mondays are blue.  Specifically French blue.  Every day of the week has its own color.  Sunday is golden yellow, Tuesday is a yellow-ochre,  Wednesday is indigo blue and sometimes changes to blue violet, Thursday is burnt orange, and Friday is solid wood brown, and of course Saturday is rich pure red while Mondays are not just any blue… they are French blue.  I learned the names of these colors from being a painter and using oil paints.  I experience these colors every week and they help me maintain the calendar in my stupid old head.  I began to realize when I first heard about the colors of the wind in the Disney movie Pocahontas that there was something to this everyday thing, something different in the way I see the world.  I have in the last few years learned that this condition has a name.  It is called synesthesia.

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It has been suggested to me by more than a few people that I don’t really perceive the world the same way “normal people do”.  When I was growing up, and going to school, I never had trouble remembering to capitalize the first word in a sentence.  I did however, have a great deal of difficulty with capital letters on nouns.  Looking back on that difficulty now, I can say without a doubt that I was having trouble not because I didn’t know the difference between proper nouns and common nouns.  It was because things like the word “dog” or “chair” had to begin with the right color.  Dogs are blue when you are talking about the color of the letters in the word.  But small “d” is blue-green, not true blue.  It doesn’t fit as well as the dark blue capital “D”.  And chairs are orange-red when you write them down, while the small “c” appears light green by itself.

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Sundays are Sun-days, and that’s why they are golden yellow.

I am told that most synesthetes are taken by surprise when they learn that they are seeing things differently than other people do.  I certainly was.  I always got funny looks whenever I described Thursdays as orange, or the month of November as sky blue.  My classmates in 4th grade thought I was nuts… of course, it wasn’t just for the orange Thursdays thing.  I was not a normal kid in any real sense of the word.  I always suspected that if I could look at the world through other people’s eyes, I would probably see the color green as what I called red, or that glowing halo that surrounded things when organ music played in the Methodist church would no longer be there.  But once I learned how synesthesia works I knew it was true.   The visual part of the brain can be scanned to show activity, and lights up on the scanner as if the brain is seeing bright colors when Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is being played while the subject of the scan is actually blindfolded.  I am told that synesthesia is more common in left-handed girls.  My daughter, the Princess, tells me that she also sees color on printed numbers and letters.  She is left handed and also gifted at drawing.  I suspect she inherited the synesthesia from me.

Creativity

Synesthesia probably explains what this nonsense is all about.

Now, I acknowledge the fact that my synesthesia is self-diagnosed and not proven by any of the methods the articles I have read about the condition talked about.  But my personal experiences always seem to fall in line with descriptions of letter/number/color combinations and music/color combinations that I have read about.  And if I do have it, it is not the same as any of my six incurable diseases.  It is not a bad condition to have.  In an artistic sense, it might actually be a good thing.  I could use some good for a change.  Good doesn’t usually come from weirdness… not my weirdness, anyway.  (Oh, and capital “G” is lime green… as is the word Goodness).

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Beautiful and Brilliant

I have looked deeply and longingly at my own writing time and again trying to determine what is good and what is poorly done and what is the best that I have written. How does one examine what is good? What are the standards that you must meet?

I had a writing teacher who was teaching a class in fiction writing and said to us, “You write fiction to create that special bittersweet something, that je ne sais quoi, that you need in order to come to terms with reality. Everything necessary to say something that satisfies a nameless desire.” I wish I remembered his name so I could credit him with having said that wise thing. Or, at any rate, I wish I could remember the name of the wise guy that he was quoting.

So, basically I am trying to capture in prose something that I have no idea what it is, but both you and I will know it if we see it. Easy-peasy, right?

Good fiction that I have read and liked makes me feel something. If it is truly literary quality, like the novels of Charles Dickens, Terry Pratchett, and Mark Twain, it will make me both laugh and cry. Funny things balanced by things that hurt to know and make you weep for characters that you have come to love. If it is a downer kind of novel, as some very good bits of science fiction and horror fiction are, it will make you laugh a little, cry a little, and think a lot; think with dread, or despair, or even impossible hope. Steven King, George Orwell, H.P. Lovecraft, and Ray Bradbury are good examples of this.

I am grappling with how you do that. I am not fool enough to think I am some sort of literary great. I am a school teacher writing stories for school children, stories I wanted to hear when I was a kid. Stories of good versus evil, good people coming together in the face of chaos. Heroes, villains, and clowns being heroic, villainous, or foolish. And themes that both warm and chill your little blue heart.

. So, what can I do besides keep on writing and keep on trying and keep on begging people, fools, and children to try reading my writing because they will like it, even if it is the least best thing I have written?

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The Faerie Forcaste

Poppensparkle invited Twinklebottom to enter the upper room of Pippen’s Tower in the castle known as Cair Tellos. Poppy’s face revealed great concern as she led Twinkle to the coffee table in what her young husband constantly called Poppy’s Worry Spot.

“So, what’s on your mind today? Why did you so urgently need to see me?” Twinkle said.

“It’s the creator. He’s not been well. And that’s concerning at his advanced age.”

“You mean the Slow One who writes our story? The one our existence depends on? How old is he?”

“He says he is 568 years old, but he writes fiction, so he lies a lot. In faery years he’s 138, so I guess he is probably almost 70 in human years.”

“Goodness, Poppy! If he dies, we all disappear into nothingness.”

“Yes, that’s the way being a faery works. We depend on the fools who believe in us.”

“So, what is wrong with him?”

“In January, one of those two crowns on his molar teeth that broke off during the pandemic got seriously infected. He had both teeth yanked out by a psycho lady dentist who nearly pulled his skeleton out of his body during the extraction of the stubborn infected tooth. He had to take lots of antibiotics and was in a lot of pain. He had trouble eating.”

“That sounds horrible, but survivable. Old Slow Ones go through that sort of thing routinely. The old lady who has dementia and talks to me all the time had all her upper teeth pulled out and something called a denichurr put in its place.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t the end of his health troubles. In the middle of January, he had to pee out four small kidney stones. That hurt an awful lot, and he got seriously infected somehow. He has this weird colon problem called diverticulosis, a condition where the large intestine is full of unexpected pockets that collect extra feces that stops moving and can become infected too.”

“So, he was also full of shit.”

“Um, yes. He had to get a shot of a super-powerful antibiotic in his behind, given to him by a lady nurse. He also needed an antibacterial powder that he had to stir into water, drinking 80 ounces of water or more a day. And he had to take lots and lots of laxatives too. At least seven days worth.”

“So, he got to know the household porcelain well.”

“It makes me glad that faeries are differently made and never have to poop.”

“You and me both, Poppy. So, is he dying?”

“I don’t think so. But I wish I knew how to help. He’s a weird old guy, but likable and funny. And we need him to stay alive and tell our story.”

“I know a dark faery I can consult,” said Twinkle stupidly.”

“Oh, that’s a truly terrible idea!”

An hour later, Twinklebottom sat in Dangerheart’s underground tea room.

“…So, that’s what is wrong with Mickey the creator. Is there anything you can do to help?”

Dangerheart grinned evilly. “I was watching through my crystal ball as the old hag stuck the needle in his butt. I laughed long and hard about that.”

“It isn’t really a crystal ball. It’s a Slow One child’s shooting marble.”

“It lets me scry on foolish mortals like the creator though. And I love seeing him get embarrassed or put through pain. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to see the psycho dentist yank the infected molar out. That would’ve been a hoot.”

“Isn’t there something you can do to help?”

“Well, he already went to the emergency room on Friday and after they scanned him and poked him and took his blood, they found out the infection was gone. They couldn’t do anything more for him with their science stuff. The pee doctor gave him some expensive pills that turn your pee blue. Surely there is no evil magic that I could apply that would be any funnier than that.”

“You think we don’t need to worry about him anymore?”

“I wouldn’t say that. President Pumpkinhead Trump will probably take away his Medicare and that will probably kill him. That should be funny to watch.”

“So, you think we are all doomed? The world will not remember us after our storyteller dies, and we will all fade away into nothingness?”

“Of course, we’re doomed. And you sure use the word So a lot. Or was that sew?”

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