Tag Archives: humor

That Silly Old Writer, Me!

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I was invited to take part in the “My Writing Process” blog tour by a fellow young adult fiction writer, Stuart West.  (https://stuartrwest.blogspot.com)  Stuart is the author of the Tex, the Witch Boy series of paranormal YA thrillers.  He is something of a mentor to me, and easily the best published author I am personally acquainted with.  Before you take me seriously, you should definitely check out his blog.

For this little exercise, I have to answer four questions, then invite three other authors to do the same.  I’m a little slow on getting others to agree to this plan, but I am shameless when it comes to opportunities to talk about my own writing.  I will post the three authors later this week, after I am done begging and bribing.  

Step 1: Acknowledge the person and the blog site that invited you to take part.

As you can see, I’ve done that above, but here is the second mention; Stuart R. West .  (https://stuartrwest.blogspot.com) 

Step 2: Answer four questions about your writing process.
1)      What am I working on?
2)       How does my work differ from others of its genre?
3)       Why do I write what I do?
4)       How does your writing process work?

  1. What I am working on now is a story that is sequel-requel-prequel to my novel Catch a Falling Star.  That means that it uses characters from that novel, a bunch of new ones, and some from other stories of mine as well to tell what happened before that novel, during that novel, and after that novel.  Silly plan!  Believe me, I realize that while sweating over re-quel details (a phrase that here means a retelling of parts of that novel – I do also realize I stole this particular conceit from Lemony Snicket).  The book will be called The Bicycle Wheel Genius about a scientist who is a super-genius inventor trying to live incognito in a little Iowa farm town after leaving government service.  He is trying to live down a family tragedy while at the same time befriending the boy next door, avoiding government agents and assassin robots, dealing with an alien invasion by invisible alien frog people,  juggling time travelers, creating rabbit-men, and engineering old-fashioned high-wheel bicycles. 
  2. How does my work differ?  You have to ask?  Unlike all the careful plotters, step-by-step writing crafters, and picky editor types out there, I put words and ideas in a blender, mix on the “Are you insane?” setting, and then let it all come pouring out into pages and scenes and chapters (although I call them cantos for some bizarre reason).  I also have to admit that I base a lot of my characters on real people that I either grew up with in Iowa, or met over my thirty plus years as a mostly middle school teacher.  And these stories have percolated in my head for twenty to thirty years.  Did I mention already that I am not a person who thinks in straight lines?  You can tell by the shifts, reverses, and loopty-loops in this paragraph that much of what I call humor comes from my purple paisley prose (a phrase which here means overly ornate, wordy, and down-right convoluted sentences and paragraphs).  (Thanks again, Lemony).
  3. Why do I write it?  Let me think.  Could it be because teaching middle school students for too long leads to insanity, and if the insane are going to be useful in society, they have to do something at least mildly interesting for people who live in the real world?  I mean, if I just sit in a room all day drooling and counting and re-counting my Pez dispenser collection, that wouldn’t be entirely helpful.   Writing honors all the people I have known, alive and now departed, who touched my life and made a difference to my heart.  It also helps me make sense of things that have happened to me over time and shaped me as person… hopefully a person you might like to get to know.  And you can know a person through their writing long after they are personally worm food.  How could I live without Mark Twain or Charles Dickens in my life, and both were dead long before I was born?  And I know you’re going to ask yourself what makes me think that other people couldn’t live their lives better without knowing me?  But don’t ask.  I have developed a certain amount of wisdom over the course of my life, and I know I really don’t want an answer to that question.
  4. How does my writing process work?  I have taught the writing process in the classroom so many times, that the only answer I am still sane enough to give is that everyone’s process is entirely different.  I can, however, drop an insight or two on you.  First of all, everything I have ever written is still a part of what I call Prewriting… with a capital P.  Everything ever written can be rewritten and improved.  Secondly, it is important to re-read what you write.  I hate typos and mistakes in what is supposed to be “finished” writing.  It is the reason I hate the entire experience of my first published novel, Aeroquest.    That writing will never be okay until I have a chance to re-write it and re-tell it and re-everything it.  Dang it.  Thirdly, you must carefully consider who to allow to have input on your rough draft and re-worked copies.  Even some professional editors don’t bother to try to see things in a way that reflects the fact that they care about what you have written.  You need someone on your side to share it, and love it, and cherish it the way you do.  Only that person will give you input that is worth listening to.  Fourthly, if you reach fourthly your list is too dang long.  And finally, publish it.  Share it.  Don’t put it away in a drawer for the mice and spiders to read when you are long gone. 

So, Stuart, how did I do?  I hope at least it proves what you have known all along.  That Mickey guy writes like his hair is on fire and his pants are unraveling… in front of girls.

(Three writers to be named later will take up this same blog tour… I hope.)

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Google Paffooney

Google Paffooney

Honestly, this is my brazen attempt at goopy self-promotion. If you do an image search on the word Paffooney, you come up with mostly my artwork, and, inexplicably, pictures of women named Valerie Clarke. (Valerie is the name of the heroine in my novel Snow Babies, but I honestly never put that name in a tag or a category.) So if you’d like to see, Google it. (“Google it” almost sounds like a Paffooney term itself, doesn’t it?)

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March 8, 2014 · 7:37 pm

Captain Action, Space Hero

Captain Action, Space Hero

One of the things I find so fascinating about Captain Action is the way he portrays space heroes from comic strips that were created long before I was born. Here you see Flash Gordon (the mask is from 1967, the rest of the costume comes from Playing Mantis in 2003.)
Buck Rogers from the 25th Century (everything here is either a recreation by hobbyists or a replacement part) stands next to him.

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March 7, 2014 · 2:46 am

Captain Action, Mighty Hero

Captain Action, Mighty Hero

I was a child of the 1960’s. I was 10 in 1966. In 1967 I received a Captain Action action figure for my birthday. Neither of these figures are the original one, since he is now resting in pieces. (I do have all the pieces.) The Spiderman suit is part of a Christmas gift from 1968, though not the mask and the boots. Superman was a rare find as a collector in about 2003. His boots are held together with tape and rubber bands, but the rest of the costume is in very good shape. The Lost in Space Robot came from E-Bay, and I got him for only four dollars. Needless to say, these things are priceless to the child who still lives inside me. I play with them often.

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March 6, 2014 · 2:01 am

The Harshest Critic

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“If you want to be a successful writer, you need to listen to me.  I am a reader.  You have to please me.”

“Yes, but, you are telling me to cut sixty per cent of everything.”

“Well, it isn’t any good, is it?”

“I like it.”

“That’s why you have to cut it.  These philosophies you write about… I don’t agree with those.  They are just wrong.”

“Not philosophies… themes, ideas, theories.”

“Still, they have to go.  What you are writing about is horse poop.”

“Couldn’t you find anything to like in my entire story?”

“What does it mean to like something?  If you just do what I tell you, people will like what you write.  You don’t need all these stupid metaphors and allusions.  Write simple things.  Acknowledge the hand of God as the creator of everything.”

“People already like what I write.  Not everyone wants to hear religious rants all the time.”

“I’m not saying all the time.  Just enough to be good for people… to be instructive and up-building.”

“I’d rather tell stories just for fun.  I want to write stories that I’d like to read myself.”

“If you do that, then you will be the only one who reads your stories.”

“So you don’t think my story is any good?”

“It’s horse poop.”

“Well, I’m going to write it anyway… the way I want.  If it isn’t any good, then maybe I’m no good.”

“I’m not saying that?  Why do you have to take it that way?”

“Horse poop is a complement?”

“No, but you have to hear constructive criticism and change it.”

“Sixty per cent isn’t constructive.  It’s destructive.”

“Whatever… why did you ask me to read it, anyway?  You never listen to me.”

“You are actually part of me.  Your opinion is supposed to matter. “

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Breaks from School

Breaks from School

Once again a little ice is on the roads and we miss a day of school. And on a State testing day! Today was supposed to be one of the very last TAKS tests. High stakes tests in this State were intended from the beginning to make us fail and prove that public schools are unworkable. The powers that be want to take public education money away to use for private schools and for-profit schemes. They think of education as a commodity meant only for those who can afford it. The stone-age thinking among rich Texans has iced us over. So, I sit at home impotent and waiting to hear how we will proceed. We have to get educating again or the dinosaurs are going to eat us.

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March 3, 2014 · 11:03 pm

Rooster Riding

Rooster Riding

In the early 90’s I created a comic strip called Hidden Kingdom. It was about three inch fairies, pixies, and creatures that live among us and have their own kingdoms and empires hidden in our world. They, of course, were of a size that allowed them to use creatures like chickens as riding beasts. That is the source of the idea behind this Paffooney. The fairy princess and her bug-boy servant are taking a ride.

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March 2, 2014 · 11:01 pm

Thanks for the Memories, Mr. Disney

This post is going to sound an awful lot like stuff and nonsense, because that is what it primarily is, but it had to be said anyway.    Last night my family took me to see the movie Saving Mr. Banks, a deeply moving biographical story of P.L. Travers, the creator of Mary Poppins, and how she had to be convinced to surrender her beloved character to the movie industry which she so thoroughly detested and distrusted.  It is also about one of my most important literary heroes, Walt Disney, and how he eventually convinced the very eccentric and complicated authoress to allow him to make her beloved character into a memorable movie icon.

“We create our stories to rewrite our own past,” says Disney, trying to tell Mrs. Travers how he understood the way that her Mary Poppins character completed and powerfully regenerated the tragedy of her own father’s dissolution and death.  This is the singular wisdom of Disney.  He took works of literature that I loved and changed them, making them musical, making them happy, and making them into the cartoonish versions of themselves that so many of us have come to cherish from our childhoods.  He transforms history, and he transforms memory, and by doing so, he transforms truth.

Okay, and as silly as those insights are, here’s a sillier one.  In H.P. Lovecraft’s dreamlands, on the shores of the Cerenarian Sea, north of the Mountains of Madness, there roam three clowns.  They are known as the Boz, the Diz, and the Bard, nicknames for Charles Dickens, Walt Disney, and William Shakespeare.  These three clowns, like the three fates of myth, measure and cut the strings of who we are, where we are going, and how we will get there.  They come to Midgard, the Middle Earth to help us know wisdom and folly, the wisdom of fools.

Why have I told you these silly, silly things?  Do I expect you to believe them?  Do I even expect you to read all the way to paragraph four?  Ah, sadly, no…  but I am thinking and recording these thoughts because I believe they are important somehow.  I may yet use them as the basis of a book of my own.  I enjoy a good story because it helps me to do precisely as Mr. Disney has said, I can rewrite my own goofy, silly, pointless past.

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Snowboy

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Yesterday I may not have fully explained about the Bond villain-esque villain that I have deployed into the dark waters of my manuscript novel The Bicycle-Wheel Genius.  Snowboy is not fully human, but he is trying.  He was a robot built by a joint American-Alien project in Area 51.  He was created as a living weapon and deployed against the brother-in-law of the Bicycle-Wheel Genius himself.

During the course of the story his robot brain is turned off by sudden electro-magnetic trauma, and the scientist is able to piece him back together in the form of a boy.  But he’s not a normal boy in any way.  His nuclear core malfunctioned and caused his cooling units to ice him over, making him a living Snowboy.

What makes him the villain is his determination to torment and destroy those people who gave him his resurrected life.  He has emotions for the first time in his life, and he totally misuses them.  His internal struggle with the truths of life translates into destructive treatment of others.

Okay, I know it doesn’t all make sense.  I’m still working on it.  But it gives me an excuse to show you another picture of him, this time with a less washed out photo of the drawing.

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Sleeping Beauty (a silly poem of love and illusion)

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Sleeping Beauty

 

In the dark and in the light

In candle flame and purple night

The beauty sleeps and fails to heed

The young man’s life of lust and need

What happens next is often sad

The want, the hope, the love so bad

And fluttering faery wings of light

Carry life and love and fuel the sight

With never a thought to what could be

If only love would call to thee

And wake the sleeper from her dream

To make the two but one to seem.

 

Love poetry is basically nonsense.  Fueled by hormones and lust, dreams and assumptions, it is never real.  It is only a vision, an apparition, and fools you into believing what could never be real.  So why write it?  Because it is in our nature, in our stars, to love.  Just because something is foolish, or impossible to pin down, there is no reason to give up on it.  That’s what the Paffooney faeries are for.  They cast faery light on what you should never believe, but always, always do. 

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