
In case you had doubts about someone who does everything in colored pencil, here is a sample from 1985 of other things that I can do too. I learned to draw in color from oils, not crayons.

In case you had doubts about someone who does everything in colored pencil, here is a sample from 1985 of other things that I can do too. I learned to draw in color from oils, not crayons.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have any earthly idea where writing comes from or how it began. I am only talking personal history here, nothing grander or more meaningful. This post is only self-referential hoo-haw, which is a fancy way of interpreting “conceited crap”.
So, the truth is, I am writing about Charles Dickens because he is the author I most want to become. True, I rant on and on about Twain and his humor. And a good deal of my artwork owes everything to Disney, but everything I am good at in writing is based on Dickens.
The first actual Dickens novel that I read was accomplished during my extended illness as a high school sophomore. I read in bed, both at home and in the hospital, from my library copy of The Old Curiosity Shop. I was enthralled by the journey and subsequent tragedy of Little Nell. I thoroughly loathed the villain Daniel Quilp and was roundly thrilled by his well-deserved fatal comeuppance. It was my first encounter with the master of characters. I followed that reading with a biography of Dickens that revealed to me for the first time that his characters were based on real people. Mr. Micawber in David Copperfield was actually Dickens’ own father. Little Nell was the cousin he dearly loved who died in his arms. The crafty Fagin was a caricature of a well-known fence named Soloman, a Jew of infamous reputation, but not without his redeeming quality of caring for the orphaned poor. So it is that I have chosen to make my silly stories about real people in much the same way Dickens did. If you are now worried that since you know me, you may end up in my books, never fear. I change names and splice characters together. You will have to make an effort to recognize yourself. And, besides, nobody reads my books anyway.
I also like the way Dickens uses young characters and follows them over time as they grow and change. Oliver Twist was the first child protagonist in English literature. David Copperfield, Nicholas Nickleby, and Pip in Great Expectations also like that. David Copperfield, in fact, is Chuck’s own fictionalized self. I fully intend to do the same. It is the reason my books fall into the Young Adult category. I also intend to employ the same kind of gentle, innocent humor that Dickens used. I mean to portray things that are funny in a disarming, absurdist way rather than resorting to attack humor and bad words.
There it is, then, my tribute to Charles Dickens, a writer who makes me be who I am and write what I write. I am not supposed to do Christmas posts because of my avowed religion, but you can consider this to be as close as I can come. The author of A Christmas Carol… it doesn’t get much more Christmassy than that.
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(This is a black-and-white cartoon in pen and ink that I have shamelessly colorized with colored pencil.)
I have to tell you, driving in Texas, especially the “Big D” is taking your life in your hands, gripping that old steering wheel in a grip of death, and trying like heck not to hit any of the myriad things flying in front of you. I have had in my lifetime three accidents and too many near misses to count. Drivers that don’t have their number of kills painted on the driver-side door are rare indeed.
One of the scariest encounters on the road has to be the legendary Texas Killer Grandma. They have a private club where they get together over knitting and compare the goriest kills they have managed with their oversized automobiles. These old lady drivers are invariably white-skinned and have hair either of strange shades of blue and periwinkle, or silver, almost chrome. They have Killer Grandma nicknames like Suicide Sadie and End-It-All Emma. They drive big black Cadillacs, Buicks, and Mercedes. They have mostly no-fault insurance that will guarantee they can mash your children in the back end of your family car without jail time, and usually without paying for a penny of your damages. They cruise around Dallas watching for unwary drivers so they can leap in front without signaling, getting bashed from behind by the victim, and sending the victim swirling off the overpass to a fiery death and dismemberment. Then they cackle all the way to the next club meeting.
Killer Grandmas drive a class of vehicle I call the American Wasp Rocket. These are large, unwieldy vehicles from Ford and GM that wreak havoc with smaller, slower cars, especially foreign-made cars like Toyotas, Subarus, and Volkswagens. In the northern precincts of Dallas, Austin, and Houston, where these vehicles truly dominate, you will often see BMW, Volvo, or Italian Wasp Rockets, which are almost an oxymoron by their very nature. (“I only buy them gol’ dang furrin cars iffen they’re status symbols, cause I only buy American, but I figgur high-dollar wagons like them thar Lambourginis count as American too!”) These cars are all large enough to crush an SUV under their wheels, and, of course, they are only driven at hyper-speeds while winding their way through heavy traffic so the occupants can arrive anywhere they are going FIRST. Besides Texas Killer Grandmas, there are few other drivers of these vehicles who aren’t over-weight, middle-aged white males who have high-paying white-collar jobs.
The most common vehicles on Texas highways are, of course, the typical Bubba. Bubba cars are always pick-up trucks, and almost always Chevys. In fact, they almost have to be white, red, or brown, or they don’t count as a proper Bubba. Bubbas drive like Foster Brooks on speed, always weaving, wobbling, wagging, and wrecking. The highway is their own personal demolition derby, and if they don’t get you with a straight-on hood-smash, they’ll ding you with whatever falls out of the back of their pick-up (beer bottles, kids, used tires, tools, parts of the vehicle that have already fallen off once before, and sometimes ugly wives).
A more-or-less brain-damaged sub-species of Bubba is the Billy Bob. They drive Ford pickups, white, red, brown, and sometimes gold. They will kill you no less quickly than a Bubba, but they do tend to have better insurance.
Of course, I can’t even talk about Beaner cars. It is not politically correct, as a young Hispanic student was pointing out to me just two weeks ago. “I can say I’m a Beaner,” he said, “But you can’t say it because you’re a Gringo Loco. Only Beaners are allowed to call a Beaner a Beaner. You could be killed for saying that in the Barrio! Even for thinking that!” So, I won’t talk about those cars on the road in the fast lane doing a mere twenty-five miles per hour. I won’t mention how they have eighteen kids and a Tia Carmen in the back seat and can’t see out with the rear view mirror. I won’t even talk about the rosary beads, fuzzy dice, and numerous brightly colored stuffed animals that hang from the rear view mirror blocking the windshield also. It just wouldn’t be nice to talk about that.
So, I guess I have to sum up with a concluding statement that makes sense out of all of this Texas road-rage and bumper-car nonsense. It would have to be something like this: If you ever plan to drive in Texas, be prepared. Have your burial plot purchased, your insurance paid up, and “Drive Friendly!”
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A big share of my surrealistic bent comes from the influence of Walt Disney on my childhood. Lady and the Tramp, Babes in Toyland, the Junglebook… Disney made me dance and dream.
Being an artist is a matter of genetics, luck, and loads of practice. I began drawing when I was only four or five years old. I drew skulls and skeletons, crocodiles and deer on everything. My kindergarten and first grade teachers were constantly gritting their teeth over the marked-up margins of every workbook and worksheet. I drew and colored on everything. I eventually got rather good, drawing in pencil, crayon, ink, and as you see here, colored pencil. I loved to draw the people and things around me. I also drew the things of my imagination. I drew my best girl, Alicia, and I drew the half-cobra half-man that lived in the secret cavern under our house. I drew a picture of the house across the underpass from Grandma Mary’s house. I drew cardinals, and I drew Snoopy cartoons. I drew my sports heroes in football and hockey, Donny Anderson and Gordie Howe. I drew monsters with fangs and fuzzy animals with huge soulful eyes. I still draw and it’s mostly the same things that I drew when I was a child. I will post more of the drawings here in the near future to dazzle you with my talents and ridiculous sense of the absurd.

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Do I believe in the little people? Of course not. If Tinkerbell depends on me, she is dead meat… or maybe dead fairy dust.
But if they do exist, then they are like the rooster riders in my picture, exploiting the world in the same way the big old slow ones do.
They are not our inferiors or our superiors. They are us. They mirror us and our beliefs, our dreams… our nightmares, and all the things deep within us that could ever possibly go bump in the night.
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This drawing was created when I started this blog as a way of illustrating the kind of writing I wanted to do. Not only the book I published called Catch a Falling Star, but everything else I have written and plan to write. There’s a certain surreal philosophy expressed in this picture if you look at it right (squint your eyes and tap yourself on the temple hard with a brick).
Let’s see… I left off at step seven… come back to it. So I did. Here is the piece with photo-shopped background borrowing a snow picture from friends and relatives back in Iowa.
Step eight… Take a hammer and bash out some new connections and fresh ideas to justify the project (I didn’t steal this idea… Really! I did not!)
Step nine… Knowing this idea reminds me of Dickens somehow… Little Nell, Agnes, Nancy, maybe even Tiny Tim… (That’s it! I’ve been obsessing about Christmases past!)
Step ten… finally realizing there is no final step (Okay, this is weird. Why ever did I do such a silly, stupid thing?)
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This Paffooney was created with the mistaken idea that I would never have a child or be a Dad. Little did I know that after I turned 37 it would happen three times. This picture is one of my dream children, of the sort Charles Lamb once wrote an essay about. This is little Disney-Michael Beyer… a child who never was and re-created me in the birthing.
In 1976 I ordered a Mego Spiderman from the ad in my Avengers comic book. It came by mail. It was only 8 inches tall, not the 12 that would become the basis of my action figure (don’t call them dolls) collection. I love Megos. I should’ve bought more of them, but I was in college and had limited space to keep them. I ordered the Wolfman second, then the Lizard, and finally Iron Man. I was going to buy a Captain America next, but Mego stopped making these things at the end of the 70’s. That, of course, is what makes them valuable. The last time I priced them in the collector’s market, Iron Man was going for fifty dollars, and Spiderman for forty five. I have no intention of selling them. They will one day belong to my own children to play with or do with whatever destructive thing they will. Until then, they are mine to play with.
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