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Stardusters… Canto Six

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Canto Six – The Tadpole Nesting Quarters

Unlike the other tadpoles, Davalon put on clothing all over his body as they returned to their sleeping chambers and assigned areas.  Alden and Gracie Morrell also dressed, of course, but they weren’t Tellerons whose skin needed to stay moist and open to the mists.  Drying out was bad for Telleron health.  Still, when they saw Davalon put on his cadet uniform, Tanith, Brekka, Menolly, and George Jetson all found their Mickey Mouse Club jackets and put them on.  Naked otherwise, but covered on their upper torsos.

“So, Dav,” asked Menolly, “What was it really like to live on the Planet Earth?”

“I don’t think I can tell you what it was really like.  I was only there for a couple of weeks.  That isn’t long enough to really know.  You should ask my new mom and dad.”

The little green faces all turned to Alden and Gracie.

“Well, I only lived there for forty years,” said Alden.  “I don’t think that is long enough, either, to really know.”

“Oh, you old fuddy-duddy!” said Gracie.  “You kids can ask me.  Go ahead, ask me anything.”

“Tell us about sunshine,” said Tanith.  She was the prettiest of the Telleron girls, as far as Davalon was concerned, even though, as a nest-mate and daughter of Xiar, she was technically his sister.  For Tellerons incest had never really been a “thing”.

“Ah, sunshine,” said Gracie with a twinkle in her eye, “it was yellow and warm and… gorgeous.  You could bathe in it.  It made you feel loved by God.”

“Until the UV rays cooked your skin and gave you bright red sunburn,” added Alden.

“Yes, well… there was that,” admitted Gracie.  “But I always loved sunny days, and the bright blue of the Iowa sky.  Oh, and sunsets… sunsets were beautiful in ways that are hard to describe.”

“And rainy days,” said Alden, “dark and overcast with thunder and lightning rumbling on the horizon.”

“Ah, you’re just being an old poop,” said Gracie with a frown.

“No, I mean it.  I’m a farmer, remember?  A farmer needs the rain.  And it cools things off… and rainbows.  You remember rainbows, Gracie?”

“Ah, yes.”

“But,” said Brekka sadly, “you both gave those things up to live in space with us.”

“Yes,” said Menolly.  “Will you miss those things?”

Alden looked at Gracie, and they both nodded to each other.  Davalon could feel the sadness.  And that in itself was something new.  Before they had met Earth people, Tellerons had not really known strong emotions.  Tadpoles were programmed while still suspended in their gelatinous egg sacs with years’ worth of technical knowledge, math, and science.  But nowhere in their training had they ever learned how to love, or laugh, or have empathy, or feel remorse.  Those things had come from Earther TV broadcasts and actual contact with human beings.  It was hard to be around human beings and not get a bit infected with human emotions.

“We’ll experience those things if we colonize a planet,” said George Jetson.  “There could be sunshine and rainbows on Galtorr Prime.”

That brought smiles to every little green face, even Davalon’s.

“But we hear that Galtorr Prime is a very dangerous place,” said Gracie.  The little-girl twinkle was gone from her eye, replaced by a sad longing, a remembered pain.

“Yes,” said Menolly, “I’m scared of Galtorrians.  They eat meat, and would eat us if they catch us.”

“That would not be so nice,” said Brekka.

Gracie, in the frilly dress she had put on, moved to put an arm around each of the two female tadpoles.  She looked like Shirley Temple to Davalon, the girl in that old black and white movie with the orphans that needed comforting.  Was it Animal Crackers?  Or was that a Marx Brothers’ movie?  Dav didn’t remember.

“Maybe we should be brave explorers and go down there to find things out,” said George Jetson.  “We could be like Davalon, and help out our entire race.”

“That’s not wise,” warned Davalon.  “We could get into trouble we could not get out of.”

“You could be our leader, Dav,” said Tanith.  “We have faith in you.”

Davalon didn’t like the fact that they were all warming to the idea so quickly.  It was a scarier world than Earth.  They stood to lose everything they had gained from the Earth adventure.

“None of us know how to pilot a Golden Wing,” warned Alden.  “And we can’t all stow away on the adults’ missions.”

“I was programmed with pilot skills,” said George Jetson.  “And you and Gracie are really adults, just in child bodies.”

“I think they may have a good idea here,” said Gracie to Alden.  “If we are going to be star-explorers, we need to start somewhere.”

To Davalon’s utter horror, it was decided at that moment.  There would be a secret tadpole mission to the surface of Galtorr Prime.

*****

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There you have it, Canto Six of the extremely alien-based goofy sequel to Catch a Falling Star that I call Stardusters and Space Lizards. I would apologize for inflicting it upon you, but the truth is, I really like it.   I did a good job of telling what really happened… um, errr…  Well, I mean, telling it just as I once imagined it.

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Stardusters… Canto Five

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Canto Five – In the Invasion-Squad Ready Room

“I truly hope that we are clear on invasion protocols this time around,” Biznap said to his reconnaissance squad.  “Last time we followed the Captain’s orders, and… ohhh, that was a mistake!”

“So what do we do better this time?” asked Farbick.  Yes, yellow skin, but Farbick got right to the heart of the matter.  It was hard not to like Farbick, even though the fact of his yellowish Fmoog skin made it necessary not to like him.

“Perhaps you better tell the rest of our team what happened last time,” suggested Biznap, “so they will know what not to do.”

“Well,” said Farbick, “it is not for me to question Xiar’s orders.  He wanted to capture a single juvenile specimen of Earth primate to evaluate for weaknesses.  It is a daunting task to conquer six billion Earther-primate people with only a handful of Tellerons and a little superior technology.  We took a simuloid who could take the shape and the place of the specimen so no one would ever miss it.  I mean, him.”

“Isn’t the simuloid what we now know as Gracie Morrell?” asked the pretty young science cadet, a female Telleron called Starbright.

“Yes, that is correct.  I was there when it happened.  The simuloid rescued Gracie from death when her old Earther primate body gave out due to heart failure.  It gave itself over to Gracie’s DNA.”

“But how is that possible?  Simuloids are only supposed to copy DNA and memories once!” asked a security cadet, a male whose name Biznap didn’t even know.

“We think it happened because of the control device that Commander Sleez was holding as he disintegrated himself.”  Farbick nodded, probably because it was his theory.  That tended to make a Telleron treat something as fact, if it came from his own mind.

“We need to get back to the recon mission and what went wrong,” said Biznap.  “Tell the other stories another day.”

“Yes, the Commander is right,” said Farbick.  “We landed and captured a specimen.  We successfully replaced him with the simuloid.  And then things went really very wrong.”

Biznap knew that was an understatement.

“One of the adult Earther primates, a police officer, fought off the stasis field long enough to shoot me.  He somehow overcame the paralysis and the mind-wiper and nearly killed me.  I had to bury myself in mud for two weeks and recuperate, or I would not be here now.”

“The way Commander Sleez and Navigator Corebait aren’t here now?” asked young Starbright.

“Yes.  I am afraid they were both killed during contact with Earther primates.”

“Don’t leave out the most important mistakes,” cautioned Biznap.

“Yes,” said Farbick.  “We should never have taken young Davalon along on a mission like that.  When I was shot, he tried to find me, and so was stranded on Earth.  He would’ve died if it were not for the generosity of Alden and Gracie Morrell, two Earthers who tried to adopt Davalon as their own child.”

“He also would’ve died if I had found him,” said Biznap.  “My mission was to disintegrate the lost tadpole before he revealed our presence to all Earthers.”

“But Commander Biznap was also lucky to find an Earther primate friend,” added Farbick.  “You all know Mrs. Harmony Castille by now.”

“Oh, we definitely know her,” sighed the three cadets.  “She’s the one that makes us wear clothes.”

Farbick nodded.  Clothes apparently didn’t seem like such a terrible thing to Farbick… at least, Biznap noticed that Farbick was rarely without clothes even before the invasion of Earth.  Insecurity of a personal nature, perhaps?  Farbick’s body was more yellow than green.

“But all of that isn’t the biggest mistake of all.”  Farbick nodded sadly.

“What was?” asked all three cadets.

“It was who we chose as a specimen.  That Dorin Dobbs was probably the most dangerous Earther primate on the planet.  We got him on board this vessel and found out that he was actually so… charming, that we couldn’t keep him from contaminating every Telleron on board… except for Commander Sleez.  Everybody liked him.  His alien behaviors rubbed off on the tadpoles first and then the female science officers.  It began the rebellion that turned this spaceship into a joint Earther-Telleron mission.  Apparently now a mission to build a permanent settlement on the planet Galtorr Prime.”

Every Telleron present shuddered at the same time as that last bit of information truly sank in.

*****

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Stardusters… Canto Four

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Canto Four – In the Classroom on Level Six

“Okay,” said Harmony Castille in her Sunday-school-teacher voice, “The most important lesson is this; Jesus says we must love God with all our heart, and love our neighbor as we love ourselves.  He says this law supersedes all others.  If we obey such a law, we will never break any other reasonable law either.”

“Are you saying that Earther monkey people have only one law?” asked Xiar with bulging, surprised eyes.

“I’m saying that if you can break a law without also breaking God’s first law, then it wasn’t a sensible law in the first place.”

“So, how do you obey this first law?” asked Farbick, the Fmoogish Lead Science Officer.

“That’s simple too,” said the beautiful young blond woman who had once been a wrinkled old Sunday school teacher.  “We call it the Golden Rule.  It says that we must do unto others as we would have them do unto us.”

“How do you do an unto?” asked Studpopper, the communications junior officer of very limited intelligence.

“It means…” said Harmony, being used to the stupidity and hard-headedness of children, “If I don’t want you to hit me, then I don’t hit you first.  If I don’t want you to call me names and hurt my feelings, then I don’t call you a brainless stupid-head first,”

“Thank you for not calling me a brainless stupid-head,” said brainless stupid-head Studpopper stupidly… but politely.

“You are welcome,” said Harmony.

“But what if someone hits you first?” asked Farbick.

Harmony appreciated the fact that Farbick was quite clever and insightful for a Telleron.  “Well,” she replied, “we are trying to teach them what is right by example.  If someone hits me in the cheek, I would turn the other cheek.”

“Wouldn’t they just hit you again?” asked Farbick,

“Do you mean a face-cheek?  Or a behind sort of cheek?” asked Studpopper the stupid-head.

Harmony ignored the emerald-faced buffoon and answered Farbick instead.  “Sometimes they will hit you again, but you must persist in your belief, and continue to only show them patience and love.  Against the love of God, no cruel servant of chaos can stand.”

“They hit you on the butt twice?” asked Studpopper.

“They hit you on the part of your anatomy where you brain is located,” said Harmony acidly.

“Oh, you do mean the butt cheek!”

“Yes, of course I do,” the Sunday school teacher said sarcastically.

“Wait a minute,” said Xiar.  “I haven’t examined Studpopper that closely, but my brain is in my head.”

“”I like your first law,” said Farbick.  “I’m not sure it is practical and would really work, but it is more reasonable and moral than any of the laws of the Tellerons that I am aware of.”

“Yeah,” said Xiar, “Galtorrians will hit first and then eat your cheek.  Your idea of love conquering all will only turn you into gourmet monkey burgers.”

“We will see.  My God is all powerful.”

“Charlie the Crocodile God says to eat or be eaten,” said Studpopper with a stupid grin on his froggy face.

“Charlie?” asked Harmony.

“His name is actually Chaka-Boogen-Baall,” said Biznap who had been watching the whole lesson with some amusement.  “When we learned Galactic English from your old television shows, we found it easier to call him Charlie.  He’s really more of a mythic monster representing fear of death.  Not the same as this guy you call God.”

Harmony smiled at her Telleron lover.  He didn’t believe as easily as she would like, but at least he was supportive.

“Are you sure that these lessons will help us deal with the Galtorrians?” asked Xiar.  “I’m not sure I see the benefits.”

“Do you consider them people?” Harmony asked.

“I suppose we do,” said Farbick, “People with big teeth and scaly bodies.”

“Then they are subjects of the true God and live by his rules.”

“The rules of physics and biology,” said Farbick.  “I grant you that those rules are universal.”

“The rules of God’s love are no less universal,” insisted Harmony.

“I hope you are right,” said Farbick.  “It sounds like a universe we should all want to live in.”

*****

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Harmony Castille the Sunday School Teacher and her husband Commander Biznap

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Stardusters… Canto Two

I am trying to follow through with my insane writing plan to post a chapter from this unfinished Sci-Fi novel every Tuesday.  So, here is the second installment of my comedy about the end of the world if it was a lizard world, which it isn’t… or, at least, we hope it isn’t.

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Canto Two – Xiar’s Captain’s Quarters

“What do you mean by Galtorr Prime?” shouted Captain Xiar at his first officer and his first officer’s Earther primate wife.  The Captain had inherited his rank rather than earned it, so he firmly believed that shouting was the key ingredient in good leadership.  “We can’t be at Galtorr Prime.  That’s the worst place for us to be.”

“This was not the plan, Captain,” said Biznap.  “We arrived here by accident.”

“Well, reverse the process.  Even going back to Earth is better than here!”

“Well…” Biznap scraped the floor with his foot.  “The thing is… we can’t.”

“What?  Why?”

“We corrected a fundamental flaw in the program that has been there for over a hundred years.  The astrogator has been rebooted with a new primary Sleer seed.  It can’t find the coordinates for Barnard’s Star or for Earth either one.   It will just calculate up a spot in empty space.  We have been travelling using the wrong coordinates for more than a century.”

“Why can’t we go back to those coordinates?”

“They are now gone from the system.”

“How could this happen?”

Harmony Castille, the beautiful blonde Sunday school teacher, raised her hand.  “It’s my fault.  I corrected the math and caused the system to operate on new coordinates.”

“Really, Captain,” said Biznap. “It turns out we have been operating with faulty math for too long.  Now that we’re doing it right, the machine won’t go back to the old, wrong system.  We would have to map out new coordinates all over again.  Re-explore the entire empire.”

“So you are telling me we have no choice but to live in orbit around the most dangerous planet in existence?”

“No, it is worse than that.  No longer recycling protein by eating our tadpoles means we have to find new food sources on the planet below.  We are going to have to establish a downport colony to continue to survive and grow as a community.”

Xiar sat down on his resting pad thoroughly stunned.  His new wife, Shalar, beautiful and green and wearing only the satin robe made for her by the Morrells, put both arms around Xiar’s thick green neck.

“What do we know about the Galtorrians, dearest?” she asked innocently.  Hugging behaviors were entirely new to Tellerons.  They had seen humans do it countless times on Earther television, such as the I Love Lucy show that Tellerons loved so deeply, but they had never practiced it until Alden and Gracie Morrell had adopted Xiar’s son Davalon who Xiar had nearly marooned on Earth (accidentally).  They had shown him how to do it as they showed him how to actually be a good parent.  Xiar found it totally alien… but he liked it.

“I don’t really know.  We have to get Farbick to work on it right away, but I believe they are lizard-men who eat meat and fight wars.”

“We knew the Earthers ate meat and fought wars,” reminded Shalar.  “They didn’t turn out to be so terrible.  In fact, we learned a lot about them.   They were very kind and generous to us.”

“Do you really think we can be so badly mistaken about two races we believed to be our enemies?  One was unlikely enough.”

“I really fear we are not mistaken this time,” said Biznap.

“Do we have their broadcasts to monitor?” asked Shalar, “We had a wealth of information at the tips of our sucker pads last time thanks to the broadcasts.”

“No signals at all,” sighed Harmony.  “It’s like they haven’t invented TV or radio yet.”

“Maybe our superior technology will help us this time,” suggested Biznap.

“Not when guided by stupid brains,” moaned Xiar.  “This time we are surely lost.”

“Don’t give up before trying,” said Harmony.  “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“I don’t know who your Lord is,” said Xiar, “But fire up the ritual laser lights and let’s get praying.  We need all the help we can get.  Do we need to consider sacrificing a few tadpoles or junior officers?  What appeases your god?”

“Ach!  Educating heathens can be such a trial!” swore Harmony.  “Let me get my Bible.  I have some serious educating to do.”

*****

So, there you have chapter two, which probably makes no sense whatsoever, unless you read chapter one… or possibly bought and read my published novel Catch a Falling Star.  Tricky about shameless self-promotion, ain’t I?

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Granny-Quest 2016 Continues

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I may have found my Granny model.   There are certain requirements to make a proper German grandmother.  She has to have a face as sweet as Apfelstrudel (that’s German for apple strudel), and yet, be a typical square-headed German.  This is an illustration model sheet, meaning it will be used as a guide for later illustrations.  But I intend to take it a step further and do a colored-pencil version on top of this pen and ink base.

You may have noticed the little person in the picture.  He’s a little too small and too oddly dressed to be an ordinary child.  In fact, he is General Tuffaney Swift, a Storybook fairy who got his immortality from the stories of Tom Thumb.  He is a gifted warrior and is one of the primary defenders of the fairy kingdom of Tellosia which is hidden in plain sight in the midst of my little Iowa hometown.  He’s a character that I have been developing since I was in high school.  There is evidence of this claim in this old colored pencil drawing from the 1970’s;

Swift

You see, the story of Recipes for Gingerbread Children involves the fairies of Tellosia and a sweet old German lady who likes to bake sweets and cookies and tell fairy stories.   And it is a novel project that is swiftly absorbing my whole life.  It’s funny, but that’s pretty much what happened with Snow Babies and Magical Miss Morgan. My best writing seems to come from brain bursts of inspiration that force me to put aside scheduled projects and spend all my efforts, even my blog posts, furthering the story.  Soon I will be all in.  I just need the right picture of a cute German grandmother.

 

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Granny-Quest 2016

 

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I have developed a need to create a portrait of a grandmotherly woman whom everybody loves and who exudes “Have-a-cookie”-ness.  You see, my newest novel project, Recipes for Gingerbread Children, has as a main character a lovely old Holocaust survivor named Gretel Stein.  And she is a talented baker of gingerbread cookies.  She has, in fact, a magical ability to create symphonies of joyous triumph over evil in her little oven in her very small house.  So I need to do a portrait of that very same old woman.  I have to have a picture in my head of the person the story is about, and I have to translate that picture down onto the page by drawing it first.

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So I began that process by trying to find the right combination of wrinkle patterns and granny smiles on the internet.  I tried a Google image search for “cute German grandmother” which inexplicably yielded numerous photos of internment camp war criminals, who were also old ladies, and cartoons of Adolf Hitler.  Talk about the proper context for “What the French-fried Fricka-see-see!”  So, I took the word “cute” off the search.  I found a wealth of German grandma pictures that ought to fit the bill if I can just tweak the portrait in the right ways to bring to life Grandma Gretel.

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Grandma’s School pic from 70’s

I then selected a picture of a German grandma taken in the 70’s because my story is set in the 70’s and the glasses appealed to me as German-grandma appropriate.  So, I started drawing.

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And, of course, it turned out completely wrong.  This granny picture will probably remain forever slightly unfinished, because as I drew it, I found I was transforming the portrait into a picture that was not Gretel Stein.  Instead, it was my own Grandma Beyer that it was beginning to look like.  Don’t get me wrong.  I loved my Grandma B deeply, vastly, eternally… but she is not the same as the grandma in my story.  Well, not completely.  Therefore I must try and try again until I find the old woman I really want to portray.

 

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Mr. Lucky

Self Portrait vxv

Sometimes everything goes wrong.  That, of course, is something that happens more often than the times when everything goes right.  Lately I have had the fortune to experience the more common of those two sometimes.

My most recent publisher, the one that was supposed to publish Snow Babies, underwent a reduction in capacity and financial difficulties.  They had to reorganize and reduce their commitments.  That meant they could no longer publish any of my other novels.  It apparently also means that they will no longer fulfill the publishing contract on Snow Babies.  Bummer.

My new car, a Ford Fiesta that I bought from Enterprise Rental Car to replace my old Ford Fiesta that was unceremoniously killed by a passing motorist as it sat in front of my house, is now in the shop with it’s own hoof and mouth disease.  While picking up kids from school, I hit a pothole on a Dallas street.  Not just any pothole, but a huge camouflaged cavern of a pothole capable of taking a huge bite out of the right front wheel.  I was not speeding.  I did not do anything wrong but drive in place I have driven a hundred times previously… though this time it was after torrential rain and a bit of nasty hail that I had no way of knowing made potholes bigger and angrier and more horrible.   I am surprised that it didn’t eat any other cars in the moderate traffic I was surrounded by.  But I initially thought that once a passing motorist, younger and more pothole savvy than me, did the good Samaritan act of helping me change the tire, that I would only have to get the tire fixed or replaced and would be happily on my way again.  No such luck.  Not only was the tire ruined, but also the rim it was mounted on, and possibly the undercarriage of the car.  It was going to cost at least the $500 deductible from my insurance company, unless something even worse happened that they couldn’t see without looking at their bank books a little harder.  And I had to get another rental car in the mean time.  But, of course, the recent hail storm not only had most of the rental cars rented, but the rental companies had lost cars to hail damage as well.  I was stuck with a rather expensive Dodge Challenger that the car insurance can’t completely pay for.  And I have no place to park it if the hail decides to revisit us this week.  Double bummer.

And, of course, it doesn’t end there.  Having kids in school is a challenge, especially this time of year with high-stakes testing going on.  I can’t give you particulars because some things have to remain private, but even really bright kids like mine, the children of two teachers, can be subject to test-anxiety and failure and the resulting depression which can prove fatal if not taken seriously enough.  Triple damn ding-dang bummer!

But we can’t let bad luck be the end-all of the story.  I am a pessimist by nature.  Nothing has happened to me recently that took me by surprise.  I am always expecting the worst to happen, and life rarely disappoints me on that score.  So I am not floored by these randomly-occurring sucker punches.  Rather, I am given that shot of anger and adrenaline needed to pick myself up and start fighting back.

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I have my novel Magical Miss Morgan almost ready to submit to another publisher that I found through a friend, with a couple of backup publishers to send it to after it is rejected the first time.  I have researched three possibilities so far.

I talked to the insurance agent today to stop the hemorrhaging of money down the drain of car repairs, and though I have taken a pretty good-sized cannon shot in this battle, it will not sink my little pirate ship.

And a conference with principal and teacher and student and parent solved a lot of the other problem.  It can be an advantage to a kid to have a teacher as a parent.  We tend to know how everything works, and we speak the secret language of Edjumacation to help get things actually done.

So, no worries, man.  Even though all my luck is bad luck, I am still lucky… since there is a lot of it.

 

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Like Pulling Teeth from a Chicken

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Life is hard here in the Kingdom of Paffoon where you labor hard at a labor of love and try to give birth to something eternal that ends up going nowhere… stacks of old writing litter my closets, and the prospects of being published grow dimmer and dimmer.  My book Snow Babies has a contract with a publisher, but, apparently they are not going to be able to publish it after all.  I am at the very least going to have to find another publisher for the rest of my books, both finished manuscripts and works in progress.

Blue and Mike in color (435x640)

I do intend to follow through and get published, though.  I can no longer teach, but I feel a powerful force pushing me towards the sheer precipice of authordom.  One way or another I am going to make it over the edge and plummet to the bottom of that cliff.  I am compelled by the need to tell stories, and I have a captive audience every school day no longer.

I used to tell my classes that doing impossible things was like trying to pull chicken teeth with pliers.  You know, impossible things like getting a book published or teaching a mostly Spanish-speaking student how to read in English…  every-day-sort-of impossible things.

“But, Mr. B, chickens don’t have teeth,” some bright-eyed student would say after realizing that “chicken” was the English word for “pollo”.

“Exactly!” I would say.  “That’s what makes it so challenging!”

And now I must put on my chicken-catching socks, find my tooth-pulling pliers, and get ready to make more novels happen.  After a brief bout of consternation and depression, I actually feel a bit better about the whole fiasco.  There are other publishers, and publishers seem to like my writing, even if they can’t publish it.  And I have waited two years to get Snow Babies published, all apparently for nothing.  It is time to stop wasting time.  And maybe to stop repeating repetitions too.

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Novel Problems

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It was a simple plan, really.  I paid a review company to review my book and post the result on their website.  It was affordable, and research showed that their services were not a mere waste of money.  How could anything go wrong?

Well, it’s me, of course.  The fact is, my book is not the only book with that same title.  I sent them the link to my book on Amazon.  They had all the right info to pick the right book.  They, of course, picked the wrong book to read and review.

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Naturally, they can’t tell the difference between my YA science fiction novel about an abandoned alien boy being adopted by a childless Earth couple and a Hollywood romance between sun-soaked beautiful people.

Oh, well, it would be funny if I weren’t running out of time for making waves with my novel and getting some notice.  I can’t seem to get another novel published and everyone is ignoring my little bookie thingy.  Serves me right for thinking I have a good reason to write stuff and nonsense.

And of course, it is not my only unique and novel problem.  I am currently trying to get essential yard work done before the leaves kill the grass on our yard.

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I raked for half an hour with a bad back stinging me constantly, and all I got accomplished was one bag of leaves!

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I really need trees that are more housebroken than this.  If I drop dead doing yard work, I will die an unknown novelist that nobody ever reads.  I am sure several people who have read my work would think that’s actually a good thing, but I’m inclined to disagree with them.

And leaf and novel problems have exacerbated my doll-collecting mania.  The third day of April and I have already bought two more dolls after vowing to quit the habit cold turkey.  But these are Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck dolls.  How can any doll collector with hoarding disorder resist?  At least, two dolls (and their horse) completes the collection…. until they get around to making more of these sweet little things.

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So, I have different problems than most people do.  But they are still problems.  I need to get busy and come up with some novel solutions.

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Filed under collecting, humor, NOVEL WRITING, pessimism, photo paffoonies, work in progress, writing humor

Gingerbread Recipes for the Future

Gingeyhouse1n

I have been suffering through bad day after bad day recently.  I had a fender bender.  My favorite football team got plowed into the turf in the playoffs.  I have been suffering a great deal from weather-induced arthritis pain, low blood sugar, and viral infections.  And I even reached the download limit on my WordPress account, meaning I will have to pay more money to post new pictures.

But this blog is percolating along at 30 views per day or more.  I am being read and exposed to the light more than I ever have in my whole writing life.  That doesn’t earn me a penny, in fact, it costs me money, but it has to be a very good thing.  I deal with pain and hardship through creativity.  I create things to make it better.

When I was a kid, there was a little old German lady that lived in our little town.  She had a tattoo on her forearm.  She had been in a concentration camp in Poland in the 1940’s.  But , living as an Iowan, she was the most cheerful and loving old lady I knew.  She gave me chocolate bars for holding the door open for her at the Methodist church.  She gave homemade cookies to all the kids constantly.  She did not have any children of her own for very sad reasons that no one ever talked about.  She loved it when children visited her at her little tar-paper-covered house that we nicknamed “the Gingerbread House”.  I vividly remember being there one cold winter night after choir practice when she gave us gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate.  She told us on that snowy winter evening, “Gingerbread makes everything better.”

I have to believe that philosophy is essentially correct.  My stories are like gingerbread.  If I cook them just right, they will have that good ginger taste that soothes all hurts and longings.  So, I started putting together a story in honor of her.  She is already a character in several of my stories.  But I needed one where Grandma Gretel was the main character.  And it has to be about baking gingerbread and telling stories.  In fact, I think I will bake a little magic into it.  The gingerbread men she bakes will actually come to life.  And I will put together a theme about overcoming the darkness with a smile and wink and a recipe for gingerbread.

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Filed under 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion, autobiography, battling depression, humor, Paffooney, philosophy, Uncategorized