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Stardusters… Canto Six

Galtorr Primex 1

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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Double Character Study; Mike Murphy and Blueberry Bates

Mike Murphy and Blueberry Bates are recurring characters in my hometown novels.  So far they have appeared in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius and Magical Miss Morgan, both of which are now published and available through Amazon.

The Bicycle-Wheel Genius is now available on Amazon through this link;

https://www.amazon.com/Bicycle-Wheel-Genius-Michael-Beyer/dp/1982984023/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1544204666&sr=8-1&keywords=michael+beyer+books+bicycle-wheel+genius

Magical Miss Morgan is available through this link;

https://www.amazon.com/Magical-Miss-Morgan-Michael-Beyer-ebook/dp/B0797GTRPV/ref=sr_1_39?ie=UTF8&qid=1544202254&sr=8-39&keywords=michael+beyer+books

The first book documents their star-crossed romance, beginning as ten-year-olds and following through until they are going on thirteen.  Blueberry is a girl with a terrible secret.  She is not like other girls and has to protect this secret, which will only become harder and harder to contain as time goes on.  She lives with her father who barely notices her, an aunt, her father’s sister, who knows the secret and punishes Blueberry for it, and her two older sisters who cherish her and dote on her, and probably are the only reason she is still alive.  Her mother, unfortunately, died when she was a baby.  But both books she appears in so far are comedies.   I will not go into the possible tragedies lying wait in ambush for her in her distant future.  The tragedies are simply not funny enough to be a part of everything.  Like many of my characters, she is based on people from my own life and experience.  She is a combination of a girl I once loved and a boy I once taught.  If that’s not confusing enough, I can add that Blueberry loves to draw, a detail that comes about because she is also partly based on me.  She particularly loves to draw pictures of Mike Murphy.  She might have drawn the next Paffooney (if she were a real person and not just some made-up girl that only lives in my weird old imagination).

Blue and her beau

Mike Murphy is a Norwall Pirate.  Not just any Pirate, but their best athlete, tree-climber, and wild-story believer.   He does everything the Pirate leader, Tim Kellogg, (the grand and glorious and mostly notorious Pirate leader) thinks up for him to do.  He believes every lie Tim tells him, and faithfully defends the Pirates and their leader, even when it gets him detention (again!) from their favorite teacher, Miss Francis Morgan.  He starts out running away from Blueberry, as any red-blooded, normal American boy would.  But he eventually lets her catch him, as any red-blooded, normal American boy would at about that age, the middle of the wonder years.  He becomes her best friend and greatest white-knight-sort-of protector, even though he is torn between that and loyalty to Tim and the Pirates and the lies they tell.

I am now planning a third book that will allow these two characters to adventure together.  I will call this novel Kingdoms Under the Earth.  It will begin with Blueberry being kidnapped by evil flu fairies that take her away to the dark parts of the fairy world under the surface of this world in a feverish coma. Mike Murphy must decide to follow her and rescue her, which he will do via the bad advice of a fairy friend, kissing Blueberry on the lips, contracting her disease, and sharing in her comatose suffering.  Then Mike’s best friend, Tim Kellogg, and his big sister Dilsey both agree that they must follow also to help rescue both Blueberry and Mike.  It will be a great adventure through illness, imagination, and the many hidden kingdoms of fairy magic that lie directly under our world.

Now, I suppose you are wondering why I am giving you details about characters in a book, or rather books, that I haven’t even finished writing yet.  Well, if you are dedicated enough to reading my loopy and boring old posts to get this far, it is probably safe to tell you that I don’t really know either.  I also want to find out.  What do the next sentences say?  Oh, yes.  Mike Murphy already exists as a Pirate in my published book Catch a Falling Star.  He is an established character that I have to twist and tweak into fitting into new stories.  Blueberry has been prancing around in my imagination and drawing colored-pencil Paffoonies since the 1970’s, but I am only now weaving her into the stories I have in me and are burning with a red-hot flame to get told.  So I’m not completely crazy to do this.  Only about ninety percent… right?

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Brent Clarke; A Character Study

Brent x

 

Brent Clarke is not a main character, but a critical part of the plot of my novel Superchicken.   He’s a farm boy and a child who dreams of growing up to be a hero.  He can’t wait to get out of the little town he lives in, but he realizes that he has a certain responsibility to the other kids in town because of his dreams of the future.  He is one of the founding members of the boys’ gang they decide to call the Norwall Pirates.  It is basically a liars’ club, and spends all of its time making up stories of the wonderful things they wish they had really done.  Along the way he has to battle a little bit of evil in a large black tom cat that has taking to killing chickens on the Clarke farm.  He becomes a leader because Milt Morgan, the Merlin to Brent’s Arthur, appoints him as such.    He is at first a bully and an obstacle to the story’s main character, Edward-Andrew, nicknamed the Superchicken.  He has to learn not to be cruel to those less blessed than he, and he eventually shoulders the burden of protecting others and working together with the Superchicken to right wrongs and be a super hero… of sorts.  You can see by the Paffooney that he is a handsome boy, strong willed and very independent.  But he does have a softer side that eventually helps him to become the police officer type hero he always intended to be.

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Stuart’s Tag

So, I get this message from my writer friend Stuart West;

Well, crap, Matthew Peters tagged me in a new writer thingy. So I’m tagging five of you unlucky folks as well. Apparently it’s all about the opening sentences. So…drop the opening sentences of the first three chapters of your current WIP. Then pass on the love and agony.

Here’s mine:

*Bombing, crashing like an airplane dipping into an ocean, but worse, I couldn’t even make a splash.

*So I have a daughter. She just turned eight. She bugs the crap outta’ me with a lotta’ tough questions.

*Twenty minutes after seven, and halfway through my second cup of Sake, I began to experience the sinking feeling I’d been stood up.

Taken out of context, it does read kinda’ strange, doesn’t it? It’s called Demon With a Comb-Over. It’s complicated, it’s complicated.

Okay! Here’re the unlucky writers I’ve chosen to pester/bug/tag:
Suzanne deMontigny, Meradeth Houston, Jeff Chapman, Heather Brainerd, and Michael Beyer. Have at it, gang.

 
Chat Conversation End
 
 

Seen by Meradeth, Jeff, Matthew

 
My current WIP (Work In Progress) is a novel called The Bicycle Wheel Genius.  It is in the rough draft stage, so I am not even familiar with the chapter leads myself.  Here goes nothing…
Canto One – In the dark corners of the house in 1984
The stupid boy was easily followed home. When he patted the little Pomeranian dog on her fuzzy head, he entered through the back door, unlocking it with his key.  He went in to make his afternoon peanut butter sandwich, stupidly leaving the door unlocked.  The man in black couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.
Canto Two… Norwall, Iowa, population 278, in the Year 1988
Norwall, like many small towns in Iowa, had not changed more than a particle or two a year from about 1919 to around 1982. It had a main street.  The houses were done mostly in the Victorian style, with its various porches and bay windows and corner tower-like structures.  It was a sleepy-quiet   little farm town where practically nothing ever happened.  It was mostly set up for farm business.  There was a grain elevator at the west end of Main Street, and a lumber yard at the southern end of Whitten Avenue.  It was not unusual to see tractors parked in town along with the family cars and farmers’ pickup trucks.

Canto Three – At the Ghost House on the Edge of Pixeley’s Junk Yard

It was hard to believe that it had been almost three months since the last time a meeting of the Norwall Pirates had been called at the Ghost House.Tim arrived there well before the agreed-upon time and was slightly miffed that no one else had shown up yet.  It came from having a girl as a leader.  His cousin Valerie was a good person, and he loved her, and all that, but she was far too caught up in doing girly things to really take her job as grand and glorious and mostly notorious leader of the Pirates seriously enough.  He dropped his bicycle in the un-mowed grass and marched through the burrs and the weeds towards the foundation and cellar that was now all that remained of the Ghost House.

Okay, okay… incredibly mundane, I know…  It’s just a rough draft.  The opening of Canto Two is particularly clunky.  Time and multi-facet crap-detectors with supercharged triple D batteries should help.  Here’s a Bicycle-Wheel Paffooney to make it a little better.

Millis

 

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Sean “Cudgel” Murphy

 

 

DScudgel

The kind of writing I do requires a special class of character that I refer to as a clown. I revealed one already that I used in my novel Snow Babies, that character is the unsuccessful businessman Harker Dawes. He is a pratfall clown, the kind used in Three Stooges movies. He is the subject of numerous physical abuses from other characters and from his own incompetent hand. He is funny because he always seems to survive these terrible episodes, and we are really, really glad that we are not him.
The second clown from Snow Babies, and also used in the novel I am now writing, The Bicycle Wheel Genius, is a dirty old man named Cudgel Murphy. He is a Mrs. Malaprop sort of character who says things that are wickedly mistaken, but not totally unintentional. He loves to drink (drinks other than water, coffee, or sodapop), and what he drinks makes him less than sociable. His is Irish by ancestry and by temperament. He is quick to fight, and slow to forgive, but able to laugh at himself when he discovers he is in the wrong. He loves to fight verbally with his daughter-in-law, Mary Murphy, and adores her children, his grandchildren, particularly Danny Murphy and little sister Dilsey.
The great love of his life was not his wife, who apparently died fairly young as a way of escaping the evil old man. It was instead a car, a 1955 Austin Hereford, an English-made car that Cudgel routinely says is, “the finest car made anywhere in the world in 1955.” She is his baby, and he keeps her running for more than thirty years despite driving her far too fast, too far, and with all sorts of evil brews in her gas tank in place of normal gasoline.
The Paffooney shows the evil old man posing with his wonder-car in front of the Congregational Church in Norwall, Iowa. His face, though unnaturally red by both liquid and temperamental fire looks far more innocent and harmless that it really is. One never knows for sure what is on his scrappy old mind, but you can be sure it will turn out to be funny in one way or another.
Clowns are essential to the kind of fiction I like to write. Sean “Cudgel” Murphy is a good one of those. So good, in fact, I may have to kill him off in the current book. He has a tendency to take over the story and make himself a hero.

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Another Milestone!

milestone 1000

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July 18, 2014 · 3:04 pm

Miss Morgan Begins

As one novel is finished, another begins.  Here are the first cantos written for Magical Miss Morgan.

Miss Morgan one

A creative young teacher named Miss Francis Morgan

 

Canto 1 – Under the Classroom

Three of the bravest representatives the Erlking could muster were walking through the metal tunnel that the slow ones called a heating duck.  Why they called it that was anyone’s guess.  The three had seen nary a single duck.  It was a big risk, entering the land of the slow ones.  You never knew when they might squish you with a fly slapper or zap you with an ani-bug-lite.   These were three of the bravest of the Wee People in all of the Kingdom of Minutiae.  The leader was a Pixie, tall for his kind at two inches.  His name was Donner, Thunder in the language of the Wee People.  His lithe body was a creamy greenish tan with gossamer wings of transparent stained glass.  The girl was called Silkie, a Storybook who looked completely human… completely blond-haired, Nordic human, but only an inch and a half tall, dressed entirely in green leaves stitched together by one of the Erlking’s stitch-witches.  And the third, brought along for the sake of muscle, not brain-power, was Garriss the weak-minded, a fire-bodied Wisp.  His naked form was made of actual flame, but held together by magic in a way that he could not burn anyone or anything without using the cone of fire spell burned into his flaming hands.  He could’ve burned the entire structure of the slow ones to the ground, so powerful was he…  Yet he would not have the first idea how to go about it without careful direction from one of the others.

“If we are going to find the one the wizard spoke of,” said Donner, “We must proceed to the place called a glass-room.”

“I think the wizard said it was a classroom,” said Silkie resolutely.  Slow one speech was a mystery to all the Wee Folk, but Silkie at least had studied it with the help of the wizard’s apprentice Pippin.

“I hope it is not a class room,” said Garriss.  “I am considered of such a low class that they will certainly reject me.”

“A pain made of brass is the ass without class,” sighed Donner, reciting the old stitch-witch saying.

“Up ahead,” said Silkie, pointing, “is a place where the warm air flows upwards.  It is some kind of doorway made of bars, a grate or something.”

“Yes, we can at least look up into that room,” said Donner.  “Mayhap it is the correct glass-room.”

The three wee adventurers drew up to the edge.  Looking upward they saw a group of children moving desks to the edges of the room, and a lady in her early thirties standing in the center directing them.

 

Canto 2 – Miss Morgan’s Class

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

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

Miss Morgan loved the Six-Twos better than any of her other classes… and that was saying something because she really loved them all.  Six-Two, however, had the most Norwall kids in it of all her classes, and Norwall kids were a little more imaginative and empathetic than the Belle City kids, or the Goodwell kids, or the Klempke kids.  Besides, she had once been a Norwall kid herself.  It was a very special little Iowa farm town to Miss Morgan.

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

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

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

“Maybe it helps us feel like the main character Bilbo,” said Billy Klatthammer, the plump son of the Klempke, Iowa real estate king.

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

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

“My, my… Someone was listening when I was talking about the book yesterday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bless the little black-hearted teacher’s kid.  Miss Morgan silently appreciated the imp as Miss Krapplemacher made vibrating fists with both hands and stormed out.  Tim was Miss Krabby’s least favorite science student of all time.

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Superchicken

Today I finished the re-write on my novel Superchicken,  I have only been working on it since 1988.  The title came from my high school nickname.  I was a nerd with the ability to play tackle football to a level that impressed all the guys who were bigger and stronger than me.  It became my superhero name.  So I put it into a book that is filled with stories within stories.  Many of the stories are true.  Some are just big goofy lies.  I hope to make people laugh a little with it.  I hope people are not offended a lot.  But if I polish it any more than it is, I will have polished holes clear through it

.Superchick

 

The signature on the portrait of the Superchicken is simply my name spelled backwards.

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Snow Babies Explained

Snow Babies Explained

I hope to soon be able to publish my newest novel, Snow Babies, with PDMI Publishing,
In that book, I tell the story of a blizzard descending on a small town with the intent to kill. Within the storm are a group of snow spirits who come to collect the frozen dead. They take the form of naked children, completely white. They collect the souls of people who die in the blizzard, and those frozen casualties become snow babies themselves. They operate somewhat like banshees in that, when someone sees one, it means that someone is going to die, or at least have a near-death experience. Snow Babies are not malevolent… not evil… but they don’t spare the good either. So the key question in the story… Who will die? And more importantly… who will live?

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May 30, 2014 · 1:42 am

The Book of Old Art

I have notebooks full of old drawings of many sorts.  Some novel-related, most not.  Let’s start with my first novel… one not published yet.  I call it Superchicken after the central character.

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And here are supporting characters in various stages of drawing…

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The story-teller character is, of course, the younger version of me.  This story is more than thirty years old.

I have many other drawings of various weird things.  You may notice the signature says Leah Cim Reyeb.  That goofy old etruscan so-and-so is actually me, my name spelled backwards… err… sdrawkcab.

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So… there it is.  A sample of the contents of my old book of art.  I am not completely demented yet, but as you can see… I’m getting there.

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