For the past few months, I have been tutored by a dead man. That is to say, I have discovered the joy, the pain, the humor, and the pathos that is James Kilpatrick's "The Writer's Art".
I don't know why it surprised me that a book about writing, written by a writer, could be so doggone INTERESTING. I expected to find a dry manual, quibbling fretfully over endless technicalities. Anyone who is familiar with James Kilpatrick is already laughing at me. Contrary to my naive assumption, Mr. Kilpatrick is one of the most purely entertaining people I have ever encountered. I firmly believe that if he wrote an instruction manual for the assembly of a desk chair, it would would be nothing short of riveting.
I immediately formed a bond with Mr. Kilpatrick when I read this section, taken from Chapter 1:
"Consider, if you please, an altogether admirable sentence: FOR BEST RESULTS, SQUEEZE TUBE FROM THE BOTTOM AND FLATTEN IT AS YOU GO UP. That comes off the side of a tube of Crest toothpaste. It is an eminently sound, serviceable, workaday sentence. It could not be improved by shifting "for best results" to some other point. I find it a sentence without a flaw."
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. What could be more humble than the unpretentious toothpaste tube? And yet, Kilpatrick chooses to elevate it to the best seat. I think (although I can't be sure) that this was the moment that I subconsciously chose to reverence James Kilpatrick. I hope this is not idolatry.
The Bible and the Writer's Art(in that order)are the two most important books in my life right now. They both hold a post on my nightstand and I usually fall asleep to the sight of one or the other. There are some surprising similarities between them, actually. Although I can't say whether every word of the Writer's Art is God-breathed, I do certainly know that it useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in write-ousness. I found myself in penitent tears after the section on writing dialect phonetically and swore never, never to try it again. I purified myself of pompous, too-large words that don't have any business in my sentences except a misguided attempt to impress. I spurned a good many "rules" of writing that are just silly, and now welcome a preposition at the end of my sentence with open arms.
I have emerged from the Writer's Art a humbler writer, perhaps even a better person. God bless you, Mr. Kilpatrick.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
All Good Things....
... must come to an end. That goes for meandering story times, too.
This post is to announce, officially, my intention to stop posting my Ramona story on this blog. It came about this way: I started my "Magic Beans" story as a mere amusement, and never expected it to be more than 5-10 pages long. As it turns out, I slowly came to the realization that I have really formed a bond with the two principal characters, and I wanted more for them than an off-the-cuff story time with no real plot. I have always dreamed of completing a manuscript, sending it in to a "real" publisher, and getting a legitimate, sure 'nuff rejection letter, to be framed and cherished forever (morbid, no?). It appears that the inspiration for my brilliant, under-appreciated children's novel has struck, in the form of a small girl and a large dog.
If you're curious, there IS a complete 1st manuscript of "Ramona and the Magic Beans" - but it lives in daily fear for its life because I have threatened to burn it to chalk so many times.
Writing for my new and hopefully improved second draft, now called "Frances and the Magic Beans" (I decided that I didn't want to crowd Ramona Quimby) has now commenced, but it will not, I am sorry to say, be posted on this blog for the public eye. All due apologies to the public eye. If you want to know how Frances and Stanley are doing, you can always send me a message, which may throw me into a fit of writing ... or depression, depending on the day.
As for this blog, I will probably continue to post on it very sporadically, whenever I feel like waxing eloquent, or waxing my moustache, or my cat... just kidding on those last two, I don't have a moustache or a cat.
This post is to announce, officially, my intention to stop posting my Ramona story on this blog. It came about this way: I started my "Magic Beans" story as a mere amusement, and never expected it to be more than 5-10 pages long. As it turns out, I slowly came to the realization that I have really formed a bond with the two principal characters, and I wanted more for them than an off-the-cuff story time with no real plot. I have always dreamed of completing a manuscript, sending it in to a "real" publisher, and getting a legitimate, sure 'nuff rejection letter, to be framed and cherished forever (morbid, no?). It appears that the inspiration for my brilliant, under-appreciated children's novel has struck, in the form of a small girl and a large dog.
If you're curious, there IS a complete 1st manuscript of "Ramona and the Magic Beans" - but it lives in daily fear for its life because I have threatened to burn it to chalk so many times.
Writing for my new and hopefully improved second draft, now called "Frances and the Magic Beans" (I decided that I didn't want to crowd Ramona Quimby) has now commenced, but it will not, I am sorry to say, be posted on this blog for the public eye. All due apologies to the public eye. If you want to know how Frances and Stanley are doing, you can always send me a message, which may throw me into a fit of writing ... or depression, depending on the day.
As for this blog, I will probably continue to post on it very sporadically, whenever I feel like waxing eloquent, or waxing my moustache, or my cat... just kidding on those last two, I don't have a moustache or a cat.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Ramona and Winston Churchill III
(This is a story I wrote some many months ago. The company where I work had an opening in the accounting department. Hopes were high that they might actually hire a man - a young man - to fill the position. This would have been an interesting development for several people of the female persuasion. Ramona and Winston Church III was my speculation of what might happen if they did. Note: They didn't.)
Once upon a time, there was a girl who was occasionally witty, consistently addle-pated, and for the most part good-tempered, named Ramona. She worked a moderately interesting and steady job as a customer service representative. Each day brought new challenges, but none so challenging as the dread Nielson Circle Parking Crisis. Homeowners, chafed past endurance by the rigid mandates of their parking by-laws, took out their anger and frustration on the unassuming Ramona.
One day Ramona was walking to the accounting department to ask a fiscal question. Usually she went to Carmella for all her accounting needs.
“Hey Carmella?” asked Ramona, approaching her cube.
The chair swiveled around, and Ramona was surprised to see, not Carmella, but a really very moderately attractive young man with a kind smile and a friendly eye – two friendly eyes, actually.
“Hello.” He said. “I’m not Carmella, but I’m happy to help. I’m Winston Churchill the IIIrd. I work here now. You must be Ramona. I’ve heard so much about your occasional flashes of wittiness and general good humor. Let’s be friends.” Mr. Winston Churchill the IIIrd extended a masculine hand, and Ramona found herself party to a warm and reassuring hand-shake.
“Are you really related to Winston Churchill?” asked Ramona.
“Yes.” Said Winston. “I’m his youngest grandson. But this is no time for chit-chat. You seem to be in distress?”
“Well, yes I am. A homeowner from that horrible Nielson Circle has been calling me all kinds of unsavory names because their car got towed, and I was wondering …”
“Say no more, most excellent Ramona. Park 10, I assume?”
“Why, yes - “
Winston picked up the phone.
“Sir. “ He said authoritatively. “You are much worse than a pig. You are much worse than a pig that has been run over by a car and left on the side of the road. You have insulted a sweet, sweet lady. And if I don’t see flowers on this girl’s desk within 48 hours, I shall put your home into foreclosure status, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Ramona heard some quibbling on the phone, and then a click.
“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that homeowner anymore, ma’am.” Said Winston.
“Oh my.” Said Ramona. “I was just going to ask what his account status was.”
Then next morning, Ramona came into work and found two flower deliveries on her desk. The first was a hideous pot of carnations with no card. The second was a beautiful bouquet of gardenias, with a note signed only WCIII. Ramona smiled. She felt that her job was about to get much better.
THE END
Once upon a time, there was a girl who was occasionally witty, consistently addle-pated, and for the most part good-tempered, named Ramona. She worked a moderately interesting and steady job as a customer service representative. Each day brought new challenges, but none so challenging as the dread Nielson Circle Parking Crisis. Homeowners, chafed past endurance by the rigid mandates of their parking by-laws, took out their anger and frustration on the unassuming Ramona.
One day Ramona was walking to the accounting department to ask a fiscal question. Usually she went to Carmella for all her accounting needs.
“Hey Carmella?” asked Ramona, approaching her cube.
The chair swiveled around, and Ramona was surprised to see, not Carmella, but a really very moderately attractive young man with a kind smile and a friendly eye – two friendly eyes, actually.
“Hello.” He said. “I’m not Carmella, but I’m happy to help. I’m Winston Churchill the IIIrd. I work here now. You must be Ramona. I’ve heard so much about your occasional flashes of wittiness and general good humor. Let’s be friends.” Mr. Winston Churchill the IIIrd extended a masculine hand, and Ramona found herself party to a warm and reassuring hand-shake.
“Are you really related to Winston Churchill?” asked Ramona.
“Yes.” Said Winston. “I’m his youngest grandson. But this is no time for chit-chat. You seem to be in distress?”
“Well, yes I am. A homeowner from that horrible Nielson Circle has been calling me all kinds of unsavory names because their car got towed, and I was wondering …”
“Say no more, most excellent Ramona. Park 10, I assume?”
“Why, yes - “
Winston picked up the phone.
“Sir. “ He said authoritatively. “You are much worse than a pig. You are much worse than a pig that has been run over by a car and left on the side of the road. You have insulted a sweet, sweet lady. And if I don’t see flowers on this girl’s desk within 48 hours, I shall put your home into foreclosure status, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Ramona heard some quibbling on the phone, and then a click.
“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that homeowner anymore, ma’am.” Said Winston.
“Oh my.” Said Ramona. “I was just going to ask what his account status was.”
Then next morning, Ramona came into work and found two flower deliveries on her desk. The first was a hideous pot of carnations with no card. The second was a beautiful bouquet of gardenias, with a note signed only WCIII. Ramona smiled. She felt that her job was about to get much better.
THE END
Monday, August 30, 2010
Chimpanzee Charlotte
(This one is me again - I mean Ramona again). This story has an interesting story that goes with it, if ever you wish to ask me about it. Otherwise, just enjoy.)
Once upon a time there was a girl who ran away and went to live with the chimpanzees. She called herself "Chimpanzee Charlotte". All the chimpanzees thought she was kinda weird and mostly ignored her sign-language and pantomime advances. Eventually, she got so annoying that they decided to eat her. And the best part is - chimpanzees don't eat people.
Once upon a time there was a girl who ran away and went to live with the chimpanzees. She called herself "Chimpanzee Charlotte". All the chimpanzees thought she was kinda weird and mostly ignored her sign-language and pantomime advances. Eventually, she got so annoying that they decided to eat her. And the best part is - chimpanzees don't eat people.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Ramona and the Escape from Thursday
Once there was a day called Thursday, and it was so boring that everyone banded together to escape from its dreaded clutches.
"Courage, friends!" said Ramona, the leader of this daring exploit. "If we don't find a way out of this blank doldromy (made-up word), we'll perish in a most unpleasant fashion."
The way out of Thursday was riddled with nap-traps and grogasauruses, but eventually Ramona and her heroic companions stumbled upon the trap-door that led out of Thursday.
"Zounds, it does a body good to stumble on something!" said Ramona.
"Yes!" said her companion Danae. "I haven't stumbled on anything in years ... or at least, ever since Thursday started."
"Where does the mystic portal lead to?" Queried Valeria, the most sensible of all the companions.
"Either to Friday .... or to certain death." answered Ramona. She wrenched the trapdoor open and a gust of frigid air bust through the dank stillness of the Thursday air. "Who's with me?"
"All!" shouted everyone simultaneously.
"Then let us go forth, with our battle cry - I'll lead the way!" said Ramona.
Then did they all go forth, gnashing their teeth and voicing their terrible battle cry: "FOR AMUSEMENT!!!"
Their fate is unknown.
THE END
"Courage, friends!" said Ramona, the leader of this daring exploit. "If we don't find a way out of this blank doldromy (made-up word), we'll perish in a most unpleasant fashion."
The way out of Thursday was riddled with nap-traps and grogasauruses, but eventually Ramona and her heroic companions stumbled upon the trap-door that led out of Thursday.
"Zounds, it does a body good to stumble on something!" said Ramona.
"Yes!" said her companion Danae. "I haven't stumbled on anything in years ... or at least, ever since Thursday started."
"Where does the mystic portal lead to?" Queried Valeria, the most sensible of all the companions.
"Either to Friday .... or to certain death." answered Ramona. She wrenched the trapdoor open and a gust of frigid air bust through the dank stillness of the Thursday air. "Who's with me?"
"All!" shouted everyone simultaneously.
"Then let us go forth, with our battle cry - I'll lead the way!" said Ramona.
Then did they all go forth, gnashing their teeth and voicing their terrible battle cry: "FOR AMUSEMENT!!!"
Their fate is unknown.
THE END
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - THE END!
"A girl like you shouldn't have to carry her own groceries." said a voice behind her.
Ramona didn't quite know what she felt when she turned around and found herself looking up at the tall figure that looked, sounded like, and in fact was, Adrien Grody.
"What are you doing here?" asked Ramona flatly. She reflected that it was the most cliché, obvious thing she could have possibly said at that moment. "Figures." She thought.
"I have something to give you. You were kind of hard to track down, but I had some help."
Adrien glanced across the parking lot, where a familiar man with a long beard and a perfect-fit, size 4 pair of penny loafers was leaning up against the driver's side door.
"You went to the Magic Man?"
"He came to me. He said he felt like he ought to look after you. I asked him what I should do. He told me where to find you, and he suggested I give you these."
Adrien pulled out a box and handed it to her. She held it while he removed the lid to reveal a pair of vibrant, red shoes.
"Oh no - " said Ramona, "not more magic shoes. Never again. You can just give these right back to the Magic Man because I'm not putting them on."
"They're not magic shoes. They're plain, old, ordinary shoes that I picked out from the department store, although they are bright red and fabulous. Also, they are exactly your size."
"I don't understand. Why are you giving me un-magical red shoes?"
"The Magic Man said he told you, when he gave you the Red Shoes, that the magic would only last for 12 hours. After that, you had to sprout your own wings of self-confidence, remember. Don't you see? You already have everything you need. The shoe fits, Ramona ... you just have to decide to wear it. I really hope you will."
Ramona took one of the red shoes out of the box and looked at it. It seemed the most beautiful, yet frightening image she had ever laid eyes on. It was a symbol of the dizzying unknown. If she said yes to the red shoes, she might be on top of the world ... or she might be at the butt end of a very cruel joke. Did it mean a happy ending, or the beginning of a wicked satire? She was at the precipice, and the choice lay entirely, without question, in her own two hands.
She looked up at Adrien.
"Well." she said. "I suppose I'd better at least try them on."
THE END.
Ramona didn't quite know what she felt when she turned around and found herself looking up at the tall figure that looked, sounded like, and in fact was, Adrien Grody.
"What are you doing here?" asked Ramona flatly. She reflected that it was the most cliché, obvious thing she could have possibly said at that moment. "Figures." She thought.
"I have something to give you. You were kind of hard to track down, but I had some help."
Adrien glanced across the parking lot, where a familiar man with a long beard and a perfect-fit, size 4 pair of penny loafers was leaning up against the driver's side door.
"You went to the Magic Man?"
"He came to me. He said he felt like he ought to look after you. I asked him what I should do. He told me where to find you, and he suggested I give you these."
Adrien pulled out a box and handed it to her. She held it while he removed the lid to reveal a pair of vibrant, red shoes.
"Oh no - " said Ramona, "not more magic shoes. Never again. You can just give these right back to the Magic Man because I'm not putting them on."
"They're not magic shoes. They're plain, old, ordinary shoes that I picked out from the department store, although they are bright red and fabulous. Also, they are exactly your size."
"I don't understand. Why are you giving me un-magical red shoes?"
"The Magic Man said he told you, when he gave you the Red Shoes, that the magic would only last for 12 hours. After that, you had to sprout your own wings of self-confidence, remember. Don't you see? You already have everything you need. The shoe fits, Ramona ... you just have to decide to wear it. I really hope you will."
Ramona took one of the red shoes out of the box and looked at it. It seemed the most beautiful, yet frightening image she had ever laid eyes on. It was a symbol of the dizzying unknown. If she said yes to the red shoes, she might be on top of the world ... or she might be at the butt end of a very cruel joke. Did it mean a happy ending, or the beginning of a wicked satire? She was at the precipice, and the choice lay entirely, without question, in her own two hands.
She looked up at Adrien.
"Well." she said. "I suppose I'd better at least try them on."
THE END.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 10
Ramona stood in the grocery line, clutching her microwave popcorn and hot chocolate mix morosely.
"Adrien Grody and Mysterious Woman Disappear Into the Night!" a lurid headline cackled from the nearest tabloid mag.
"Igh." said Ramona. She turned the magazine around. The back cover promised a thrilling expose on the Red-Shoe'd mystery woman's Martian heritage and linked her to the unexplained death of a U.N. ambassador that had been dating Martha Stewart.
"Are last week's events an isolated blip on the celebrity radar, or does the Red Shoe Menace mean to strike again?" the article tag read. "Watch out, Adrien!" A grainy photo of Adrien Grody in sunglasses and smoking a cigarette appeared beside the text.
"Lady, if you're gonna be in line, be in line." said a voice behind her. A fat man with a "Dodgers" shirt and a 6-pack of Budweiser’s was glaring at her. "Read your magazines at home."
Ramona went red and scurried to the self check-out.
"I'm going to go home and eat nothing but pop-corn, and drink myself sick with hot chocolate and watch 'Lawrence of Arabia' 48 times, or as many times as needed for me to forget that this whole thing ever happened." Ramona thought to herself.
"Leave it to me to make a fool of myself in front of my #1 Hollywood crush. It could have been anyone else, but noooo..."
With no company but misery, she walked slowly out to her car and thought of the long, blank hours she had waiting for her when she got home. She had already taken down her 7 posters of Adrien Grody. Something even deeper than humiliation ached inside whenever she saw his picture - an ache that even Swiss Miss had not, as yet, been able to assuage.
"Adrien Grody and Mysterious Woman Disappear Into the Night!" a lurid headline cackled from the nearest tabloid mag.
"Igh." said Ramona. She turned the magazine around. The back cover promised a thrilling expose on the Red-Shoe'd mystery woman's Martian heritage and linked her to the unexplained death of a U.N. ambassador that had been dating Martha Stewart.
"Are last week's events an isolated blip on the celebrity radar, or does the Red Shoe Menace mean to strike again?" the article tag read. "Watch out, Adrien!" A grainy photo of Adrien Grody in sunglasses and smoking a cigarette appeared beside the text.
"Lady, if you're gonna be in line, be in line." said a voice behind her. A fat man with a "Dodgers" shirt and a 6-pack of Budweiser’s was glaring at her. "Read your magazines at home."
Ramona went red and scurried to the self check-out.
"I'm going to go home and eat nothing but pop-corn, and drink myself sick with hot chocolate and watch 'Lawrence of Arabia' 48 times, or as many times as needed for me to forget that this whole thing ever happened." Ramona thought to herself.
"Leave it to me to make a fool of myself in front of my #1 Hollywood crush. It could have been anyone else, but noooo..."
With no company but misery, she walked slowly out to her car and thought of the long, blank hours she had waiting for her when she got home. She had already taken down her 7 posters of Adrien Grody. Something even deeper than humiliation ached inside whenever she saw his picture - an ache that even Swiss Miss had not, as yet, been able to assuage.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 9
"Of course really!" said Ramona. "All you need is a boost of self-confidence."
"Dearest Ramona! May I call you dearest - -"
" - - every day! "
" - - dearest Ramona, can you help me? Can you give my self-confidence the boost it so desperately needs whenever I look into your eyes?"
Adrien tentatively reached out and took her hand.
"Why, I - - " Ramona began, then stopped short. A queer feeling was beginning in her toes and creeping insidiously through her veins.
What's wrong?" asked Adrien.
Ramona pulled her hand out of his.
"I can't!"
"Those are strange words, coming from you!"
"I can't boost your self-confidence. What are you doing? What am I doing? You're an actor! Are you making some kind of a game of me? Is this what you spoiled celebrities do for fun? Stop the car and let me out, I can't stand it!"
"Ramona, won't you at least tell me what's wrong?"
"Leave me alone!"
Ramona jerked the door open and got out of the car.
"Please come back!" said Adrien, but the sound of his voice was buried under the smack of the car door and the click of Ramona's drab, un-chic, un-fabulous little red flats.
Adrien slumped in his seat, dazed and confused.
"Oy vey." came a voice from the front seat. The taxi driver turned in his seat. "I knew it would never work."
"Dearest Ramona! May I call you dearest - -"
" - - every day! "
" - - dearest Ramona, can you help me? Can you give my self-confidence the boost it so desperately needs whenever I look into your eyes?"
Adrien tentatively reached out and took her hand.
"Why, I - - " Ramona began, then stopped short. A queer feeling was beginning in her toes and creeping insidiously through her veins.
What's wrong?" asked Adrien.
Ramona pulled her hand out of his.
"I can't!"
"Those are strange words, coming from you!"
"I can't boost your self-confidence. What are you doing? What am I doing? You're an actor! Are you making some kind of a game of me? Is this what you spoiled celebrities do for fun? Stop the car and let me out, I can't stand it!"
"Ramona, won't you at least tell me what's wrong?"
"Leave me alone!"
Ramona jerked the door open and got out of the car.
"Please come back!" said Adrien, but the sound of his voice was buried under the smack of the car door and the click of Ramona's drab, un-chic, un-fabulous little red flats.
Adrien slumped in his seat, dazed and confused.
"Oy vey." came a voice from the front seat. The taxi driver turned in his seat. "I knew it would never work."
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 8
With Ramona playing the lead in her magical Red Shoes, filming took on a new life.
"I don't believe my eyes!" said Sam. "Every scene is perfect! She's a natural! She's better than a natural!"
Filming went so well that they were able to shoot the whole picture in one day, including all the tap-dancing scenes.
"That's a wrap, people!" said Sam. "Ramona, I could kiss you. In fact ... "
"Hey knock it off, Sam." said Adrien.
"All right all right. Can I at least buy you a cigar?"
"No thanks, Sam, but I'd take a licorice stick and be grateful." said Ramona.
"You got it, honey. Everybody beat it to Max's Midnight Buffet! Drinks and licorice sticks on me!"
"Gosh!" said Ramona to Adrien as he handed her into the car, "This will be my first time in a limosine."
"I'm surprised." said Adrien, "But I'm sure it won't be the last."
"No, probably not."
Adrien closed the door and climbed into the seat across from her.
"I've never met a girl like you before, Ramona." said Adrien.
"No Mr. Grody, I don't expect you have, nor will you ever. There's only one of me."
"It's a crying shame, too. If everyone were like you, I might go out in public more often."
"I don't think it's a shame at all. If everyone were like me, I'd have to start killing them off to drive up the scarcity, you know? There, you see I'm funny, too. I'll bet you didn't know that."
"I did not. I'm only just beginning to feel absolutely inadequate with you."
Ramona made a face.
"But that's silly! You're a very famous, handsome and charming man! You have a resolute nose and devestating brown eyes! There's nothing inadequate about you at all."
Adrien, looking quite serious as well as insanely attractive, said:
"Really?"
"I don't believe my eyes!" said Sam. "Every scene is perfect! She's a natural! She's better than a natural!"
Filming went so well that they were able to shoot the whole picture in one day, including all the tap-dancing scenes.
"That's a wrap, people!" said Sam. "Ramona, I could kiss you. In fact ... "
"Hey knock it off, Sam." said Adrien.
"All right all right. Can I at least buy you a cigar?"
"No thanks, Sam, but I'd take a licorice stick and be grateful." said Ramona.
"You got it, honey. Everybody beat it to Max's Midnight Buffet! Drinks and licorice sticks on me!"
"Gosh!" said Ramona to Adrien as he handed her into the car, "This will be my first time in a limosine."
"I'm surprised." said Adrien, "But I'm sure it won't be the last."
"No, probably not."
Adrien closed the door and climbed into the seat across from her.
"I've never met a girl like you before, Ramona." said Adrien.
"No Mr. Grody, I don't expect you have, nor will you ever. There's only one of me."
"It's a crying shame, too. If everyone were like you, I might go out in public more often."
"I don't think it's a shame at all. If everyone were like me, I'd have to start killing them off to drive up the scarcity, you know? There, you see I'm funny, too. I'll bet you didn't know that."
"I did not. I'm only just beginning to feel absolutely inadequate with you."
Ramona made a face.
"But that's silly! You're a very famous, handsome and charming man! You have a resolute nose and devestating brown eyes! There's nothing inadequate about you at all."
Adrien, looking quite serious as well as insanely attractive, said:
"Really?"
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Ramona and the Magic Shoes - 7
Inside the studio, pandemonium had ensued.
Sam ran towards Adrien with a look of desperation.
"Now what, Adrien?! That air-headed twit has gone and done it! She poked herself in the eye with her mascara brush and now she's being rushed to the emergency room. We haven't got a Julia! She'll be wearing an eye-patch for weeks! If I ever get my hands on Ted in casting, I swear I'll ..."
Sam made various violent gestures that boded ill for Ted in casting.
Sam stopped short when he saw Ramona.
"Well hello there." he said. "Friend of Adrien's?"
"It appears that way." said Ramona.
"Friend of mine, then, if I may make so bold."
"I'm growing used to boldness today."
"Sam, this is Ramona." said Adrien.
"It's a real pleasure." said Sam. "But Adrien, what are we going to do? We've got exactly 6 weeks to shoot this picture, and we haven't got a leading lady. Granted, Maureen was a tarty little trollup without a lick of acting experience, but still! She was better than nobody!"
"I've got the girl for you Sam. She's standing right here. She makes Katherine Hepburn look like a dime-store hussy. She's got a soul, Sam. And she's got moxy."
Sam stroked his chin reflectively.
"Huh ... can you tap dance, missy?"
"Of course."
"Then you're hired. Pam! Get this lady in a costume, pronto!"
Sam ran towards Adrien with a look of desperation.
"Now what, Adrien?! That air-headed twit has gone and done it! She poked herself in the eye with her mascara brush and now she's being rushed to the emergency room. We haven't got a Julia! She'll be wearing an eye-patch for weeks! If I ever get my hands on Ted in casting, I swear I'll ..."
Sam made various violent gestures that boded ill for Ted in casting.
Sam stopped short when he saw Ramona.
"Well hello there." he said. "Friend of Adrien's?"
"It appears that way." said Ramona.
"Friend of mine, then, if I may make so bold."
"I'm growing used to boldness today."
"Sam, this is Ramona." said Adrien.
"It's a real pleasure." said Sam. "But Adrien, what are we going to do? We've got exactly 6 weeks to shoot this picture, and we haven't got a leading lady. Granted, Maureen was a tarty little trollup without a lick of acting experience, but still! She was better than nobody!"
"I've got the girl for you Sam. She's standing right here. She makes Katherine Hepburn look like a dime-store hussy. She's got a soul, Sam. And she's got moxy."
Sam stroked his chin reflectively.
"Huh ... can you tap dance, missy?"
"Of course."
"Then you're hired. Pam! Get this lady in a costume, pronto!"
Friday, July 23, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 6
"I have a poster of him in my room." thought Ramona. "No .... I have 7 posters of him in my room. What a coincidence."
"A girl like you doesn't have to pay for her own ice cream." said Adrien Grody. He turned to the ice cream man. "Make it two."
The crowds were now in a state of hysteria and were snapping pictures.
"It's Ramona of the Red Shoes and Adrien Grody!" they tittered. "Get an autograph! Get a picture! Get something!"
"Let's get out of here." said Adrien. "Paparazzi give me the fidgets."
"Me too." said Ramona. "The flashes drive me absolutely bonkers. Thanks for the ice cream, by the way."
"Don't mention it." said Adrien. "From the moment I saw you I knew you were the kind of girl I wanted to buy ice cream for for the rest of my life. Damn! That ice cream man didn't put nearly enough sprinkles on yours."
"You're very bold, aren't you?"
"I'd have to be, wouldn't I, to get the attention of a girl like you? I'm sorry, I'm smoking, aren't I? Do you mind?"
"I revile it."
Adrien flung the cigarette stub down and extinguished it with his shoe.
"Step into my office." he said with a flourish, as he opened the studio door.
"A girl like you doesn't have to pay for her own ice cream." said Adrien Grody. He turned to the ice cream man. "Make it two."
The crowds were now in a state of hysteria and were snapping pictures.
"It's Ramona of the Red Shoes and Adrien Grody!" they tittered. "Get an autograph! Get a picture! Get something!"
"Let's get out of here." said Adrien. "Paparazzi give me the fidgets."
"Me too." said Ramona. "The flashes drive me absolutely bonkers. Thanks for the ice cream, by the way."
"Don't mention it." said Adrien. "From the moment I saw you I knew you were the kind of girl I wanted to buy ice cream for for the rest of my life. Damn! That ice cream man didn't put nearly enough sprinkles on yours."
"You're very bold, aren't you?"
"I'd have to be, wouldn't I, to get the attention of a girl like you? I'm sorry, I'm smoking, aren't I? Do you mind?"
"I revile it."
Adrien flung the cigarette stub down and extinguished it with his shoe.
"Step into my office." he said with a flourish, as he opened the studio door.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 5
Note: Please be advised that at this point, the story gets kind of gushy. I can't help that, it's just how things went.
The first thing that Ramona did when she left the department store was to head for the nearest ice cream stand.
"On a day like this -" said Ramona, with deep conviction, "The only food one needs is ice cream."
There was a line about a block long for the ice cream stand, but at the appearance of Ramona with her Red Shoes, the customers, awe-struck, stood back.
"Who is this Amazonian beauty who visits mine humble ice cream stand?" said the little ice cream man.
"I am Ramona of the Red Shoes!" said Ramona. "The click of my heels is as the thunder of the gods!"
The crowd murmured with admiration.
"She must be from The Movies ..." they said.
"What will you have, Oh Red-Shoe'd Ramona?" asked the ice cream man, his scoop poised expertly over the buckets.
"A triple-decker! Moose-tracks on the bottom! Strawberry in the middle! And hot tin roof on the top!"
The ice-cream man set to scooping with great vigor.
Ramona reached for her purse to pay.
"Allow me." said a voice behind her.
Ramona turned and found herself looking up at an incredibly tall and famous man. Parenthetically, he was also severely attractive, with kind and slightly tortured brown eyes, and a drooping, extensive nose. One hand was in his pocket, and one hand held a smoldering cigarette stub.
It was Adrien Grody.
The first thing that Ramona did when she left the department store was to head for the nearest ice cream stand.
"On a day like this -" said Ramona, with deep conviction, "The only food one needs is ice cream."
There was a line about a block long for the ice cream stand, but at the appearance of Ramona with her Red Shoes, the customers, awe-struck, stood back.
"Who is this Amazonian beauty who visits mine humble ice cream stand?" said the little ice cream man.
"I am Ramona of the Red Shoes!" said Ramona. "The click of my heels is as the thunder of the gods!"
The crowd murmured with admiration.
"She must be from The Movies ..." they said.
"What will you have, Oh Red-Shoe'd Ramona?" asked the ice cream man, his scoop poised expertly over the buckets.
"A triple-decker! Moose-tracks on the bottom! Strawberry in the middle! And hot tin roof on the top!"
The ice-cream man set to scooping with great vigor.
Ramona reached for her purse to pay.
"Allow me." said a voice behind her.
Ramona turned and found herself looking up at an incredibly tall and famous man. Parenthetically, he was also severely attractive, with kind and slightly tortured brown eyes, and a drooping, extensive nose. One hand was in his pocket, and one hand held a smoldering cigarette stub.
It was Adrien Grody.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 4
"I don't know how you do it, Grody." said the director to "Hank".
"Do what, Sam?"
"Look these little hussies in the eye and pretend to take them seriously. Look at 'er! Off to the make-up dresser again. If I wanted a painted mannequin, I would have hired a department store dummy and an Avon lady."
"Aw, giver a break. It's her first big thing. You don't exactly learn to be Katherine Hepburn doing SoftSpread commercials."
Adrien Grody (for it was in fact, the dashing actor himself), removed his stage hat and lit a cigarette.
"I guess so." said Sam. "Say, is it true about you and Tammy Hunt? I saw it all over the tabloids last week. You two together?"
"Nah." said Adrien. "You oughtta know better than to read those things."
"Yeah yeah. I just kinda hoped ... you're a nice guy, Grody. You should get a girl. Might do you good. Nancy did me good."
"Thanks Sam. But I'm waiting for a girl with a soul, that's all."
"Ain't that the truth. Hey, when you find her, give me a holler, ok? I could use her for this picture. Maureen's giving me ulcers."
"Sure, Boss."
"And get that thing out of the studio! You know what the rules are with the fancy new get-ups."
"What, this?" Adrien held up the cigarette innocently. "All right all right, I'll go outside. Be back in 10."
"Do what, Sam?"
"Look these little hussies in the eye and pretend to take them seriously. Look at 'er! Off to the make-up dresser again. If I wanted a painted mannequin, I would have hired a department store dummy and an Avon lady."
"Aw, giver a break. It's her first big thing. You don't exactly learn to be Katherine Hepburn doing SoftSpread commercials."
Adrien Grody (for it was in fact, the dashing actor himself), removed his stage hat and lit a cigarette.
"I guess so." said Sam. "Say, is it true about you and Tammy Hunt? I saw it all over the tabloids last week. You two together?"
"Nah." said Adrien. "You oughtta know better than to read those things."
"Yeah yeah. I just kinda hoped ... you're a nice guy, Grody. You should get a girl. Might do you good. Nancy did me good."
"Thanks Sam. But I'm waiting for a girl with a soul, that's all."
"Ain't that the truth. Hey, when you find her, give me a holler, ok? I could use her for this picture. Maureen's giving me ulcers."
"Sure, Boss."
"And get that thing out of the studio! You know what the rules are with the fancy new get-ups."
"What, this?" Adrien held up the cigarette innocently. "All right all right, I'll go outside. Be back in 10."
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 3
...............................
Not far away in the busy metropolis, in a swanky film studio warehouse, a tragic scene was unfolding.
"No Julia," said the tall, handsome, brooding man, his fascinating eyebrows quivering sadly. "I don't love you. I never have."
"Oh Hank!" said Julia. "How can you say such things!"
"I thought I loved you. But that was before I realized that you were an undercover agent tracking me for government secrets. I can't be with someone who bugs my hotel room, darling."
"But why not!" sobbed Julia into her handkerchief.
"CUT for cryin' out loud!" said the director. "You're makin' ME cry."
"Really?" said Julia, who really wasn't Julia at all, but an up-and-coming young starlet named Maureen.
"Yeah," said the director. "I'm crying when I think how much this contract cost. Where'd you say you went to acting school again?"
"Why, I -"
"Never mind, sweetheart, it doesn't matter. Take a break. I know I need one."
"I don't know how you do it, Grody." said the director to "Hank".
"Do what, Sam?"
"Look these little hussies in the eye and pretend to take them seriously. Look at 'er! Off to the make-up dresser again. If I wanted a painted mannequin, I would have hired a department store dummy and an Avon lady."
"Aw, giver a break. It's her first big thing. You don't exactly learn to be Katherine Hepburn doing SoftSpread commercials."
Not far away in the busy metropolis, in a swanky film studio warehouse, a tragic scene was unfolding.
"No Julia," said the tall, handsome, brooding man, his fascinating eyebrows quivering sadly. "I don't love you. I never have."
"Oh Hank!" said Julia. "How can you say such things!"
"I thought I loved you. But that was before I realized that you were an undercover agent tracking me for government secrets. I can't be with someone who bugs my hotel room, darling."
"But why not!" sobbed Julia into her handkerchief.
"CUT for cryin' out loud!" said the director. "You're makin' ME cry."
"Really?" said Julia, who really wasn't Julia at all, but an up-and-coming young starlet named Maureen.
"Yeah," said the director. "I'm crying when I think how much this contract cost. Where'd you say you went to acting school again?"
"Why, I -"
"Never mind, sweetheart, it doesn't matter. Take a break. I know I need one."
"I don't know how you do it, Grody." said the director to "Hank".
"Do what, Sam?"
"Look these little hussies in the eye and pretend to take them seriously. Look at 'er! Off to the make-up dresser again. If I wanted a painted mannequin, I would have hired a department store dummy and an Avon lady."
"Aw, giver a break. It's her first big thing. You don't exactly learn to be Katherine Hepburn doing SoftSpread commercials."
Friday, July 16, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 2
The Magic Man lifted his hands and shook his long beard to try to curb her enthusiasm.
"Not so fast, my little snap-crackle-and-pop." he said. "These shoes will give you self-confidence, yes. They will give you confidence to do things you've never done before. But they will only work for the next 12 hours. At the end of that time, the heels will shrink and they will become boring, little, un-chic, un-fabulous flats. So you must make sure that at the end of the 12 hours, you are ready to sprout your own wings of self-confidence."
"Can do!" said Ramona, strutting around in front of the department-store mirror.
The Magic Man shook his head forlornly.
"Oy vey. This will never work."
Ramona tripped away on clouds of velvet red.
"No elevators for me today!" she said, and quick as a wink, she hiked up her pin-stripe skirt, hopped onto the banister of the escalator, and slid down all 11 floors.
"What a strikingly confident young woman!" said the pretzel vendor.
"What a self-possessed female!" cried the Rolex watch-seller.
"What a riveting pair of red shoes!" shrieked the saleslady at Saks.
"Not so fast, my little snap-crackle-and-pop." he said. "These shoes will give you self-confidence, yes. They will give you confidence to do things you've never done before. But they will only work for the next 12 hours. At the end of that time, the heels will shrink and they will become boring, little, un-chic, un-fabulous flats. So you must make sure that at the end of the 12 hours, you are ready to sprout your own wings of self-confidence."
"Can do!" said Ramona, strutting around in front of the department-store mirror.
The Magic Man shook his head forlornly.
"Oy vey. This will never work."
Ramona tripped away on clouds of velvet red.
"No elevators for me today!" she said, and quick as a wink, she hiked up her pin-stripe skirt, hopped onto the banister of the escalator, and slid down all 11 floors.
"What a strikingly confident young woman!" said the pretzel vendor.
"What a self-possessed female!" cried the Rolex watch-seller.
"What a riveting pair of red shoes!" shrieked the saleslady at Saks.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Ramona and the Red Shoes - 1
Note: This story was inspired by a rather remarkable pair of bright red, 5-inch heels that I bought for my brother's wedding, in which I was a bridesmaid. They are the sort of shoes that I would never buy for myself, except that they exactly matched my dress and were 75% off. The latter was enough to at least get me to give them a chance. Anyways, once I did buy them, I found them to be a deeply inspiring springboard for the following tale, which I hope you will find at least moderately riveting/entertaining.
RAMONA and the RED SHOES
Once very long ago there was a girl who was short of stature and had but lacking self-assurance. She was neither particularly hideous-looking nor wholly without wits, but she was convinced that she was really quite a woofer and weak in the head. Her friends all told her she was fine, she just needed a Boost of Confidence.
So she went to the Magic Man and asked him what she should do. The Magic Man lived on the very highest floor of the very tallest department store in the whole city. He was very wise, and some said he even had the ability to wear any size shoe with a flawless fit, no matter how large or small.
"Mr. Magic Man," said Ramona (her name was, in fact, Ramona) "I haven't got a lick of self-confidence. Not one lick. What I must I do?"
The Magic Man pulled out a box. Inside the box was a pair of Red Shoes. Ramona was dazzled. They were very Red. Fire-engine red. Geranium red. Licorice-whip red. Christmas-paper red! Not only that, but they had glorious, sky-scraper-high heels, the kind where you can see France without even standing on tip-toes.
"There," said the Magic Man gravely. "Poke your tootsies in those babies."
Ramona put the Red Shoes on and immediately felt a jolt of electricity travel from her toes all through her arteries and blood cells.
"It's a miracle!" said Ramona. "I don't feel dull. I don't feel drab. I don't feel dim! I'm over the moon, Mr. Magic Man! This is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"
RAMONA and the RED SHOES
Once very long ago there was a girl who was short of stature and had but lacking self-assurance. She was neither particularly hideous-looking nor wholly without wits, but she was convinced that she was really quite a woofer and weak in the head. Her friends all told her she was fine, she just needed a Boost of Confidence.
So she went to the Magic Man and asked him what she should do. The Magic Man lived on the very highest floor of the very tallest department store in the whole city. He was very wise, and some said he even had the ability to wear any size shoe with a flawless fit, no matter how large or small.
"Mr. Magic Man," said Ramona (her name was, in fact, Ramona) "I haven't got a lick of self-confidence. Not one lick. What I must I do?"
The Magic Man pulled out a box. Inside the box was a pair of Red Shoes. Ramona was dazzled. They were very Red. Fire-engine red. Geranium red. Licorice-whip red. Christmas-paper red! Not only that, but they had glorious, sky-scraper-high heels, the kind where you can see France without even standing on tip-toes.
"There," said the Magic Man gravely. "Poke your tootsies in those babies."
Ramona put the Red Shoes on and immediately felt a jolt of electricity travel from her toes all through her arteries and blood cells.
"It's a miracle!" said Ramona. "I don't feel dull. I don't feel drab. I don't feel dim! I'm over the moon, Mr. Magic Man! This is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Doonard
Note: This is I guess not so much a story as an anecdote. It was inspired by a particularly unpleasant day at work, and how I was feelig about the coffee at the time. Next real story coming up: "Ramona and the Red Shoes"
DOONARD
A Tragedy
Once upon a time, a nefarious fiend named Doonard snuck into the LandMarc office and poured sediment, loosely ground gravel, dirt, and sewage into the coffee maker. Then he turned the switch on. THE END
DOONARD
A Tragedy
Once upon a time, a nefarious fiend named Doonard snuck into the LandMarc office and poured sediment, loosely ground gravel, dirt, and sewage into the coffee maker. Then he turned the switch on. THE END
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 15 - THE END!
In the end, George sold the Boomerang to the museum, with a written stipulation that it would never be sold to any private collector. He got a nice sum for it, more than his father usually made in a year. He didn't really feel like he had earned it, so with his parents' help, he put some of it away for college, and the rest he sent to an orphanage in Guam.
He never went to see the Boomerang at the museum. Mr. and Mrs. Howard went on the first day the exhibit opened, at the express invitation of the museum, but George decided to stay home. He reckoned he had seen more than enough of the thing to last him a lifetime.
Mr. Mack recovered fully from his accident, except that he had a pretty severe case of amnesia. He was still able to go back to his old job of driving the school-bus, and all the students decided that amnesia must agree with him, because he was a much happier, kinder and more caring individual from that time forth. George always remembered to smile and wave at him whenever he took the bus.
George returned to school again, as scrawny a little twerp as ever he had been, and once again faced the poundings Porky and his gang. He didn't face it for too much longer, though, due to the fact that not long afterwards, Porky Pete was discovered to have a deathly peanut allergy which made it necessary for him to eat at a separate table and carry around an emergency case so that if he did have a reaction, someone could stick him before it got fatal. George was left much more in peace after this point, and he found that if he ever did see Porky Pete coming at him with a swirly in his eyes, he could evade the situation by yelling "peanuts!" which would send Pete flying down the hall.
"Nurse Velma", or the Marvelous Man, as he know him, was never seen nor heard from again by George, but my sources lead me to believe that he is now residing in a drugstore basement in New Jersey, working on an invention that he calls "The Astounding Bald-Away", which promises to "banish baldness in the blink of an eye" and "guarantees increased attractiveness to the opposite sex."
THE END.
He never went to see the Boomerang at the museum. Mr. and Mrs. Howard went on the first day the exhibit opened, at the express invitation of the museum, but George decided to stay home. He reckoned he had seen more than enough of the thing to last him a lifetime.
Mr. Mack recovered fully from his accident, except that he had a pretty severe case of amnesia. He was still able to go back to his old job of driving the school-bus, and all the students decided that amnesia must agree with him, because he was a much happier, kinder and more caring individual from that time forth. George always remembered to smile and wave at him whenever he took the bus.
George returned to school again, as scrawny a little twerp as ever he had been, and once again faced the poundings Porky and his gang. He didn't face it for too much longer, though, due to the fact that not long afterwards, Porky Pete was discovered to have a deathly peanut allergy which made it necessary for him to eat at a separate table and carry around an emergency case so that if he did have a reaction, someone could stick him before it got fatal. George was left much more in peace after this point, and he found that if he ever did see Porky Pete coming at him with a swirly in his eyes, he could evade the situation by yelling "peanuts!" which would send Pete flying down the hall.
"Nurse Velma", or the Marvelous Man, as he know him, was never seen nor heard from again by George, but my sources lead me to believe that he is now residing in a drugstore basement in New Jersey, working on an invention that he calls "The Astounding Bald-Away", which promises to "banish baldness in the blink of an eye" and "guarantees increased attractiveness to the opposite sex."
THE END.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 14
"Oh! Hello, George. What've you got your suit-case for?" Mr. Howard stood blinkingly in the doorway, his hand poised to knock.
George shrugged. "I dunno."
"George, there's somebody in the kitchen I'd for you to meet."
George followed his father into the kitchen. A paunchy, cheerful man with a brief-case was sitting at the table. His face was red and cheeky like a baby's and his hair curled up in the back like Donald Duck.
"George!" he said. He spoke in a big, booming voice, like he was officiating at a town hall meeting. "I've been hearing all about you!"
"This is Dr. Wendall. He works at the Museum.'
Mrs. Howard came in with warm ginger-snaps and cold sodas.
"He's the curator of the Museum." she specified severely.
"Really?' said George politely.
"Really really George!" said Dr. Wendall. He thought that George must be very impressed to meet a museum curator in the flesh.
"I'm the big man in charge of the museum. Jillian, these are without a doubt the most inspiring and edifying ginger-snaps that I have ever known. But George, I want you to know that I'm not here to talk to you about ginger-snaps. I'm here to talk to you about the deal of a lifetime. I'm here to talk to you about your Boomerang."
"Oh no, Dr. Wendall! - don't buy it! It will kill you; it's magical and very evil!"
"That's all right, George, that's all right. Just calm yourself down a minute. You see, I've heard tell of your Boomerang, and I know of its mystical powers. I've heard rumors of a Boomerang that seems to have a mind of its own, that brings vengeance to the vengeful, but gives back the same punishment in full measure. I've heard about a Boomerang that follows its master all the way across the world. It seem that only 6 were made, then production was suddenly stopped. Because my museum is of course interested in curiosities, I had a mind to find one for our collection.
"I was beginning to lose hope that I could track one down, but then today your father called me up and mentioned about what you have here. It seems to me, George, that what you have is a pretty Amazing Boomerang. And I am hoping that you will consider selling it."
George shook his head. "I'm sorry Dr. Wendall, but I just can't sell it to you."
"But you see George - you wouldn't be selling it to me - you'd be selling it to the museum."
"Don't you see how it would be, George?" said Mr. Howard. "A museum can't throw a boomerang. It hasn't got any arms or hands."
"There's logic!" said Mr. Wendall. "I couldn't have said it better."
He took out a shiny black check-book, and wrote an amount which is not important on it.
"Take a look at that, George, and see what you think of it."
George took a look, but he didn't even see the numbers. He didn't care, not one bit.
"So ... "he heard Dr. Wendall say, "... do we have a deal?"
George shrugged. "I dunno."
"George, there's somebody in the kitchen I'd for you to meet."
George followed his father into the kitchen. A paunchy, cheerful man with a brief-case was sitting at the table. His face was red and cheeky like a baby's and his hair curled up in the back like Donald Duck.
"George!" he said. He spoke in a big, booming voice, like he was officiating at a town hall meeting. "I've been hearing all about you!"
"This is Dr. Wendall. He works at the Museum.'
Mrs. Howard came in with warm ginger-snaps and cold sodas.
"He's the curator of the Museum." she specified severely.
"Really?' said George politely.
"Really really George!" said Dr. Wendall. He thought that George must be very impressed to meet a museum curator in the flesh.
"I'm the big man in charge of the museum. Jillian, these are without a doubt the most inspiring and edifying ginger-snaps that I have ever known. But George, I want you to know that I'm not here to talk to you about ginger-snaps. I'm here to talk to you about the deal of a lifetime. I'm here to talk to you about your Boomerang."
"Oh no, Dr. Wendall! - don't buy it! It will kill you; it's magical and very evil!"
"That's all right, George, that's all right. Just calm yourself down a minute. You see, I've heard tell of your Boomerang, and I know of its mystical powers. I've heard rumors of a Boomerang that seems to have a mind of its own, that brings vengeance to the vengeful, but gives back the same punishment in full measure. I've heard about a Boomerang that follows its master all the way across the world. It seem that only 6 were made, then production was suddenly stopped. Because my museum is of course interested in curiosities, I had a mind to find one for our collection.
"I was beginning to lose hope that I could track one down, but then today your father called me up and mentioned about what you have here. It seems to me, George, that what you have is a pretty Amazing Boomerang. And I am hoping that you will consider selling it."
George shook his head. "I'm sorry Dr. Wendall, but I just can't sell it to you."
"But you see George - you wouldn't be selling it to me - you'd be selling it to the museum."
"Don't you see how it would be, George?" said Mr. Howard. "A museum can't throw a boomerang. It hasn't got any arms or hands."
"There's logic!" said Mr. Wendall. "I couldn't have said it better."
He took out a shiny black check-book, and wrote an amount which is not important on it.
"Take a look at that, George, and see what you think of it."
George took a look, but he didn't even see the numbers. He didn't care, not one bit.
"So ... "he heard Dr. Wendall say, "... do we have a deal?"
Monday, July 5, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 13
"Your mother's right, you know, George." added Mr. Howard helpfully.
Climbing into the back of the family station wagon, George was not so sure. He was not sure at all that things were going to be all right. All the solutions he had been able to come up with had ranged from "horrific" at best, to "cataclysmic" at worst. Even now, his head buzzed and ached and he felt the Boomerang burning in his pocket, chaffing like a rabid dog on a short leash. He knew it was only waiting for the slightest provocation to turn the full force of its persuasive powers on him.
"You're certainly in no condition to go to school." said Mrs. Howard. "Besides, you'd be late anyway. I'll phone the school and explain. Turn down the shades and go straight to bed; you look like death with double-pneumonia."
George did turn down the shades, and did change into his PJ's and did climb into bed, but he did not sleep.
A dreadful choice lay before him. He knew that if he could convince someone to buy his Boomerang, he would be selling them their death. If he kept the Boomerang, it would only be a matter of time before he would use it again. The first time he had used it, it had given him a headache. The second time, it might be fatal ... both to him and to his victim. The gruesome truth was only too clear to him. He resolved upon the least horrific of his options.
"I've got to go very far away." he thought. "Somewhere far away from everything and everybody. I'll go to Antarctica. I'll build an igloo and ice-fish for my food. Then my Boomerang and I won't ever bother anyone anymore. I'll wait until dark, and then sneak away."
With this sober conclusion, George turned over and glumly waited for night-fall
............................
When the clock had finally ticked its last day-lit tock, George made in his final preparations. Knowing that the authorities would eventually declare him dead, he drafted a will bequeathing all his earthly possessions to his parents (since he didn't have any friends) and packed a suit-case of his warmest clothes.
Panic had long ago deserted him and had been displaced by a calm melancholy. The choice to live a life of shame or choose to be buried alive in a frozen tundra away from all human contact, he reflected, was something that should never be presented to a 4-grader. And yet, who ever said that life played fair? After all, he had brought this upon himself. He remembered the boy that he had been just a few short weeks ago - a scrawny, runty, cowardly whipping boy, seduced by Lady Vengeance. It seemed a long, long time ago. He had changed. In fact, he had grown up. That would have to be comfort enough.
"Good-bye." he whispered softly to his bedroom ... to his home ... to his world. He opened the door quietly.
Climbing into the back of the family station wagon, George was not so sure. He was not sure at all that things were going to be all right. All the solutions he had been able to come up with had ranged from "horrific" at best, to "cataclysmic" at worst. Even now, his head buzzed and ached and he felt the Boomerang burning in his pocket, chaffing like a rabid dog on a short leash. He knew it was only waiting for the slightest provocation to turn the full force of its persuasive powers on him.
"You're certainly in no condition to go to school." said Mrs. Howard. "Besides, you'd be late anyway. I'll phone the school and explain. Turn down the shades and go straight to bed; you look like death with double-pneumonia."
George did turn down the shades, and did change into his PJ's and did climb into bed, but he did not sleep.
A dreadful choice lay before him. He knew that if he could convince someone to buy his Boomerang, he would be selling them their death. If he kept the Boomerang, it would only be a matter of time before he would use it again. The first time he had used it, it had given him a headache. The second time, it might be fatal ... both to him and to his victim. The gruesome truth was only too clear to him. He resolved upon the least horrific of his options.
"I've got to go very far away." he thought. "Somewhere far away from everything and everybody. I'll go to Antarctica. I'll build an igloo and ice-fish for my food. Then my Boomerang and I won't ever bother anyone anymore. I'll wait until dark, and then sneak away."
With this sober conclusion, George turned over and glumly waited for night-fall
............................
When the clock had finally ticked its last day-lit tock, George made in his final preparations. Knowing that the authorities would eventually declare him dead, he drafted a will bequeathing all his earthly possessions to his parents (since he didn't have any friends) and packed a suit-case of his warmest clothes.
Panic had long ago deserted him and had been displaced by a calm melancholy. The choice to live a life of shame or choose to be buried alive in a frozen tundra away from all human contact, he reflected, was something that should never be presented to a 4-grader. And yet, who ever said that life played fair? After all, he had brought this upon himself. He remembered the boy that he had been just a few short weeks ago - a scrawny, runty, cowardly whipping boy, seduced by Lady Vengeance. It seemed a long, long time ago. He had changed. In fact, he had grown up. That would have to be comfort enough.
"Good-bye." he whispered softly to his bedroom ... to his home ... to his world. He opened the door quietly.
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