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Sunday, March 30, 2014

Volition Man Chapter L Dirgan Falls Asleep

“So, Headley, you lazy leech, what are you doing other than munching on Pop Tarts you didn’t even buy?”
I love all the heartening responses I get to this blog – especially when I have a guest blogger. For the last two weeks (and for weeks to come,) Walter Bego and I have been pouring over the rough draft of Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother – Book Three in the Genre Series (the Satire)(due 2015.)
How’s it going? you ask (at least if you’re polite.) Walter said about the manuscript, and I quote, “it’s more exciting than C-Span, more attractive than Henry Waxman,
and almost as comfortable as a roll-away bed.”
From Walter, that’s high praise.
So while we work on Dirk, I’ll serialize one of my favorite chapters from Volition Man, Willful Protector of Pollyville and Surrounding Towns – Book Two in the Genre Series (The Superhero Story) (available HERE!)
Chapter L
Good night,” said Dirgan, giving Dagmar her obligatory peck on the cheek.
Good night,” said Dagmar. “Sweet dreams.”
The gray-primer-colored ’87 Plymouth Reliant sat in Dagmar’s driveway. Slime Monster emerged from a storm drain while Dirgan parked it. Dirgan explained that the car wasn’t his; it belonged to Plowboy, and Plowboy wouldn’t like to have his car eaten. Slime Monster made a noise that sounded like wipers scraping on a dry windshield. Dirgan didn’t know if that meant yes, no, or “what a tasty car,” but three hours of indigestible food and an unsatisfying board game later, Plowboy’s vehicle was still there.

Dirgan babied the dying clutch of the Reliant back to his home. He parked next to the pile of birdseed.
Dirgan’s house was small and drab, though it had an exceptionally clean rug thanks to the Bezo that stood triumphantly in the corner of his kitchen. Dirgan stared at the plastic, all-purpose, home-cleaning machine and saw it as if for the first time. It really was just a Hoover with a different label on it.
Dirgan got undressed and into bed, thinking about how his life was changing. Plowboy was a nice guy, but did Dirgan really want to mow lawns for a living? Frank Svengoldsenson was a lying cheat, but where else in Pollyville would Dirgan find such a motivational jump-start?
Then there was Dagmar, the thing in his life that didn’t change, even though he wanted it to. Was she really happy with him as a boyfriend? She didn’t look happy. She’d spent much of the evening telling him how much she hated mimes; what was that all about? Maybe it had to do with the mask. Dagmar told him that she found a mask a lot like his. This one had some glitter on it and part of a sticker that looked like a horse’s rear end.
It was a nice thought for her to find it for him. She was a nice enough girlfriend. Too bad that Dirgan didn’t like her very much. Did you really have to like your girlfriend?
What was it she wished him, sweet dreams? Well, that was something Dirgan didn’t have to worry about. He never dreamed. Dirgan once heard a psychologist say that everybody dreams; some people just don’t remember them. Dirgan couldn’t even remember forgetting a dream.
No, he wasn’t a dreamer.

Dirgan rolled over onto his side and stared at the wall. Sleep would come in any minute, any second now…
He rolled over on his other side. Was this the side he slept on? Maybe it was on his back. Dirgan rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack up there. Every night around this time he reminded himself that he needed to fix that crack. Maybe he should get up and fix it now.
No, that was stupid. It was time to sleep. Dirgan crossed his arms. He was pretty sure that was what put him to sleep.
He just lay there with his arms crossed.
Then he uncrossed them.
He crossed them with his hands on his elbows.
He crossed them with his hands tucked tight against his chest.
One hand tucked, one hand out.
He just lay there.
Or was that laid there?
I’m not looking at the crack,” said Dirgan to no one.
I’m just lying here… just about to sleep…
This is stupid! I’m not about to fall asleep. I might as well get up and fix that crack!”
Dirgan fell asleep.

They tell me that writers should never have their characters fall asleep because… 

oh, am I disturbing you? I’ll try to be quiet.  On Thursday I'll post Dirgan’s dream (at least the first part of it.)

Here’s a completely unrelated but old favorite routine from a young Bill Cosby.