Dirk Destroyer Part 38 Chapter Twenty

I suppose it’s a little late to mention it, but those chapters that are spelled out (like Twenty,) are diversions from the story, while those that are enumerated (thanks CL for giving me that cool word,) (like 21,) move the story along.

Kinda cute, right?

Well who asked you?

I don’t care if I did ask you – I thought it was cute even if nobody else did. Remember, this entire magnum opus (‘nother cool word, but this time I got it from Star Trek reruns,) is free of charge.

But back to the beauty of these nonenumerated diversional chapters (wow am I cranking out the cool words tonight!) You can take these chapters almost like short stories and you might even understand what’s going on without reading the previous 37 Dirk Destroyer posts.

Chapter Twenty

Fassentinker

The scratchwing and bellow had been such a fine combination for instrumental duets that when I was born people in my village thought they had been part of civilization forever. Two years later when Dirk was born, most people still held the same opinion.

Though the scratchwing is a precision instrument and the bellow more tonal and percussive, it was the fad of composers in my youth to ask the direct opposite of each. The result was a musical product that resembled a raptor swimming under water next to a leviathan farting.

It was unpleasant, but it was art, and to expect art to be pleasant is common, base, uncultured, and ignorant. The annual art endowments were thus awarded to the artists, composers, choreographers, sculptors, and nose pickers who most made you wish that your head was an internal organ.

Those were heady days for the arts.

Dutifully, Dirk and I studied music and practiced every day. Dirk developed a sardonic sense of humor; I developed allergies; and our mother went through three divorces.

I remember a particularly cruel punishment I received in middle school after my rendition of V. D. Popengut’s ninth inversion was greeted with applause by my classmates. I was forced to listen to the correct interpretation repeatedly until I was light-headed from loss of blood and mucus.

It was into this world of poignant artistic integrity that Captain Kangar Fassentinker rose to prominence. Kangar Fassentinker was a tug boat captain on the continent of Pogo where his primary trade was to take tourists to the one toilet, or loo, as they were called down there, that flowed in the correct direction. Captain Kangar –loo as he was popularly known to the inhabitants of those parts, had very little adult trade, as most people over the age of seven felt no need to see a toilet flow the correct way more than once. Smaller children however, could never get enough of it, and after some time, parents began habitually leaving their children on his tugboat before leaving for work, or to score drugs.

Kangar Fassentinker was not pleased with this turn of events. An accomplished scratchwing player in his youth with four suicides to his credit, Captain Kangar-loo began playing his scratchwing – not properly, but in a contrarian fashion - in opposition to the accepted artistical forms of the day.

Unfortunately, the children of his tugboat nursery had not yet developed the sophistication necessary to understand that what they were hearing was asinine, derivative crap, and so they loved and adored the Captain almost as much as he loathed them. The Captain lived in an increasingly unbearable world of happy children, swirling water, and deplorably pleasant music.

After twenty-five years, and a dozen unexplained drownings, Luke Gandolf, a writer of fantasies, and creator of toys that were particularly harmful to children, remembered his dear Captain Kangar-loo, and bailed him out of jail, in order to bring Kangar Fassentinker’s music to the world.

Unfortunately, only a handful of Fassentinker’s pieces were released to the world including his exquisite third duet for scratchwing and bellow before Fassentinker slipped on a cube of ice and accidentally impaled himself on an ice pick left carelessly propped, point up, on the floor. This occurred at the apartment of the aforementioned composer, Vladimir Draculo Popengut, who was the only witness to the event.

Not sure if Danny Kaye was Fassentinker or Popengut, but I love his movies.

Wise Readers Wanted

Having battered heads with cranky old Walter Bego for the last few weeks, we've produce the first view-able version of Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother. Now we need guinea pi… volunteers.

It’s a common misconception that writing is about writing – blogging is about writing – writing novels (or novellas) is about editing.

The rough draft of a story usually takes me about 6 weeks to do. It’s the most liberating, joyful 6 weeks or my otherwise sullen existence. The mind wanders far afield a bit like Danny Kaye's in Walter Mitty.

If there was a fairy god-mother for writers, she wouldn't wave her wand to give us ideas; she would wave her wand to turn rough drafts into finished copy.

After the rough draft is done (and the writer sobers up,) the draft is place in a drawer (or on a flash drive,) until much of the detail is forgotten (usually due to harassment from bill-collectors.) When it’s been sufficiently forgotten the first of four (yes, I said FOUR) edits is begun. Big changes happen in the first edit – characters change, the plot changes, everything changes except the writer’s clothes and generally poor hygiene as he/she is chained to the typewriter/word processor/desktop/laptop/tablet until the first edit is completed.

The second edit is the consultation edit. Chunks of brilliant manuscript is brutally cut and jettisoned by sadistic people like Walter Bego who scream inane statements like, “it doesn't move the narrative forward!” (whatever that means.)

Once the writer stops bleeding, he seeks out independent feedback – or wise readers. Wise readers are not profession editors – it’s better if they’re not editors or writers at all. All a wise reader needs to be is someone who likes to read, and recognizes when he or she feels annoyed. There are three things that writers do that especially annoy readers:

1: We Bore Them

2: We Confuse Them

3: We Say Stuff That Doesn't Make Sense (my favorite)

Most readers recognize when these things happen, and if they happen often enough, the writer’s proud effort loses its place on the reader’s bookshelf, and finds a new place amongst the emergency TP.

I need 2 more people to tell me when I bore them, confuse them, and when I say stuff that doesn't make sense (my favorite,) in the story – Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother: Book 3 of the Genre Series – The Satire.

As it is a satire, anyone who loves politicians in general (many are skewered,) or John McCain or Al Gore particularly (who I gleefully brutalize,) might not wish to volunteer.

What Does It Pay?!?!?!?!?

(nothing)

But you are thanked officially in digitally pixilated print in the e-book, and I make a reasonable effort not to spell your name wrong.

Such a deal?

When I get the manuscripts back from you I do the third edit based on your wonderful complaints (wound me, beat me, make me feel cheap – please!)

Then GoFigureReads hires a proofreader to catch all the errors – (so you can ignore all the typos, grammatical errors, and misspelled words unless you enjoy that sort of thing,) and I do the final edit.

Finally we have – A Finished Story that you can brag about (or hide from people.) Either way, YOU have become an important part in the writing process!

Sound GLORIOUS to you? Then email me quickly before you come to your senses - gfreads@yahoo.com.