“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,
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
Mooooo!
“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…
Here’s a completely unrelated but old favorite routine from a young Bill Cosby.
