TWO PENNY SAGA: A Portrait of the Super Villain as a Young Man

 I took a random sentence, used it as the first line in a story and wrote for five minutes. This is what I got.

 

Paul couldn’t resist shouting out his joy.

On the enormous monitors were the faces of every world leader telling him that they would surrender if he called off his robot spiders. 

“I did it!”  Paul shouted standing up.  “Finally, after all these years I have done it!  I have taken over the world!” 

Paul leaned back in his throne and wiped a tear from his eye.  This day had been so long in the making.  He’d wanted to take over the world since he was in Junior High and realized that the planet needed a dictator to stop bullies from beating up all the smart people. 

His first couple of attempts in high school had ended with him in detention and dateless for prom.  After college Paul legally changed his name to Mr. Carnage and tried to take over the world using his parent’s basement as his fortress.  None of the attempts were that impressive until his mom kicked him out and he was forced to move into an arctic ice fortress.  Soon after that he found an army of mutant soldiers on Craig’s List and convinced his sister’s boyfriend to build him a gravity laser. 

However, Mr. Carnage still couldn’t get a foothold on world domination so after much thought, he went back to school, got a PhD in Philosophy and became DR CARNAGE!  Since then he had developed his hypnotic syrym, a time traveling rocket ship and his robot spiders which had captured Captain Ultra and his Super Squad.

The phone on Dr. Carnage’s desk buzzed.  “Hey Dr. C!”  Janine, his secretary squawked through the intercom.  “Congrats on the whole world domination thing!  Just so you know I have some gentlemen from the IRS here to talk to you.”

“The IRS?”  Dr. Caranage asked.

“Yeah, they say that taking over the world is going to do a doozy on your income taxes in April.  Also I have some guys who want to talk to you about that universal health care you promised and I’ve got a couple billion people on hold who are complaining about the state of the job market.”

Dr. Carnage slumped in his throne.  After much thought he mumbled, “Janine, release Captain Ultra and his Super Squad from the volcano prison.”

TWO PENNY SAGA: All Spiders go to Hell!

 I took a random sentence, used it as the first line in a story and wrote for five minutes. This is what I got.

I didn’t know until that moment that Nell was so afraid of Spiders. 

“What the hell!”  She screamed and threw the box at me.  It hit the floor and a spider the size of a small puppy scampered out and hid behind the couch, whimpering. 

“You hurt her!”  I said, scooping the enormous arachnid up into my arms.   

“What is that thing, Mark?”  Nell shouted with her back against the wall.  “Why is it in my birthday present?”

“It’s called a dragon spider.  I bought her off of an old man at a gas station.  I figured that since your roommate is allergic to dogs you could have her as a pet.”

“You think Rebecca would be okay with having that….thing around?”

“It’s not a thing, it’s a dragon spider.  The old man said that they’re rare and magical animals.  They’re incredibly faithful and intelligent and bring their owners good luck.”  I placed the dragon spider on the ground and she scurried around my feet, rubbing up against my legs.  “The old man said that their web can be used to cure any disease and that they can sense people who are hurt or hungry and bring them help.  He also said that there are three rules to owning a dragon spider.  The first is that you can’t let them eat after midnight.  The second is-.”

“DIE!”  Rebecca screemed and ran at the Dragon Spider with a dictionary the size of a cinder block.  The spider had just enough time to cringe in terror before she began smashing the book on top of it.  Rebecca continued to crush the animal until it was just a brown and green stain on the floor. 

When she was done, Rebecca stood up and growled, “Only one spider rule in my house.  They all go to hell!”   

Two Penny Saga: The Great Beyond

Greg closed his eyes, took a deep breath and jumped.

 He clung onto his homemade hang glider.  For a second it flew steadily through the air.  Then the frame cracked.  Greg torpedoed down to the sidewalk below.

The next thing he knew Greg was in a gray void before a man holding a long scroll.

"Hello!"  The man looked up at him.  "Probably should have chosen a smaller building?"

"I guess."  Greg tried to scratch his nose but realized he was made out of mist.   

"Well, the good news is your dead."  The man grinned.  "Now the question is what to do with you."

"Do I get to go to heaven?"

"Oh no!  You're not ready for that.  Maybe in a few more lives.  I'm afraid we're going to have to send you back.  Do you have any preferences?"

"A movie star would be nice."

The man looked through his scroll.  "Unfortunately, you didn't live the kind of life where I can justify making you a movie star.  Remember Julie?  You probably shouldn't have called off the wedding via text message.  In fact, considering your road rage you won't even be able to go back human."

"What about a bird?  I've always wanted to fly."

"Absolutely,"  the man looked over his scroll.  "Your options are ostrich, kiwi or....penguin."

TWO PENNY SAGA: Hiding

 
My friend, Mel P., suggested this first line to me.  I wrote for five minutes.  This is what I got.  (If you have any suggestions for prompts let me know.)  


"Henry knew it was only a matter of time before they found him."

Holding his breath, he peeked out of the cupboard beneath the sink.  There were footsteps.  Henry pulled back.

He heard the boys run into the kitchen.  Brandon growled, "Where is that little snot?"

Henry clutched his bottle and prayed that the boys would go away.

One of the other boys said, "I'll look out back, you guys check out the rest of the house."  He heard their footsteps running away.  

Henry pulled himself out of the cupboard and stood in the middle of the kitchen.  He was trapped.  One of them was in the backyard.  The others would hear him if he tried to unlock the back door.  Becomming desperate, Henry spun around and almost crashed into Billy, Brandon's brother.

Billy was clutching his teddy bear and sucking his thumb.  Henry crouched down in front of Billy and whispered, "Hey you know what would be really cool?  If there was a door right there leading outside!"  He shoved the bottle into the boy's arm.  "Why don't you wish there was a door right there in that wall?"

"Hey butt face!"  Brandon shouted running into the room.  He grabbed Henry by the collar and shoved him into the refrigerator.  "You stupid genie!  When my sister wished that she was the greatest music entertainer in the world she didn't want you to turn her into Michael Jackson!   Now turn her back!"   

TWO PENNY SAGA: Emperor of the Basement

My friend, Chris C., suggested this first line to me.  I wrote for five minutes.  This is what I got.  (If you have any suggestions for prompts let me know.)  

“Pliny had never had any objections about defying emperors.”  Especially since most of the emperors in his house only ruled over rooms or cupboards.  While Pliny got dressed for school the emperor of his closet would hold up his scepter and bellow, “I demand you pay taxes for entering my domain!”  Pliny would just roll his eyes while the Emperor ordered his socks to attack him. 

There was one emperor Pliny did fear, though, the emperor of the basement.

“He’s not that bad!”  Pliny’s mom said one afternoon.

“He orders the mice to bite me and makes the furnace breath fire and he’s read all the National Geographics Dad put down there so he’s really smart!”  Pliny whined. 

“I am tired of your excuses, Pliney.  Now, go downstairs and dust that basement!” 

Before Pliney had even reached the bottom of the basement steps the emperor leapt out of the box of toys they kept in the corner  “Who dares trespass?”

“It’s just me,” Pliney sighed.  “My mom wants me to dust down here.”

The emperor pointed at the boy.  “A spy!  Who sent you?”

“I told you!  My-.”  He stopped, thought about his answer for a moment and then said, “The attic emperor sent me to spy on you.  He’s thinking about declaring war and said you’re too stupid and fat to do anything about it!” 

“We’ll see about that!”  The emperor snarled and gathered his advisors together.  Pliney dusted and listened to them plot.  Then he went over to his friend’s house (which only had a prime minister of the garage).

When Pliney returned that evening he discovered that the sparrows and armies of old clothes from the attic were fighting the mice and baby toy armies from the basement.  Alliances had been made so the bathroom navy was now involved along with the bed covers from the spare bedroom.  By dinnertime it was a full out house war.    

Pliney’s father groaned, “I have to wear the same tie to work tomorrow because the rest of mine were drafted.”

His mother complained, “We were going to have steak but my frying pan has been taken a political prisoner.”

His big sister grumbled, “The TV room’s developed nuclear capabilities and Brad’s coming over tonight!”   

  

Pliney slumped in his chair, ate his green beans and thought about how much better things would be if his Mom hadn’t made him dust the basement.  

“Pliny had never had any objections about defying emperors.”  Especially since most of the emperors in his house only ruled over rooms or cupboards.  While Pliny got dressed for school the emperor of his closet would hold up his scepter and bellow, “I demand you pay taxes for entering my domain!”  Pliny would just roll his eyes while the Emperor ordered his socks to attack him. 

There was one emperor Pliny did fear, though, the emperor of the basement.

“He’s not that bad!”  Pliny’s mom said one afternoon.

“He orders the mice to bite me and makes the furnace breath fire and he’s read all the National Geographics Dad put down there so he’s really smart!”  Pliny whined. 

“I am tired of your excuses, Pliney.  Now, go downstairs and dust that basement!” 

Before Pliney had even reached the bottom of the basement steps the emperor leapt out of the box of toys they kept in the corner  “Who dares trespass?”

“It’s just me,” Pliney sighed.  “My mom wants me to dust down here.”

The emperor pointed at the boy.  “A spy!  Who sent you?”

“I told you!  My-.”  He stopped, thought about his answer for a moment and then said, “The attic emperor sent me to spy on you.  He’s thinking about declaring war and said you’re too stupid and fat to do anything about it!” 

“We’ll see about that!”  The emperor snarled and gathered his advisors together.  Pliney dusted and listened to them plot.  Then he went over to his friend’s house (which only had a prime minister of the garage).

When Pliney returned that evening he discovered that the sparrows and armies of old clothes from the attic were fighting the mice and baby toy armies from the basement.  Alliances had been made so the bathroom navy was now involved along with the bed covers from the spare bedroom.  By dinnertime it was a full out house war.    

Pliney’s father groaned, “I have to wear the same tie to work tomorrow because the rest of mine were drafted.”

His mother complained, “We were going to have steak but my frying pan has been taken a political prisoner.”

His big sister grumbled, “The TV room’s developed nuclear capabilities and Brad’s coming over tonight!”   

  

Pliney slumped in his chair, ate his green beans and thought about how much better things would be if his Mom hadn’t made him dust the basement.  

TWO PENNY SAGA: Night Horrors

I took a random sentence, used it as the first line in a story and wrote for five minutes. This is what I got.

Rosalie stifled her scream and cowered under the blanket.

The purple monster with spiked tentacles and twenty eyes slid across the floor toward her.  The creature put its horned snout on the foot of the bed.  “You know Rosalie, I’m really not that bad!”

“Yes you are!”  Rosalie cried.  “You live in my closet and eat the feet of little girls!”

“True, but there are much worse things in the world.  Like, HIGH SCHOOL!”

Rosalie was quivering.  “What’s that?”

“In high school they will teach you algebra and make you take showers in gym!  You’ll grow acne and have to wear braces.  All of your friends will stab you in the back.  Everyone else will have a boyfriend, even Alicia McDermit!”

“That’s not true!”  Rosalie whimpered.

“Then you’ll go to college and waste your time studying drama and philosophy!  After that you’ll have to spend the rest of your life paying student loans.  In this economy you won’t be able to find a job with decent benefits much less a 401K.  You’ll spend the rest of your life in a miserable little cubicle listening to your co-workers complain about the weather while dreaming of someday getting your poetry published.”

Rosalie clenched her fists.  “Oh, yeah?  Well, what about this?”  The little girl grabbed a crumpled sheet of paper off her bedside table.

The monster snarled, “Where did you get that?”

“My mommy made me clean out my closet, and I found this comedy routine written by you!  It’s boring, trite and not nearly as cutting edge as you think!” 

“It’s a satire!”  The monster burst into tears.  “Why doesn’t anyone understand that?  People would get the jokes if they bothered to open a newspaper!  But no I guess it’s more fun to boo the new guy at armature night!”  Sobbing, the monster turned and slithered back into the closet, leaving Rosalie to sleep in peace. 

Interview

My good friend Jon Balog recently interviewed me concerning my novel Edge Country.

Jon has written for Bmore Live, Punk Planet, The Sentimentalist, Jive, and romaexperience.com.  His very enthusiastic article for crunchable.net can be read here and his guest blog for cheapoair.com can be read here.

Why is fantasy fiction important?  Why should people care about creatures and places that don’t really exist?

Fantasy can be as important as realistic fiction when it makes points that are relevant to real life.  It’s no secret that the best sci-fi/fantasy isn’t really about spaceships, talking animals or zombies.  These books involve issues such as war and childhood (Ender’s Game), hate and apathy (Rot and Ruin) and the public’s obsession with the media (The Hunger Games).  In a way, sci-fi/fantasy novels act as a funhouse mirror.  They reflect our world but distort them so at first glance they appear to have nothing to do with reality

But let’s be honest.  Most fantasy authors don’t start off writing novels to express ideas.  They start because they have a story to tell, and it just so happens to contain fantastical elements.  Fantasy is important to me personally because it’s the only thing I feel completely comfortable writing.  There are tons of realistic stories I love reading, but ask me to write something grounded in reality, and it’ll go nowhere.  Ask me to write a story that tackles realistic issues but involves talking animals, underground cities and psychotic demons and you’ll get the first chapter in an hour.      

We often tell young authors to write what they know.  This is excellent advice.  However, it is often misunderstood.  For example, young writers often know what it’s like to feel as though the world is against them.  They could express these feelings through a realistic story (which is commendable).  However, a writer could also express these feelings through a story about a lone survivor trapped in a city full of zombies.  The author is still writing about what they know (feeling lost, betrayed, even victorious), they are just using different tools to get their points across. 

You open Edge Country with a quote from Joseph Campbell. How did his ideas about myth and symbolism influence the book?

I would list Joseph Campbell’s book The Power of Myth as one of the top five influences on my novel.  Mr. Campbell was a genius at finding similarities between mythologies.  He could then connect these similarities to pop culture.

My narrator, Lee, spends the story living a double life between modern day America and Edge Country, a mythological world filled with talking animals and ancient spirits.  Throughout the novel, Lee has to deal with backstabbing friends, heart breaking crushes, and a neglectful father.  To a certain extent I wanted him to be an adolescent “everyman.”  However, I also wanted to connect him with mythic heroes.

Odysseus could probably dropkick Lee, but the two share similar qualities.  They are both trying to reach seemingly impossible destinations.  They are both strongly influenced by love for their families.  They both overcome their adversaries using trickery.  In no way did I set out to base Lee on Odysseus (my character isn’t nearly as popular with the ladies) but Joseph Campbell’s book helped me find ways to connect my story and hero with those from other cultures and make them a part of a broader scope.  I would recommend that all storytellers try this.  

 

You’ve been open about the influence of Calvin and Hobbes. The parallels there are pretty obvious—both chronicle the adventures of young boys as they deal with the horrors of the real world, the horrors of the imagination, and the blurry place where the two worlds meet. One thing I’ve always liked about Bill Watterson is that he celebrated the wonders of youth, but said that he “never understood people who thought of childhood as an idyllic time of life.” How do you personally think of childhood?

I sometimes have a very cynical view of childhood.  While I do have some great memories from growing up, childhood is also a time filled with uncertainty and fear.  Children have little control over their lives.  If an adult is unhappy they can often at least strive for improvement (assuming they are motivated).  Children seldom have this opportunity.  Also, people can get away with being crueler to little kids.  If my boss was half as harsh as my second grade teacher he would be fired.

There are several similarities between Calvin and Hobbes and Edge Country.  They are both about boys who experience the darker sides of growing up.  Both boys are fish out of water among their own peers.  This is in part because they have access to worlds no one else can experience.  Similar to Calvin’s fantasy worlds, Edge Country has both positive and negative effects on Lee’s life.  It offers refuge and friendship but also causes Lee to say and do things that confuse his mother, teachers and friends.  Lee disrupts class to confront an adversary from Edge Country and he is often caught talking or arguing with individuals other humans cannot see. 

Despite its heavy influence, there are some differences between the two works.  There are few examples of Calvin having positive interactions with characters outside his personal world.  While this was perfect for the strip, Lee spends most of Edge Country very aware of how his actions must look to others.  Also, a great deal of the story involves Lee trying to find balance between Edge Country and the human world.

Another work I’d compare Edge Country to is Sam Kieth’s comic book The Maxx. The Maxx told the story of a man who spent half his life in an alternate reality. While definitely a work of fantasy, it addressed some very real-world issues, like homelessness, rape, teen suicide, and avoiding reality.  Edge Country, likewise, deals with things like bullying, self hatred, double lives and abandonment. Was this at all in the back of your head while you were writing?

I would say that these themes were bouncing around in my subconcious, but I wasn’t completely aware of them until later rewrites.  I’m always a few drafts into a project before I realize what the underlying issues are. 

The only exception I can think of is that Edge Country was always about a boy leading a double life.  I have read a lot of novels where the hero goes through the wardrobe/looking glass/train station platform and spends the rest of the book in the other world.  I love these stories but wanted to write a novel where the hero moved back and forth between the mundane and fantastical and had to face challenges in each.

You say writing fantasy is the only thing that comes naturally to you. I'm always surprised to hear people say that, because it seems to me it should be the other way around. When you write something set in the real world, the pieces are already set up for you. With fantasy, you have to reinvent the whole game. Why do you think you're wired that way?

Keep in mind that I only write fantasy set in the modern world (or “contemporary fantasy”).  Writing something in a Tolkien universe feels just as unnatural to me as writing something completely grounded in reality. 

All of my stories are set in modern America with cars, laptops and iPods but the characters just happen to have access to talking animals and hidden worlds.  As I mentioned earlier, the double life theme is enormous in my stories.  My characters often have both grounded and fantastical sides of their lives.  In a way I’m not completely creating my own worlds.  I’m building them on the foundation of our world. 

I honestly don’t know why I’m wired to write this way.  What happens is that when I’m driving my car, hiking in the woods or staring into space, a story will hit me.  It just so happens that almost all of these ideas belong in the contemporary fantasy genre.  I guess you could psychoanalyze me but that always open up a messy can of worms.  My best guess for why I write stories like Edge Country is because I love the juxtaposition between the mythic and the mundane.    I can have my hero be tormented by bullies and face demons in the same chapter.  In a way, having a down-to-earth setting will make the fantasy more relatable.  Also I can draw connections like those between the demons and the bullies. 

You said on the phone that there's nothing you love more than "spending a few hours at the end of the day working on my own world." Do you think there's something godlike in wanting to create your own fictional universe? Do you ever feel overwhelmed by the responsibility that entails, knowing that if you screw up once the whole thing could come crashing down?

To answer your first question: yes, I absolutely think there is a godlike feeling to creating my own universe.  I don’t mean this as blasphemy, I’m just admitting that at times writing a novel does provide a sense of complete control.

However, when my writing is going well, the story controls me.  I very often feel like the story is being told to me, and I’m just the one writing it down.  For example, I recently wrote a chapter where the narrator is standing on the edge of a cliff.  I planned for him to back away, but he jumped off the edge before I could stop him.  I had no choice but to follow through.  The jump was officially a part of the story (at least in this draft) and taking it out would be a lie.

As for your second question:  I often feel overwhelmed by the complexity of plots and characters as well as the publishing world.  However, I never feel overwhelmed by responsibility toward my universe.  Early drafts won’t be perfect, there’s no way to get around that.  There are moments when the universe does come crashing down, but I always build it back up again.  I have complete faith that if I keep on working I’ll eventually get it right.

 

TWO PENNY SAGA: Grandpa's Visit

I took a random sentence, used it as the first line in a story and wrote for five minutes. This is what I got.

I was not expecting what was waiting for me just as I rounded the corner.

"Grandpa!"  I shouted dropping the files.  "How did you get out of the nursing home?"

"It's your lucky day Marty!"  My grandfather giggled prancing up to me in a purple suit and top hat.  "Today your pappy is taking you to CANDY LAND!"

I glanced at the surrounding cubicles.  Most of my co-workers were on the phone or trying to send e-mails, but no one was doing anything interesting enough to distract them from this.

"Grandpa," I murmured taking his arm and trying to guide him to the exit.  "Maybe you should go back to the home."

"Really Marty?  You want me to go back to the old folk's home?  Or do you want me to take you on a cruise down the chocolate canal and a safari among the lollipop lions?  We could fly my licorice plane through the cotton candy clouds!"

I could see my boss Mr. White walking toward us.

"You really need to get out of here grandpa!"

"Are you suuuuure Marty?"

"Yes!  I'm sure!"  I stammered gathering up the files I had dropped.  "I need to send these faxes now, but I'll go to Candy Land with you after work.  Do you need me to call you a taxi?"

My grandfather's face drooped.  "No, that's alright."  He sighed.  "I can find my own way out."  He reached into his purple jacket and pulled out a candy cane, which he stuck into the wall.  What had been hard plaster pulled back like a curtain revealing a landscape filled with gumdrop trees and toffee mountains.  "See ya Marty," Grandpa sighed and stumbled on through.

Kelly, one of the more attractive associates, walked past me.  "That looked embarrassing."

I shook my head.  "That was nothing.  You should've seen what happened when my Uncle Ryan the Lord of Rainbows showed up."

  

TWO PENNY SAGAS from the past 2

Here are some more Two Penny Sagas I wrote before starting this blog. 

“Oh no!” Mom shouted when she saw what Grandma had chosen for our bedtime story. “You are not reading that to them!”

Grandma held up the bundle of yellowed pages she had pulled off the bookshelf. “Why not, Emma? I am sure they will find it very educational.”

“What is it?” my sister Laura and I squealed.

“It's called Henry Rabbit and the Sack of Severed Heads!”

“Mother!” Mom growled. “I'm warning you...”

Grandma went on. “It's a story of friendship, honor, courage and exploding intestines! You children are familiar with the term 'unnecessary surgery' right?”

“Read it! Read it!” we squealed.

“No!” Mom snatched the book out of Grandma's hands. “She's going to read you something decent. How about Goodnight Moon?”

“That's boring!” I cried.

Grandma looked up at Mom, “Emma...”

“No buts mom! They are my children and I won't have you reading this trash to them.” Mom dropped the bundle of papers into the garbage can.

“Fine,” Grandma groaned and flipped open the picture book. “'Goodnight Moon...good night room....”

Mom stood in the doorway watching Grandma read to us. After a few minutes her phone rang down the hall. As soon as Mom turned the corner, Grandma pulled the bundle of papers out of the trashcan and began reading it. “This is the story of Henry Rabbit and the Sack of Severed Heads, written and illustrated by Emma Frost.” She looked up at us. “You know, your mother was about your age when she wrote this.”

She could not believe what she found in the glove box of her boyfriend's car.

“Oh Lord! What is that thing?” Claire pressed herself as far back into passenger's seat as she could go.

“What? What's wrong?” Christopher shouted almost swerving off the highway.

“I opened up your glove compartment to find your GPS and there's some ugly shriveled up thing in there. Is that...is that a monkey's paw?

“Oh, that,” Christopher mumbled. “It's nothing.”

“It sure smells like something!”

“Okay, okay, it's something,” he groaned. “I guess I should tell you about it.  I bought it off of this old guy outside the mall a few months ago. He said it would grant me three wishes.”

“You're joking.” Claire glared at her boyfriend.

“I didn't really believe it at first, but I was holding it after I left and figured I'd give it a shot. I wished for more money. I thought if it really was magic I would get a pile of gold or cash or at least a winning lottery ticket. Nothing like that happened.”

“Were you surprised?”

“Well, the next day I did get that huge promotion. With an eighty percent salary increase.”

“Yeah, but that was just a coincidence.”

“After that, I wished I wasn't so lonely. Two days later Oscar, my cat showed up, eating out of my trashcan. He was just a kitten so I took him in.”

“What did you wish for after that?”

“You.”

Claire stared at him. “Chris, what are you....”

“I'd had a crush on you for months. You're the reason I kept going back to that stupid coffee shop.”

“I know. You already told me.”

“So I held the monkey's paw and said, 'I wish that cute girl at the coffee shop would fall in love with me,' and the next day were talking."

“Chris! That's a self fulfilled prophecy. It had nothing to do with this shriveled up old paw.” She stared at the glove compartment. “You don't really think that the only reason why I love you is because that thing's magic do you?”

Chris shrugged. “Maybe. I don't know.”

Claire shook her head. “No.  I don't believe it.  I love you willingly.  Nothing's forcing me to.  Really!"  Neither of them said anything for the rest of the car ride.  By the time they reached their destination Claire couldn't take her eyes off the monkey paw. 

PROMPT: Most kids set up a lemonade stand to make some money, but not us.

We set up a Divination Stand.

One summer morning my little brother Matt and I dragged a card table out to the corner and wrote “Fortune Tellings – 25 cents!” on a sign in front of it.

We didn't have any customers at first, but after an hour or so Mrs. Cole walked by with her little dog Max and I asked, “Would you like me to read your fortune Mrs. Cole?”

“Well, if you hurry.” She sighed.

I gave her some Juicy Juice to drink. When she was done I looked at the drops on the bottom of the cup. “Uh,” I mumbled, “The spirits are telling me that you have sweet purple globs in your future.”

“Well isn't that nice,” Mrs. Cole sighed and walked on.

Not long after that my Dad came home for lunch. “What're you boys doing?” he asked.

“Performing Divination,” I grinned. “I can tell you your future for a quarter.”

“Well, alright,” Dad sighed checking his watch.

I'd heard that people used to read fortunes from the guts of small animals. I didn't have any small animals around so I tried to read Dad's fortune from Mark's guts. Dad made me stop, though, and said, “People used to read fortunes from how birds flew. Why don't you see what those pigeons are trying to tell you.”

One of the pigeons flew over dad's car and pooped on it. “Uh...” I turned to Dad. “I'd tell you what that meant but you'd probably wash my mouth out with soap.”

“Fair enough,” Dad sighed and gave me a quarter.

A few minutes later, Greg Thompson, the fifth grader from down the street, came by and snarled, “What're you little turds doing?”

“Performing Divination,” I stated. “Do you want your fortune read?”

“What a pair of losers!” Greg laughed and started to walk on down the street.

“Wait!” I shouted. “This one's on the house!”

Greg stopped and turned back to glare at me.

I looked up into the sky. “I will use that cloud to see what the spirits have in store for you Gregory Thompson!” I stared up into the bright blue sky that only held one fluffy white cloud. I turned back to Greg, “Beware things that are fluffy and white!”

Greg laughed, punched me in the face, and stole both our quarters.

After that Mark and I gave up on reading fortunes and went on inside to watch TV.

The next day Mrs. Cole inherited a grape jelly company, my dad ate too much fast food and was stuck on the pot all afternoon and Greg Thompson was hit by a cotton delivery truck. I guess that's what you get when you doubt the spirit world.

PROMPT: My life would be different if I'd never met the old man.

Every town has a house like number Twelve Oak Drive. It's the kind that's all boarded up with an overgrown lawn and a single elderly resident who may or may not be a serial killer. Basically, no one would take you seriously in seventh grade until you broke into the house and came back with a trophy.

I left my friends on the corner and climbed up the side the porch. When I was on the roof I found a window that was open a crack and crept in. It wasn't until I was all the way inside that I noticed the candles. A tall, bony man sat in the middle of the room surrounded by strange patterns drawn on the floor with chalk. He looked up at me and smiled, “So, you have finally arrived.”

“Arrived?” I mumbled.

“Yes,” the man smiled. “I have spent a month summoning you from the shores beyond the mist. You are my new spirit servant. Now, I am hungry. Bring me food!”

“What?”

The old man leaned across his candles. “Wait, you are a spirit servant aren't you?”

I was about admit that I was just some kid who'd broken into his house on a dare, but then realized what would happen. He would call my parents, my dad would come pick me up, and I would be grounded for a month.

“Sure, I'm a spirit servant!” I grinned. “Just give me one of those candles and I'll get you that food right now!” I crawled out the window, climbed down to the street, handed my friends the candle and then ran to the grocery store where I used all my money to buy some hamburgers and chips.

After I cooked the old man dinner he wanted to hear some music from the spirit world so I brought over my trumbone and played “Louie Louie.” He then wanted to hear tales from “the shores beyond the mist,” so I told him about what happened last week on The Jersey Shore.

Now he's wants me to build him a solid gold palace. I don't know where I'll get the gold but I've spent the last few weeks digging the foundations in his back yard. Every time one of my friends asks me if I want to come over and hang out I have to say, “Nope, I gotta be that old man's spirit servant after school.” All in all, I'd almost rather be grounded.

My prompt was a photograph of people eating in the ocean.


"Please pass the seaweed," said Rick, god of the ocean.
"Get your own damn seaweed," mumbled Becky goddess of forgiveness.
"Look Becky," Rick mumbled, sipping his Budweiser, "I know you're think you're the hottest deity in the universe but maybe you can stop being such a bitch all the time."
"Shut up Dad!"  Shouted Sally, goddess of volcanoes, at the other end of the table.  "At least she lets people forgive each other, you just drown them!"
"Oh!" Rick exclaimed.  "You think she's the better god do you?"
"She's a hell of a lot better than you are!"
While the father and daughter bickered and the mother goaded them on, RJ, the youngest child, and god of music, turned up his I-Pod and glared at his food.
Finally, Sally leapt up fromt the table and bellowed.  "I hate you guys!  You can all die for all I care!"  She stormed off to her bedroom slamming her door so hard it woke up Chester, the hound of plagues.
"See what you did!"  Rick spat at Becky.
"Shut up Rick!"  Becky threw her plates on the ground and stamped away.  "I want a divorce!"
Rick sat at the table silently eating the rest of his cold dinner.  He didn't even notice RJ standing up and leaving to meet with his friends at Burger King.  All four gods were so upset no one remembered to feed Chester.
Across the globe the oceans clashed sinking doezens of ships, friends and family refused to forgive each other for slight offenses, volanoes errupted burying cities in ash and lava, plaques spread across continents, and the music industry collapsed. 

Two Penny Sagas from the past

Below are five Two Penny Sagas I wrote before starting this particular blog.


The first two had photographs for prompts.


It was just another day in Tankyo city. Flipper and Gilly were going for a swim around the tiny castle that blows bubbles, completely unaware that danger was lurking nearby.

A dark shadow fell across the watery metropolis. The fish looked up and stared in amazement and terror as an enormous orange feline face stared down at them from the dray air above.

“Look! It is Catzilla!” Flipper said with words that didn't sync with his lips. “King of all Felines!”

The fish swam as fast as they could, stampeding over one another as Catzilla lumbered through Downtown Tankyo breathing fire and gobbling up guppies by the mouthful. He hit the power lines and left a path of wreckage in his wake.

Airplanes flew in and attacked Catzilla with machine guns shooting barnicles. This just made the monster roar louder.

Finally, the fish military knew they had no choice. They launched the scooping net used to deposit dead fish out of the tank. The net hit Catzilla who roared with fury and was flung out of the tank onto dry land once again.

“Our city is saved!” Declared Flipper with a voice that still didn't sync. “But for how long?”

While I was helping my Grandmother clean her attic I was shocked by what I found in a trunk.

“Grandma! Why do you have a cookbook called The Joy of Cannibalism stowed away in the attic?” I ran down the stairs and almost into my grandma who had been sprinting up to the steps.

“Oh! That!” She said looking down at the dusty leather bound volume in my hands. “That's nothing. It's just a prop.”

“A prop?”

“Yes. You know how I used to work in show business?”

“No.”

“Well I did. And I worked on this one movie that....”

“Grandma, this is awfully detailed for a prop.” I said flipping through the yellow pages. “There's a recipe in here for Leg Lasagnia and another for Backbone Brownies.”

“Well, I don't know sweetie,” my grandmother said. “I haven't looked at that thing in years....”

“But on the title page it says, 'To Grandma, I hope this improves your cooking.' And it's signed by Cousin Mable. 'Christmas 2008.'”

“Yes, well deary,” my Grandmother gently took the book from my hands. “I've get easily confused these days. I can't recall ever seeing that book before. I'm sure it's nothing.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes, now come downstairs. I just finished baking some brownies.”

 For the next ones the prompt is in bold

The countdown clock for Christmas was ticking. Santa's elves were working their magic on the assembly lines, but the line came to a screeching halt when rumors leaked that one elf was going to be let go that day.

“WHAT!” Evergreen Jones shrieked at Mistletoe Wilma. “They're firing an elf on Christmas Eve?”

“That's what Noel Nick says,” Wilma whimpered. “Apparently one of the elves has been sneaking 'inappropriate' gifts into the big man's bag.

“Um...inappropriate presents?” Jones mumbled.

“Yeah! Why? You don't know anything about this do you?”

“Well...” Jones shifted his belled feet. “You know that distillery me and Eggnog Nichole started. Well, we haven't gotten that many purchases yet so I thought it might be a good idea to send out free samples to the children of the world.”

“What?” Wilma's pointed ears turned bright red.

“I didn't think it would be labeled 'inappropriate!'”

“What's wrong with you? You'l be exiled from the North Pole and forced to live in Middle Earth with the rest of the elf outcasts.”

“No! Wilma please!” Jones shrieked. “I'll never make it! I'm too pretty! They'll trade me around for pouches of halfling weed!”

“I'm sorry Jones,” Wilma took a step back. “But I'm going to have to turn you in.”

She was about to go when a slender red and white arm grabbed her. A candy cane giant was glaring dow at her. “Mistletoe Wilma!” He boomed. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“What? Why?”

“For the distribution of inappropriate presents. Did you really think that Saint Nick wouldn't discover that you were the one building violent video games?”

“But that's not my fault!” Wilma screamed. “All the kids want violent toys this year! Even the girls!”

“That's not what Christmas is about!” The Candy Cane giant placed his gingerbread handcuffs around her wrists and began to lead her away.

He had only gone a few steps when he turned back to Evergreen Jones. “By the way, the big man found out about your little bootlegging operation. We're short on doll houses this year. Make you you produce enough booze to make the children of Europe happy.”

“Uh, yes sir!” Evergreen Jones saluted.

And that boys and girls is the story of how the happiest Christmas in history came to be.

 "What's the worst present you've ever received"

“Michael,” my grandmother smiled, “Your birthday present is waiting for you in the garage.”

My heart leapt. It was a sure thing that if my present was in the garage it had to be that new bike I'd been wanting all summer. Grandma, Mom and Dad followed me as I ran out the back door. Grandma grabbed the remote door opener, pointed and pressed.  The garage doors began to lift and my eyes grew wide, eager to see the beautiful red bicycle.

But when they were up all the way up I saw that there was no beautiful bike in the garage. Instead, there was a full grown bengal tiger.

“His name's Ernie!” My grandma squealed. “I found him at the humane society the other day and he needed a home!”

“Oh, my isn't he a darling!” My mom gasped. “Michael, what do you have to say to grandma?”

“Thank you.” I murmured staring at the bengel tiger that paced back and forth glaring at me, licking its chops.

“Would you like to feed it?” Grandma said, pulling a crate out of the back of her pickup truck. I could hear the frantic squeals of a baby pig inside.

“Um, maybe later.” I murmured.

“Michael!” Mom gave me a warning glare.

I opened the crate and threw the pig into the garage. The tiger devoured it ferociously.

“He is so sweet.” My mom cooed.

“He is a handsome animal.” My dad nodded.

Grandma gave me a hug.  “Maybe if you're real good your father will let him sleep with you.”





 "It was half Past Midnight when the paperclips revolted...."

"I was working late in the office when I heard whispering behind me.  I turned around just in time to be blugeoned over the head.
"When I came to I was tied to the floor surrounded by thousands of paperclips.  'The time for revolution is at hand!' they squeaked.  'In the darkness of night we will be the ones clipping you!'  They came in around me and I struggled against my bonds, which were fortunately masking tape, and broke free.
"'ROAWWWWR!' I roared and grabed at the mutinous clips like Godzilla in an unbearably cheap monster movie.  Caught in the moment I gobbled the paper clips whole, devouring their families and crashing through post it note sky scrapers.  Finally, the paper clip empire was no more.
"So, that's why I ate all the paper clips in the office.  Needless to say I have a stomach ache this morning and I won't be in today."

Beginning Les Miserable

Tonight I began reading Les Miserable by Victor Hugo.  I am surprised by how quickly I got beyond page 40.  Of course the book itself is 1460 pages so I'm really just over 2% of the way through the book.  I am almost to the part where the musical begins.  We have not even met the main character yet.

I think one challenge many modern authors have is starting a book right when the story itself begins.  We no longer need a first page that pulls us in.  We need a first sentence, first phrase, first word, first syllable that is so interesting that it grabs the reader and never lets go.  While this can be a challenge in upon itself I think what complicates the situation is that most writers have read books like Les Miserable where the author can spend 50 pages setting up the story.  

While this  style works perfectly for books written centuries ago, most modern readers (and agents) will not give books by unknown authors this kind of patience.  Therefore, an author might be influenced by a classic but end up shooting themselves in the foot if they copy the style by having a long introduction.  There were many agents at the workshops I have attended who complained about having to read 50 pages before they reached what should have been the first chapter.  Reading classics is vital but we need to be aware of what styles are actually being published today.