Saturday, May 30, 2009

Chapter 1

Part 1: Clemsy's First Kiss

No one, that I’ve heard , has had as much practice at landing as Clemsy Diggs. Of course, this is because no one, that I’ve heard, has found himself at the mercy of Wizard Newton’s Law of Gravity half as many times as Clemsy had by the time he was ten. This particular moment's misadventure started, not surprisingly, with Randi, one of the town's more attractive young ladies, walking towards the Post Office. Clemsy was up a ladder cleaning the street lamp and replacing the candle and his particularly sensitive radar picked her out from the other pedestrians on the boardwalk before he was consciously aware she was there. So his blood pressure and heart rate had already started increasing when she entered his field of vision.

Sidetrack, tied to the hitching post nearby, raised his head and looked from the one to the other and waited for the fun to begin.

Clemsy was quite aware of his peril. He reached over and grabbed the lamppost firmly while his head swiveled involuntarily to follow Randi's approach. She looked up and assaulted him with the kind of smile that lit up not only her whole face from her eyes to her ears and chin, but bathed everything within ten yards in a radiant glow. Her brown eyes sparkled and one lock of silky brown hair escaped her ponytail to fall across her cheek.

With a hair-flip of her head followed by a lightly tanned hand which tucked the errant lock behind an ear, cardiac arrest and embolism were racing in Clemsy to the finish line.

"Howdy, Clemsy!" she said as she was just about beneath him. Then time slowed down as it usually does just before a catastrophe. Sidetrack looked up at the sound of a yell, noticed the wagon up the street list to the side as one of its wheels fell off and commenced rolling and bouncing toward them as if it was just as attracted to Randi as Clemsy and was intent on claiming her.

At the sound of her voice, all of Clemsy's being focused on trying to return the greeting, but his mouth could only move up and down soundlessly, at which Randi stopped, crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side with a giggle making everything much worse.

In the meantime, Sidetrack jingled his harness and stamped his huge iron-shod hoof in warning. People started to call out as the wheel made its single-minded way to its destination. Randi glanced first at the horse, then at the people up the street who were starting to turn away from what was very definitely going to happen, then at the oncoming wagon wheel. She had that one thought we all have just before an accident that can't be avoided: "I can't avoid this accident." Indeed, Fate had already put a period on the last sentence of Randi's life and was about to close the book, when the emergency crew in Clemsy's brain, putting all its resources into getting the boy to say, "Why, howdy Randi," sent the parts concerned with holding onto the pole and staying atop the ladder off to help. He leaned to the side away from Randi, the ladder went onto one leg, and his brain sent some attention back to where it should've stayed in the first place. He leaned back the other way, over compensated and, arms windmilling, fell ladder and all towards the boardwalk. The ladder and he parted company midway and his hands, quite without permission, grabbed Randi as he passed by. This spun her around and pulled her off her feet just as the wheel sailed through the space where Randi should have been and smashed through the Post Office window.

Clemsy turned his shoulder into the boardwalk and came to a stop, without so much as mussing his hair more than it was, (Good thing as this would have been impossible anyway.) with Randi face to face on top of him.

Applause erupted up and down the street. Randi, realizing she wasn't going to die today after all, gave Clemsy the first passionate, lips to lips kiss of his life which would have killed him cold if he hadn't already fainted. ("She's lying on top o.............") Fate grumbled and started erasing her last entry. She always used a pencil when Clemsy was around.

Runt arrived on the scene and sat down next to Sidetrack. He looked up as if to say, "Again?"

"What do you think," the horse snorted. "You can't make this stuff up. No one would believe it."

Randi, realizing Clemsy was out cold, looked concerned. "Clemsy?" she asked patting his cheek.

"Ma?" he mumbled.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Forward IV: Clemsy Comes to Town Twice

I think you'll meet Ma and Pa in the storyline (There will eventually be one.) sometime later on. After composing Forward III, I found these two characters rather promising and decided they should be moved up in the credits and developed further. Of course that complicates the issue addressed in Forward II, but I'm sure something will come to me while brushing my teeth or talking to the dog.

Anyway, Clemsy grew apace into a tall, gawky eighteen year old. His basic character description goes something like this:

Name: Clemsy Diggs

Height: 6'1'

Appearance: lanky but strong with shaggy blond hair that won't stay combed, face so innocent you could cry.

Magical Tendency: "Well, i don't know bout no tenencies, but Ma iz allus tellin me I had a nak fer puttin one fut in the way of t'other."

Weakness: see Magical Tendency. Spelling. Loses the ability to speak, think, and respire in the presence of an attractive woman. Or a glimpse of one 200 yards away out of the corner of his eye. (He is 18 after all.)

Strengths: Excels at all manner of excavation and drainage. Also has an intuitive skill with explosives, which doesn't go well with his Magical Tendency.

Other: Animals regard him as exceedingly harmless.
The lad was quite handy around the farm keeping the cellar dry and digging sweet water wells, but eventually he woke up one morning and decided, "Today I yam a man!" The glance between Ma and Pa when Clemsy expressed the desire to make a go of it on his own didn't quite say "At last!" but didn't quite not say it either. Pa's weather sense told him a major winter storm was in the offing, but weather and he had an understanding so the hours into town and back again didn't worry him. That Clemsy chose such a day during such a season could have been considered a bad omen and all concerned would have gone back to bed, but if 'bad omens' were to guide Clemsy's life, his Ma would still be trying to get him out of the womb.

Clemsy's first entry into town went something like this:

Clemsy got down from his Pa’s sleigh as the snow swirled and blew.

“Now you watch yerself, Clemsy,” said Pa. “The folk round here are peacable and God fearin’. They won’t let ya freeze ta death, but if you want to try an dig graves in weather like this ya just might anyway! But its your decision, boy. Yer a man now. If things don’t work out, you jes come on home. Remember to let us put away the breakables before comin’ thru the door. Good luck!”

“By Pa!” yelled Clemsy, “I’ll make ya right proud!”

Clemsy shouldered his bag, shovel and pick axe and walked through the driving snow. His father shook his head, turned the horses around and headed out of town.

Clemsy leaned into the wind and stopped by the town bulletin board. After mouthing the words and scrunching his eyebrows he stopped short and dropped everything to put his hands on his hips.

The sign read:

Nede help digin Mr. Averys grav. Munday mornin. ~Tanner

“Tarnation! Ya caint pick axe through this herekinda frost! I reckin I got here jist in time. Man’ll hurt his back fer shur! This'll need an all night fire, or maybe a bit of black powder! A' course keepin the deceased in the ice house til spring... Nah!”

Clemsy picked up his excavating tools and duffle bag and, completely oblivious to the worst storm in fifty years, walked right into a hitching rail, did a complete somersault, and landed smack on his back. The pick axe landed point end down in the snow not 3 inches from his head. Unconcerned, he sat up and whacked his head on the rail.

“Shoot,” he said.

Looking around he noticed, as if for the first time, that he could barely see his hand in front of his face for the snow.

“Looks like my shovel'l come in mighty handy affer these flerries is over.”

Brushing himself off and once more picking up his gear, he headed down the street towards the cafe.

For purposes of illustration, we'll watch Clemsy come into town once more, this time after visiting his folks. Pa gave Clemsy the horse his son seemed to get on best with. The beast was really more trouble than he was worth, considering he does have a mind of his own. Really. He even has his own character description:

Speaking of animals, Clemsy rides a huge, brown, shaggy draft horse named Sidetrack, so named for his tendency to follow his nose to pies cooling on windowsills when he should be doing something else, like pulling a wagon of cow manure out to the field. The result then is Sidetrack, Clemsy and the cow manure looking for the pie while Clemsy yells and uselessly pulls the reigns. Sidetrack is quite confident that he is smarter than Clemsy. You may think so too. Sidetrack also keeps company with an orange tabby named Runt. Runt, an excellent mouser, has the run of the town and tends towards mischief.
In fact, perhaps a vignette starring Sidetrack is in order here. Note: Sidetrack's words are a translation of body language and the author's whimsy. The kitten's body language, however, speaks for itself.

Clemsy led Sidetrack into the carriage house and his stall after a day inspecting Main Street for any needed repairs. Sidetrack moved his massive body to the feed bin, snorted in surprise, raised his head and eyed the orange kitten he found curled into a purring ball in his food. ("What the....!" is how it translates.)

Clemsy came over, smiled at the creature who was eyeing them both the way a cat will when roused from a nap without invitation.

"Well now!" said Clemsy reaching in to remove the stowaway. "Thet ain't no bed fer a WHOOF!" That last was the sound Clemsy made as Sidetrack swept his head into Clemsy's midsection and sent him into a pile of straw.

Sidetrack eyed Clemsy and stamped a hoof for good measure. "My stall. My feed bin. I'll decide about the guest." Sidetrack poked his snout close to the kitten for a good sniff. The ball of fur started purring and gave the horse a long, lazy blink.

"Suit yerself, Sidetrack," said Clemsy getting his breath back and climbing to his feet, "but I was jest thinkin' thet havin a critter in yer food might, well, spoil the taste, iffin ya take m' meanin."

Sidetrack's ears stuck up as he raised his head, looked square at Clemsy and snorted. "When Clemsy has a point, Judgement Day can't be too far behind. Well boil me down to a tub of glue."

He stuck his snout down close to the cat. "Hey you," he huffed, "I see you scratching in there I'll fling you clear into a foreign language." The kitten rolled onto his back and started batting Sidetrack's nose with his front paws. He suddenly stopped and commenced to wash, hind leg in the air, his nether regions.

"Well now, " the horse chuffed as Clemsy started brushing his flanks. "A cat's one undignified gesture. At least I know to call you a he. Hmmmm...up between my shoulder blades if you wouldn't mind there Clemsy. Well my diminutive feline friend, I find some of your breed somewhat full of themselves, and others just this side of good company. You can stay until or as long as you don't become the former. Just the same, I think we'd both be better off if I arrange more suitable sleeping arrangements. I saw a most worthy mother cat do this once..."

Sidetrack bared his teeth, reached in and lifted the kitten gently out of the feed bin by the back of the neck and placed him in the straw which recently broke Clemsy's fall.

Clemsy's jaw dropped at the sight. He went to scratch his head and gave himself a good whack with the brush instead. "Sidetrack," he said rubbing his left temple, "if you ain't the dangdest horse in all a the good Lord's creation..." The cat sat in the straw and yawned. His right front paw then required attention. Sidetrack looked at both of them.

"If you're done assaulting yourself," the horse said with a piercing gaze, "you might want to start on my neck. And think up a name for the cat while you're at it."

Clemsy began grooming the horses neck and shaggy mane. "Well," he said "I guess I should think up a name fer the cat."

"Good boy," the horse nodded.
So now you know who everyone is, so far, but let's watch Clemsy come into town one more time:

He came out of the late afternoon shadows at the end of town, riding slow and easy atop a mountain of a horse. From under the brim of his hat came the sound of a ruby whistle. Those on the street stopped and stared, believing the instruments strapped to the sides of the great beast to be some new type of firearm. Who was this peculiar and unkept stranger? Someone bound to break the peace? Someone intent on upsetting the ordered lives of the community?

As the stranger came closer, the pedestrians smiled and stood easy. The weapons on the horse turned into a shovel and pick ax. On the rump of the horse an orange cat lay curled asleep. The stranger took his hat off to the passers by to reveal a shock of unruly blonde hair, deep blue eyes the color of innocence and a smile known to melt the ice off the eaves in winter.

He rode up to the Inn and swung his long, lanky body off his shaggy steed. His right foot, however, didn’t seem to want to come out of the stirrup. At that moment the horse decided it didn’t quite like the hitching rail it was about to be tied to, and ambled off to find a better one.

“Whoa! Sidetrack! Whoa dang it!” exclaimed the rider, hopping alongside the horse. The cat, wakened by the disturbance, sat up and looked at the young man. Anyone close enough would have heard him purring loudly. “Sidetrack, ya dang fool horse! You stop right now!” The horse, apparently having found a hitching rail worthy enough to be tied to, stopped.

Clemsy, however, didn’t. He bumped into the horse, lost his balance, swung around by the stirruped foot and landed, in a puff of dust, outstretched on the road. That his head hadn’t collided with the hitching rail he found to be very fortunate… indeed a good omen.

He always hit his head on a hitching rail when he came into town.

“Sidetrack,” said the prostrate figure, “you did that a’purpose!”

The horse looked down at him and nodded his head as if to say, “Well, that would be about right.”

The cat looked down at him and uttered a little feline chirp which said, quite plainly, “Well, we’re here. When do we eat?”
As long as I'm documenting the problems I'm having with the storyline (which I haven't even gotten to yet), I have to admit I also have great affinity for Runt and Sidetrack. The three really do make a team. (I'm thinking Marx Brothers.) The cat may be fairly easy, but how do I squeeze a draft horse into a present not quite here?

And I may be just about out of Forwards.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Forward III: Ma and Pa

Hmmm. Since this is a blog, and readers (assuming I have readers) would have to catch up from the bottom, maybe I should have titled these first entries Backward instead of Forward. No matter! I promised not to diddle.

I suppose it's time to actually introduce the main character as this is supposed to be about him, after all, and not about me. (See Forward I to get an idea of how confusing that actually is.)

Okay, let's build a character. Got your blank slate ready? Good.

Clemsy Diggs is the one and only child of very successful farmers. Note that. Not a farmer and his wife. A farmer dad and a farmer mom. Both are equally farmers and Mrs. Farmer (Farmer? Not Diggs? What the hell?), being the indomitable force of nature that she is, would not take kindly to being known as "the farmer's wife." So if you should find yourself in an alternate 19th century Midwest and a few dimensions to the side and happen upon Mr. and Mrs. Farmer's snuggly farmhouse and curiously fertile fields, don't assume this to be a standard, patriarchal Christian home. Mrs. Farmer will, in no uncertain terms, eviscerate your assumption and I strongly recommend becoming a bit enlightened at that point as thunder and lightening do fall under "force of nature."

However, neither should you assume, the one assumption having been reduced to smoldering ashes, that this must then be your standard, New Age, matriarchal, pagan household. The Farmers would probably look at you for a moment, then commence with the kind of deep belly laugh that starts with "BWAAA HA HA!," rattles the dishes in the next room and unsettles the animals in the barn.

One could suspect this powerful, indeed archetypal couple through some kind of trans-dimensional leakage inspired the mythic figures of Zeus and Hera in our world. (Of course, human psychology would have twisted up the trans-dimensional reception some. Mr. and Mrs. Farmer are not brother and sister, and neither act like Mafioso loan sharks threatening to break your knees without the proper sacrifice.)

Anyway, the Farmers are well respected in their community, even if that community doesn't mind the day's carriage ride between that homestead and anyone else's. Ma and Pa Farmer can be a bit overwhelming.

That Clemsy is the product of this union does seem unlikely if not downright ironic. The Farmer's just put it down to the mischievous nature of the Great Creator, loved him to pieces and did the best they could. Of course his name was originally Clem, but it didn't take too long after toddlerhood for the continuing trips, scrapes, bangs, near misses, smashed pottery, and daily dunks in the pig trough for 'Clem' and 'clumsy' to become Clemsy.

Even Google knows what Clemsy means.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Forward II

Here's the problem: Clemsy was born somewhere in a 19th century American Midwest. I say 'a' 19th century because it's an alternate history. Not only that, but it's an alternate history where people are often born with bits of magic. They have 'tendencies' in certain areas. Maybe one can find things, another 'feel' a person's health with a touch, another able to find water or make fire (dangerous!), etc. Magic is in the air, you might say, part of the way the world works. So not only is Clemsy's home in an alternate history, it's a few dimensions over to the side.

You see my problem. I have to get him from there to an alternate present not quite here.

Okay, okay, I don't really have to especially since I seem, for the moment anyway, to have chosen the third person omnipotent.

At least, being omnipotent, I don't really have to make a whole lot of sense, so psychotic is just fine and worry free. (I mean, if the Old Testament is any model. It's what omnipotent really means, right? Being random just for jollies?) Of course, a sneering criticism of 'contrived' or "What the hell?" is always a risk but... what the hell? It's not like you bought this at Borders.

I feel fairly safe in the knowledge that all authors really do make it up as they go along, then go back and diddle with stuff.

I'm going to do all of that except for the going back and diddling part.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Forward I

Difficult to decide right now which person to write this in. The first person (What did you think I meant?) may be somewhat weird as I've posted under the name Clemsy since the virtual community he was created for petered out a decade ago. Couldn't let the lad go. But that Internet presence known as Clemsy isn't the real Clemsy. He's an impostor!

(Whoops. I switched people at the end there. Did you catch that?)

Anyway, he is an impostor. The real Clemsy is nothing like that guy.

You want to psychoanalyze that last bit, be my guest. But you won't be able to figure me out (Damn! Did it again!) until you get to know the real Clemsy to the point where you become the real Clemsy.

Then, no explanations will be necessary.

Anyway, writing in the first person will just feel narcissistic even if that's not technically true. On the other hand, writing in the third person will feel a bit psychotic. The second person of course would be just plain stupid.

Narcissistic, Psychotic or Stupid.

So I haven't decided yet.