Three Dwarfish Poems

If dwarves had Mother-Goose-type rhymes..

"Ruby-Digging"

Ruby-digging in the dark,
Dwarfish eyes asearch and mark.
Diamond-sifting in the light,
Overseen by dragon sight.

Don't you steal a jewel away;
You won't live another day.
Never steal a dwarfish purse,
Fifteen times this rhyme rehearse!
 (repeat ad nauseum)


"How Banking Came to Be"

Bob the dwarf, he made a sword
Put it in his treasure hoard
Guarding it, he soon got bored
He could ill the time afford

Hired he a dragon guard
Fed him well on cakes and lard
Soothed him with a singing bard
Counted cost and found it hard

Moved it all to cave so dank
Let his friends include their swank
Set him up a dwarfish bank
Hired him tellers in a rank


"Metal skills"

Digger gets the gold from ground
Smelter melts it down
Pourer makes the coins so bright
Beater makes the crown

Setter puts the jewels in
Scroller adds the frills
Charmer puts the magic on
All are metal skills

The Tip-off (fiction)

This was written in attempt to answer the question of what life might be like for a psychic pizza delivery boy.

            Just walking up to the front door with the pizza in hand, Jason knew it was going to be difficult to get his tip.  The reclaimed cement lining the front walk, the rusted metal welded into artistic shapes, the cds hanging from the tree branches all spoke of the homeowner as someone who was a determined recycler and confirmed tightwad.  He didn’t have to be psychic to see that.

            He rung the doorbell and waited.  The sun had gone down about ten minutes ago and the glow on the western horizon gave everything a golden outline.

            The door opened and a grizzled, bearded face poked out.  Seeing the pizza box in Jason’s hand, the door was opened a bit wider.  The man had heavy grey eyebrows and sunken cheeks, greasy fingertips and a hacking cough.

            “Pizza for Mister Hanover?”  Jason glanced at the receipt taped to the pizza box.

            “That’s Ha-nover,” said the man. 

            Jason’s psychic senses saw the tip level calculation in Mr. Ha-nover’s head drop a few dollars.  “You must enjoy correcting people who mispronounce your name,” he said.  “When did you decide to pronounce it differently?”  He enjoyed watching the man’s eyes widen and mouth open in surprise.

            “Freshman year of college, huh?  Yeah, I suppose that’s the age to break away from your family, especially when you’re trying to get out from under a dad who’s abusive,” Jason continued sympathetically.

            “Do I know you?” the man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

            “Not from Adam,” answered Jason cheerfully.  “Twenty-three dollars even, please.”

            “How do you know so much about me then?” asked Mr. Ha-nover as he pulled out his wallet and opened it.

            “Just throwing out crazy wild guesses,” said Jason, adopting an innocent-and-slightly-clueless attitude.   He accepted the two twenties Mr. Ha-nover gave him and handed back a ten and two ones.  “My mom always said I have a crazy imagination.  It starts when I begin making up stories in my head about why people do one particular thing so differently.”  He tucked his own wallet back in his pocket.

            “Really.  You got all that from the pronunciation of my name?”  Mr. Ha-nover leaned against his doorjamb with the pizza box between his hand and his hip.

            “Sort of.”  Jason wasn’t about to explain his abilities at length having pocketed a generous tip.  “We hope you’ll call Pizza Bob’s again soon!  See ya!”  He waved, turned, and jogged back to his car.

            Distraction got them every time, he thought.

How to register for classes at ASU

I ran across this thing that I wrote back when I was going to ASU and was having troubles with registering for classes.  Enjoy.

How to Register for Classes at ASU

1 Wait until the last minute, preferably just before tuition is due. 

2 Avoid visiting an adviser.  (I’ve heard of several people that visited an adviser and ended up taking two or three extra semesters to graduate.)

3 Search for classes.  (Remember, all the ones suggested on your DARS report to help you toward graduation do not in fact exist.)

4 Register for classes.  (Be sure to push the button to confirm your classes. Be sure to push the button to take your classes to ‘check out.'  Be sure to push the button that re-confirms that you REALLY wanted those classes.  You get points if you do this without rolling your eyes.)

5 Reregister for classes.  (Three were cancelled for lack of interest.)

6 Reregister for classes.  (Two were cancelled for lack of interest and because of budget cuts.)

7 Change your major.  (Your major was consolidated out of existence because of budget cuts.)

8 Beg an instructor to add you on the first day of class.  (Carry a supply of add/drop forms.)

The Mysterious Package (writing prompt)

The following is a writing prompt given at a creative writing meeting at the Perry library.. and what I pulled out of it in 10 minutes.

A man receives a package with no return address.  It contains a pirate eye patch and a note.

~~

Cool! I always wanted an eye patch! thought Ron, when he picked it out of the box.  He tried it on.  The black elastic fit perfectly around his head.  It was, of course, hard to see with only one eye, but that was a small price to pay for the awesomeness thereof.  Maybe he'd be able to get a date now when he went to the bars.

But he was forgetting the note.  He went back to the box--a surprisingly large one, considering the small size of the contents--and he picked up the note.  It was unsigned as well.  Too weird.  He hoped it wasn't something psycho, like the anthrax scares of 15 years ago.

"Dear Ron," he read.  "Have received notice of your interest in eye patches and thought to indulge you a little.  This is a special one though, with powers of x-ray vision.  Unfortunately, the activation phrase was reset to be 'Rubber baby buggy bumpers' and I can't figure out how to reset the backdoor."

Mentally DiStUrBeD Christmas carols

Narcissistic:  “Hark the Herald Angels Sing… about me!”

Dementia:  “I’ll be Home For Christmas…. Maybe”

Manic:  “Deck the Halls and the walls and the Floors and the Porch and the Streets and the roads and the stores and the Lampposts and the Cars and the Ceilings and the Buses and the Schools..”

Attention Deficiet Disorder: “Silent Night, Holy oh Look is that a Frog?  I want some Chocolate.  Why is France so Far Away?”

Paranoid:  “Santa Clause is Coming to Town… to Get Me!”

Borderline Personality:  “I’m Gonna Pout, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Shout, and Maybe I’ll tell You Why”

Obsessive Compulsive: “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells….”

(Disclosure: I didn’t write these.  A cousin-in-law did and I wrote them down in my journal.  Ran across them recently and felt they needed to be shared..)

"So, that's it?" (fiction)

Some might say this sketch is the product of a sick mind.  Actually, this one was two sick minds--a combined effort for a fiction class exercise.  Collaborating with another writer can make unexpected things happen and get you unstuck.

"So, that's it?" Her eyes were eager, but her tone was reproachful.

"Yes." The doctor was ashamed that the goal of triplets was not reached after the third try and three sets of twins.

"Nothing more?" Her hands stretched out, palms up, demanding.

"No.  I don't think so.  That's really it." He avoided her gaze, trying to sound dismissive and firm.  He hated to disappoint his patients.

"So that's it?" she said again harder, as if to give him another chance to give her the answer she wanted.

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry the results weren't what you were hoping for." He writhed.

"This is the third time this has happened!"

"Look. This isn't a foolproof procedure.  You've gotten two sets of twins, four beautiful girls. You're going to have another two.  Most people would be happy.  No, wait, most people would have been freaked out!  Why do you insist on triplets?"

"Of course I'm happy!  I love all my girls more than the world. They were just supposed to turn out.. a certain way."

"Things don't always turn out the way we want. Were they supposed to be blue-eyed and red-headed too?"

"No, nothing like that. I just... I always wanted to be one of triplets.  I want to give that gift to my children."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand; twins and triplets are very similar.  What's so special about triplets?" the doctor asked, moving toward his desk.  He picked up the phone and dialed security.

First lines that really grab you

In a fiction class I took, one of our class exercises was to write ten first lines that would grab a reader and make them want to keep reading to find out what happens next.  The following were what I came up with.  (This strategy is really good for finding a story to write because writing a single sentence with the suggestion of conflict to come is not very intimidating, and it gives you choices.  If you have ten crazy first sentences, you can choose the one that seems the most intriguing/doable.)

 The time had finally come when Sheila realized she was completely, totally, irrevocably stuck.

When Bob looked out the bedroom window and saw the tank's cannon pointed straight at him, he knew the jig was up.

She woke up to the sound of the dog having a grand mal seizure at the foot of the bed, lots of snapping and shaking.

I was born because my mother was determined to take revenge on my father.

He came home from school committed to starting a hunger strike.

Even with a height of 8' 3", Jamison was the most normal member of his family.

It all started when the cat began to glow.

The beginning of the end for the museum curator was when Miss Bradshaw wore Tomato Passion Red lipstick to work.

My math teacher didn't know it, but today was the day I was going to take over the class.

The snowstorm was both the coldest thing and the luckiest thing that ever happened to Jenny.