After a recent barrage of emails and correspondence from Ball State informing me of my daughter's status (senior), I couldn't help but reflect on her writing and leadership successes. In addition to being university President for Free the Slaves, and organizing a very successful forum at the university on the topic of slavery and lost children (which some 165 people attended), Chelsey also submitted an essay to the planning committee for the upcoming Harry Potter Convention at Universal Studios, FL.
Her paper was accepted and she is now one of the speakers on the docket, conducting a workshop on the topic of world slavery and child traffic in particular.
As I reflect on my own college years, I can see that my daughter is far ahead of where I was as a writer (when I was 21). Yes, by the time I was 21 I was seeing my work published and was also receiving payment for some of it, but my writing then was no where nearly as crisp, well-positioned, or articulated as her own.
At 21, I was well on my way to writing the type of warped fodder that would make others laugh. I was reading my insanity aloud at coffee houses and stand-up comedy stages, among other places, and those experiences were invaluable. But I learned that humor is one of the toughest forums in which to work, and, all things considered, it's best to laugh at one's self first before trying to make fun of others. That's why I often write in the nude. It's helpful to have a visible reminder that the emperor wears no clothes and there is no place to hide behind bad writing.
While my daughter was having her paper accepted, this past week I did have another humor essay accepted by a satirical journal . . . I seem to be able to crank out at least one loaf of insanity each week.
In the meantime, let me congratulate my daughter on her successes . . . and extend to her the hope that we might one day work on some books together. Until then, I'll dress warmly and hope that my mother sends me some new underwear very soon. I'm getting chaffed.
After reading Best Advice, edited by William J. Carl, I've come to the conclusion that good advice is hard to find. These 30 essays, all written by "leading pastors and preachers", is an eclectic array of advice on preaching, teaching, and pastoral life in general. However, I personally found most of the "advice" in this book to be predictable, pedantic, and so completely stereotypical that I found myself rebelling against it from the start.
It was strongly suggested to me recently (from authorities greater than myself) that I have a new batch of author photos taken . . . post moustache. Point taken. And toward that end, I've been considering where these photos will be snapped and how much I will pay for them. (Publishers want a "standard professional author photo" . . . whatever this means.)
I've been considering something along the line of an Austin Powers portfolio, especially since it's been eight months since I shaved my body for my birthday photos and I've now got more fur on my chest than Tom Selick or Mannix. But I've never seen an author photo with the caption, "Yeah, Baby, Yeah!" or "Oh, behave!"
I've also been considering the formal pose . . . with sport jacket and tie, maybe even a dark suit and a power color . . . but I'm afraid I would look too much like a politician and then no one would believe a word I say or would simply laugh at me behind my back. (Well . . . people do that now, but at least I know when my wife is laughing at me. I can hear her under the bed covers.)
No, I think I'll opt for a business-casual approach. Jeans, perhaps, with a classic white T-shirt and a blade of grass between my teeth. I'll look like Jed Clampitt, but then, I'm from Indiana and I'm used to being called a hick. I've put up a lot of hay bales in my time. I might even spool a live snake around my neck for this photo, so readers will also see my warm, but courageous and macho side.
In the end, of course, great author photos don't mean diddly . . . unless there are books published. I can take the photos all day. But there never seem to be enough hours to write the books.
CLICK. (Groovy, baby!)
This will be the last of the excerpts from my unpublished children's book, One Strange World. (At least for awhile.) Hope you have enjoyed some of the nonsense. I'll close with a page about a hippie who doesn't smoke weed. I've been preaching that message to my kids for decades now . . . just say "no" to drugs. Must have worked. My daughter won't even take an aspirin and my son is a health food junkie and workout nut (he begins lifting at midnight, and sometimes we work out together and have a pile of protein afterwards).
All you kids out there, listen to your parents! Don't get into illegal drugs or prescription painkillers or alcohol. Get into the legal stuff like caffeine and black licorice and the Netti Pot. You want to clear your head, do it over the sink or vomit in the backyard . . . old school.
My Hippie Friend
I met a hippie
Along the road.
He carried a backpack.
He walked pigeon-toed.
He said, "Groovy, man!"
"Dig it, baby!" and "Cool!"
And I do believe
He he had dropped out of school.
His hair was long,
His clothes were bright,
His language was hip,
But he was polite.
He didn't smoke grass.
He didn't get high.
He played funky music,
Then he said, "Goodbye."
And when he left,
Away he strode,
And kept on hipping
On down the road.
As a kid, I had a horse, of course. Most children like the idea of riding a horse. I never allowed my children to have a horse, of course, since we didn't have the space. Naturally, I did have to include a horse poem in One Strange World (one of my many unpublished kid's books). I like this drawing, too. Of course.
Old Ink
Here's my horse, Old Ink.
I've led her to water
But I can't make her drink.
I guess she's not as thirsty
As I think.
She's stubborn
And set in her ways, Old Ink.
She just sits here
By the kitchen sink
And doesn't bat an eye
Or wink.
She's not as thirsty
As I think . . .
Old Ink.
Naturally, you are growing weary of reading excerpts from my unpublished children's book: One Strange World. But I must press on. Some of you might need a laugh today. Since death is in the news, here's a page about the death of a horse . . . well, the horse that died to make the glue.
What's In Glue?
What's in glue?
There are bugs
And slugs
And pieces of shoe.
Old dough
Cold butter
Swiss cheese
And snow.
Lizard lips
Old veggies
Tree sap
And chip dips.
Mustard
And ketchup
Jam and jelly
Peanut Butter
Hippopotamus belly.
Maggots and mites,
Ticks and fleas,
Dollops of honey,
Stingers from bees.
It's all in there:
Old things and new.
Aren't you glad you know now
The stuff that's in glue?
Here's another one from One Strange World . . . for all the teenagers and night owls and nappers among us. My son would read this one, but doesn't rise until one p.m., and he goes to bed at five in the morning. I'll attach it the poem to the refrigerator door and see if he remembers it.
Sleeping Late
I ain't
In the habit
Of sleeping late,
But if I'm up 'till ten
I might just sleep
'Till nine o'clock
Before my day begins.
And If I'm up
'Till one or two
(That's a.m., not p.m.)
I might get up
At half past noon
If I should take a whim.
But if I stay up
The whole night
And never sleep a wink . . .
I'll probably need
Two days and a half
To feel really rested . . .
I think.
