Supposed to be day two, but I do not have the kind of time I used to have and I had a rough start even getting the first line out.
I am only at 447 words but I will quickly make it up throughout the week. I was really stuck for a start. Regardless of what anyone says, it can be very hard to get the first bit out and get the ball rolling. I almost despaired of it and, wasting time, I was looking through my digital music library and I found the missing piece that got me going. It is THE GYPSY PRINCESS by Emmerich Kalman. It is a piece of early twentieth century operetta. Almost absurdly gay in its merriment to modern music. And, even though I haven’t a clue what they are singing, light and frivolous sounding.
It was perfect for the goofy jaunt I wanted to send my characters on. A group of character, by the way, that I’ve been carrying with me for several years.
And, yup, those pesky clowns will be in there as well. Perhaps not the same as the ones in Sad Face (like anyone has read it!) but they all know each other. You know they do.
I offer up the first part I managed to eek out today. No, people do not talk like these people. No, people do not, in general, act like these people. And that is my point, or my intention. I am not a realist, not in my writing, nor, even, in my life. Or, let’s say, I am a staunch realist, and, therefore, everything else is play.
It is tentatively called – IDIOTS THROUGH TIME – I believe I will be changing it. Then again, if I achieve a desired effect, perhaps I will not.
“Well,” said Clem, “it looks like a brilliant thing!”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Will it work?” asked Clem.
“It is hard to tell,” replied Flanammel, “all the tests have seemed to work. Luca here seems to have been unaffected by its use.” He pointed to a pug dog eyeing them from its bed a few feet away. The pug looked irritated and uncomfortable and yawned in exaggeration.
“Should we give it a whirl?”
“We shall!” exclaimed Flanammel excitedly.
At that there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” yelled Flanammel and Clem together.
A meek voice replied from behind the door, “It is I, Morley.”
Flanammel and Clem looked at each other. “Mopey.”
Morley, as his parents had christened him, was known by all as Mopey, Mopey Lederhosen of the somewhat notorious Lederhosen family of poets and self-employed philosophers. They were notorious not for their poetry, nor for their philosophies (although they all bore the mark of being highly uninspiring) but for their creative deaths. Nary died a Lederhosen from natural causes or disease, but more from pratfalls or bizarre sequences of happenings that left physicists scratching their heads. There was Lute Lederhosen who, in an ill-chosen adventure vacation, died in a game of mushroom roulette inside the Hoia Bacui forest. There was Diedrich Lederhosen, who preceded Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier and François Laurent d’Arlandes, in the construction of the first hot air balloon. However he did not precede them in the first successful hot air balloon. The balloon actually balloon worked fine, but Diedrich failed to secure a bottom to the basket that could support his weight. While Diedrich was found in various places in a small Bavarian village, the whereabouts of his balloon are a mystery to this day.
Clem hurried across the room, opened the door and embraced Mopey in a hug and ushered him into the room. Mopey was a short man with small features, short stature and a small, shuffling gait. He had on a brown striped suit narrow rolled shoulders to match his brown hair parted in the middle and slumped down either side of his head. In his hands he held a quaint Homburg hat.
Flanammel called out, “Mopey! Lords! I would expect that we have already time travelled every time I see you! You could have walked off the stage of a Dickens novel!”
“Hello, guys.” Mopey said quietly. He walked over to the contraption in the center of the room. “Is this it? Is it done?”
“It is, and” paused Clem raising a finger significantly in the air, “Luca went through it just today and look.”
Mopey looked over at the pug laying in his bed.