Remember the stags in the forest (for those of you who read issue #25)? Some of that running must have rubbed off.
Ah, where there is civilization, there is waste paper. Or waste shards of clay.
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Posts Tagged ‘running’
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If you’ve seen Pfirsich run in this series, you’ve seen how gracefully someone can run. Rosen is a Manly Man, and just clomps his feet down any which way. Besides, feet are only for controlling the pedals in a plane, right?
Don’t worry, Pfirsich wasn’t trying to hit Rosen. He knew the SOB would jump out of the way. Rosen talks in his sleep, and the dreams are instructive about his past.
This maneuver is based on my husband’s helicopter pilot when Dan was a doorgunner in Vietnam.
The guy would fly over an engagement and shoot out the window with a .45. While the crew chief screamed at him that if he tilted the bird (Dan’s term) any further they’d all be joining the infantry on the ground. Or words to that effect. His other favorite scream was “OVERTORQUE! OVERTORQUE!”
I can’t get Dan to write any of this stuff down so I’m doing it. The answer to: “How dare you as a writer take real experiences and USE them?” is: “Because otherwise these stories will never get out and lots of time I have permission — and every time somebody tells me a cool story I add, ‘You DO know you’re talking to a WRITER?’ “ It’s really why I quit my census job — I’d never be able to use any of the stories or incidents I found during my work.
Sometimes I wish I was like the usual American and could dump my principles. You can’t hardly stay alive in this country if you have too many principles.
I’ve told people up here, repeatedly, “You’re talking to a reporter,” and they shrug and laugh — and then when the story comes out with their quotes they lose their minds. I TOLD THEM, damnit! Why did they think they were living in a vacuum?
It’s especially bad here — rural people are like comic-store fans; they think they are the navel of the universe and there’s nothing beyond the borders of their county. They travel and use the internet, but they’ll still say, “You know where Felix Rasmussen used to live?” when you’re trying to get directions. Even I have to tell people who’s the neighbor they know. NONE of them have any sense of land direction. No wonder they get lost.
It’s not just rural people, so you city people don’t feel smug. You know who I’m talking to, New York. You people won’t travel out of a borough where you don’t know where the bathrooms are. I almost spelled it “burrow.”
One Peach book (#6) was nicknamed the “stray puppy” issue — it even had puppies on the cover. He’ll take in anybody who looks like they need a flea-bath and a bowl of kibble.
Tomorrow we start “Straight and Narrow,” in which the boys all try to straighten out the Peach. Yeah, that’s going to go well.
The Englishman here was originally supposed to die. But the series hadn’t quite gotten that dark, yet. You’ll want to wait for issue 13.
In the meantime, we’ll have the cheery issues of latent homophobia and unintentional date rape, and of forgiveness and adding to the population of the planet. There will be cute butts and babies. If you’re into that sort of thing.
Don’t ask me why the men tease Winzig for the same behavior they respect in the Peach. Maybe it’s a male/female thing — women can get away with wearing anything, while men are stuck in suits and trousers (applause for you Utilikilt guys).
What’s to say about this page? A Brit misjudging the Down-unders again. This is the fault of my Australian readers, with their Pommie remarks. I’m just going with what I heard. Writers are dangerous.
Ask any Australian; the British never seem to get that there’s a long, bad history between the down-under Criminals and the People Who Shipped them There.
The Aussies seem to have tried to at least recognize what they did to the people they oppressed so horribly, the Australian aboriginals. While the Canadians apologized to First Nations officially, the Aussies apologized as a nation, and spontaneously. Then their government did — though nobody’s giving any land back or compensating for original abuses.
(I don’t know why I’m in this discussion; I’m Rom. We don’t have a country and we don’t WANT one.)
There’s a story of a British jeep chasing a Kuebelwagen until their radiator blew — and then the German crew running in circles around them making smart remarks until their oil level dropped and froze their engine.
Probably apocryphal, but it’s physically possible. There’s another story of a German pilot running out of ammunition during the battle of Britain — but still flying close enough to Allied bombers to allow them to see him making faces at them.
The stories probably say more about German excess of stubborn, lack of fear, and an overdose of smart-assedness. You might think they’re stiff people, but get them riled up and watch what happens. You’d better hope they’re not drunk when they do it.
So much for Pfirsich not using his relationship to Rommel; it’s no use playing shy if They Already Know.
There’s no use pointing out internal inconsistencies in my books, because I already know nothing is consistent. My generation is divided between those who read Atlas Shrugged and those who read The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy.” AS readers started as moony teens looking for answers to everything. HGG’s know the answer is 42 — but the question is “What’s 6 x 9?”
How much is 6 x 9? That’s right…. reality doesn’t line up.
More fun with authors and their old books:
A bookstore in Seattle had received a badly-bound Desert Peach collection, and sighed, “Here’s $9.00 I won’t get back.” I grabbed it, drew the Peach sighing, “Well, that’s the last time we let Udo help with the binding,” and it was marked up to $35.00.
Outside New York’s Strand bookstore, I found a beat-up copy of a DP collection, and filled the blanks with original art, with the note that for a $1.00, “Look at all the original art you can get — and don’t tell them.” People watching me told me I couldn’t do that to the Strand’s books. I said, “Shut up, I”m the author.” Then I put the book in the shelf and walked off. I adore leaving booby-traps I never see the end of. Always wondered about that one, and if anybody bought it — or if the Strand discovered it ahead of time and put it in the collectibles.
More fun drawing the BMW motorcycle and trying to cram in as much hilarious action as possible.
Well, the Peach and Winzig don’t think it’s funny. But the actors who play them both have condos in Hawaii for doing stunts in these stories.
This page is for sale, too. $225.00. These ARE Desert Peach pages.
Remember, all the pages you see here are for sale. donnabarr at hotmail dot com
I’m just cleaning out everything in my life (well the dead things, anyway). I’ll be damned if the posthumous artist-got-rich thing is going to apply to me. I’m going to move some of these things while I’m still alive. Hey, they’re all scanned, now!
So get the one you just gotta have — these early pages are bigger than the later ones and chock full of yummy detail (well, they’re all chock full of details. That never changes).
