A drawing from last year.
A drawing from last year.
Lately, I’ve been watching a new show called The Orville, a comedy version of Star Trek: the Next Generation. It’s one of my favorite shows now. The other night, I drew a picture of Alara, a character played by Halston Sage.
I recently drew a new cover design for Under the Electric Sun, the science fiction novel I wrote back in 2012. I was never happy with the earlier cover. Here is a photo of the new version. No, I didn’t put greasy Saran Wrap over the camera lens. I took this picture with my prepaid cellphone, a tedious little device that demands to be recharged twice a day. Sometimes, you just do the best you can.
I hope you’re enjoying the cool weather — if you happen to live in this part of the world. Have a lovely weekend.
I loved the computer-generated special effects when I first saw Terminator 2. For a long time, I thought computer effects looked spectacular and impressive. But something changed over the years. Maybe the digital material became too surreal and cartoonish. Or maybe I got older and lost my sense of wonder. Whatever the reason, I’ve reached the point where I cringe every time I see digital effects. It looks as if someone sprinkled pieces of a PlayStation 2 game into the movie.
The artists who create these effects are obviously talented, brilliant people. I respect them. I admire their skill. I’m not trying to insult their work. But I’m tired of “video game movies.” Can we please go back to practical special effects now? I want to see something that looks real and solid again.
Thank you for reading.
Finding Drake Novak is a dark comedy about a renegade alien who draws his nourishment from the pain and suffering of other living things. On the run from the Galactic Police, Drake Novak comes to Earth and takes over a plastic factory in a small town in Georgia. He makes every job as difficult as possible so the workers live in endless frustration. He stands at the observation window in his office and stares down at all of them, absorbing their pain the way a plant absorbs sunlight.
A young man named Malpheus Mallock, a rookie officer from the Galactic Precinct, travels to Earth to arrest Drake Novak. But Malpheus has a problem. His tracking device doesn’t work correctly. Malpheus lands in the front yard of an elderly couple named Carl and Christine. They introduce Malpheus to fried chicken, sweet tea, and Atlanta Braves baseball — but he desperately wants to fix his tracking device so he can find and capture Drake Novak.
Miles was a pale, skinny boy with tangled blonde hair. He lived with his mother in an old house at the end of a street full of cracks and potholes. When the sun was shining, Miles liked to ride his bicycle up and down the street. When the weather wasn’t so good, he liked to sit in his bedroom and make airplanes and boats out of cardboard.
One day, Miles asked his mother to take him to the duck pond on the other side of town. He wanted to feed bread crumbs to the ducks and put his little cardboard boats in the water. So his mother rolled off the couch and put on her shoes, grumbling and blowing cigarette smoke in the air like a dragon. Then Miles and his mother walked outside and climbed into their rusty old mini-van.
But when they got to the duck pond, all the ducks were dead. A terrible disease had wiped out the entire population. The ducks were lying in the grass with their eyes still open, covered in flies.
“Don’t touch the dead ducks,” his mom said, snorting. “And stay away from the water too. There might be something bad in it.”
So Miles sat in the grass and ate the bread crumbs himself. His mom sat on a park bench not too far away, smoking a cigarette and staring down at her cell phone.
Miles noticed something moving in the grass beside his leg. He looked down and saw a tiny man standing beside him. The man wasn’t much bigger than a person’s finger. He wore a black business suit and a red tie. His eyes were red too. They glowed like lasers.
“What are you?” Miles yelled. “Are you some kind of leprechaun or something?”
“No,” said the little man with the red eyes. “I’m a politician. A small one. Why don’t you take me home with you and let me institute some rules and regulations in your household?”
Miles squealed and clapped his hands like it was Christmas morning. He had never seen a miniature politician before.
“Mama, guess what!” Miles screamed, running toward the park bench where his mom sat. “I just found a politician in the grass! A little tiny politician! He’s as big as my finger!”
Without looking up from her cell phone, his mom said, “Oh really? What kind is it? Democrat or Republican?”
“I don’t know,” said Miles, breathing hard. “He didn’t say.”
“Don’t pick it up,” his mom said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It probably has germs all over it. Just leave it alone.”
But Miles went back to the spot in the grass where the politician was standing. While his mom wasn’t looking, Miles carefully slipped the little fellow into the pocket of his blue jeans.
When it was time to go, Miles took the politician with him.
As soon as they got back home, Miles ran to his bedroom as fast as he could. He pulled the politician out of his pocket and put him on the nightstand beside a cardboard airplane.
“Is this your dwelling place?” the politician asked, looking around and sneering.
“Yes sir! This is my bedroom!”
“Very well,” said the politician, snapping his fingers. “Make me a comfortable habitat to live in.”
Miles reached under his bed and dragged out an old shoebox full of baseball cards. He turned the box upside down and dumped the baseball cards on the carpet. He took some glue and scissors out of a drawer and gathered up cardboard, cotton, and toilet paper. He made a sofa, a chair, a coffee table, and a bed. He placed them all inside the shoebox.
Then he picked up the little politician and put him inside his new home.
“This is adequate, I suppose,” said the politician, sitting down in his cardboard chair like it was a throne. “Now I have a new task for you, child. I want you to take all the vegetables you can find and fashion them into the figure of a man. You will place the vegetable man on your front lawn. Then you will walk through your neighborhood and knock on every door. Tell your neighbors to come and place all their jewels and gold at the feet of the vegetable man! And when they do, you will bring all the riches to me!”
“Um … I don’t know about that,” Miles said, squirming and biting his lip. “That’s kind of dishonest.”
The politician beat his fist on the armrest of his new cardboard chair. “Don’t argue with me, child! You were born to do my bidding! Do you hear me? Now go to the kitchen at once and begin making the vegetable man! Do as I say! Disobedience will not be tolerated!”
Shaking his head, Miles went to the kitchen and tried to follow the politician’s instructions. He didn’t know how to make a man out of vegetables, so he just pulled a head of cabbage from the refrigerator and walked into the front yard. He jabbed a wooden stick into the ground and shoved the cabbage on top of it. Then he found a black Magic Marker and drew a face on the cabbage.
When he finished drawing the face, Miles rode through the neighborhood on his bicycle, stopping at each house, telling people to bring their jewelry to the cabbage man. Most of the people laughed and slammed their doors, but a few elderly people seemed to take him seriously.
Later that day, while Miles waited in his front yard, a confused old lady came and placed a turquoise necklace before the cabbage man. An old man came and brought a rusty pocket watch that didn’t work. Then a schizophrenic man with no teeth staggered into the yard and dumped some dirty pennies on the ground.
Miles slipped the items into his pocket and carried them into the house. He went to his bedroom and pulled the necklace, the pocket watch, and the pennies out of his pocket. At that moment, his mother stomped into the bedroom, demanding to know what he was doing.
“Miles, how come there’s a cabbage head on a stick in our front yard?” she yelled, blowing smoke from her nostrils. “And why do you have this jewelry and stuff? Did you steal it?”
“The politician made me do it!” Miles said, sobbing and pointing at the shoebox on the night stand.
His mother waddled over to the night stand and looked in the box.
“You brought that dirty old politician home!” she screamed. “I told you not to touch that nasty thing!”
She pulled off one of her shoes. She leaned over the night stand and beat the politician to death with two hard smacks. Then she scooped up his bloody remains with a Kleenex. She marched to the bathroom and flung the Kleenex into the toilet bowl.
“Miles, I can’t believe you brought that thing home,” she said, shaking her head.
After she flushed the dead politician down the toilet, she washed her hands in the sink and lit another cigarette.
“Miles, you listen to me,” she said. “I want you to get that necklace, that pocket watch, and all them pennies. I want you to go through the neighborhood and give everything back. And tell them folks you’re sorry, you hear me? And don’t ever carry a politician home again!”
Miles walked through the neighborhood with tears in his eyes. He gave the turquoise necklace to the old lady, the rusty pocket watch to the old man, and the pennies to the schizophrenic man with no teeth. Miles apologized to all of them for the cabbage scheme. He tried to tell them a tiny politician with red eyes had pressured him to do it, but they didn’t believe him.
When Miles finally got back home, the house smelled like warm chocolate chip cookies. He heard his mother moving around in the kitchen. He smiled. His heart skipped a beat. He ran to the kitchen as fast as he could, licking his lips.
Then his mother hit him in the head with a rolling pin over and over again until he died.
Matthew David Curry 2016