Bagman's Gazette - Punctuation is Optional

Bullamakanka is a bent and twisted old man who does not have a cat. He does have five goannas though and a possum who lives in the wall. None of them help with the writing, the lazy buggers.

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Bagman's Gazette - February 2008

Da,Wayne

February 5th 2008 05:03

The Beginning

It all started when Da'Wayne was born. His mother looked down at the
small bundle the nurse had put in her arms and said `Oh dear! Don't worry
my little man I am sure you will become important one day.'

As Da'Wayne grew up he dreamed of greatness. When he got his first
job he just knew that he was on the path to fame and riches. Standing at the
sink, up to his elbows in dish water, scrubbing pots and pans he would plan
his future. He could see it all...

...He steps out of his Hummer ready for work. He is the
best known trouble shooter for BP Solar. Today's job is a cinch. The worlds largest

solar installation has gone off line and Da'Wayne must find the problem before
the
President's ice cream melts. He opens the back door of his vehicle and puts on
the Solar Power Technicians tool belt, the one that was guaranteed to be just
like the one used by all the top notch tradesmen, slips on the special Solar
Power Gloves and grabs his Wattsup Meter. Walking over to the nearest rack of
panels, he plugs in his metre and... A slap to the head and the angry voice of
his employer saying `Wake up ya dopy bastard, you're fired.'

A New Beginning

As Da'Wayne pushed his broom along he just knew that he was on the
right track for promotion. It was only a matter of time...

...Da'Wayne was proud that his country had called on him for this job. After all he was the best dozer driver anywhere. The army was relying on his skills to get this road through the desert. He would not let them down. Riding the bucking beast
across the trackless waste was just his cup of tea. He was right on schedule,
it had been rough though. He wasted at least an hour when he had to stop and

rebuild the head on the engine with nothing more than a bit of wire and his
trusty Leatherman all purpose tool. He made up the lost time by driving all night
despite the sand storm.

At last, he could see his destination in the distance. Just twelve
more hours and he could rest for ten minutes before he started on the air
strip. He set his square jaw and with a glint in his steel blue eyes he rammed
the throttle full on and... With a slap to the back of his head, the boss
said. `Asleep again you fuzz brained drongo. You're fired.'

Another New Beginning

First day on the job and already Da'Wayne had his own plunger. As he
was plunging away at a blocked toilet he was thinking that the could do
anything. After all if you get your own plunger on the first day you must be
slated for bigger and better things. Yessirie, you don't often get a chance to
learn hydraulics from the ground up every day. Why I bet that
I...

Da'Wayne climbed into his Dodge Ram and set out for an emergency
job in the desert. The call had just come in as he was about to leave for his
vacation. He wanted to say no but the call was from the Governor himself.
`There was nothing for it, the states cactus plucker was broken. Two of the
workers were trapped under a thousand tons of prickly pear. It seems that
there was no pilot operated check valve. Heads would roll,' the Governor said.
At the scene of the catastrophe Da'Wayne grabbed his hydraulic tool
belt (the one that Abercrombie and Fitch guaranteed to be just
like the one used by all the top notch tradesmen) from the back of his truck
and calmly assessed the carnage. `Why lookee there', he said to no one in
particular, `Who would have thought... ' Alas when the boss showed up it was
too late, for Da'Wayne had fallen head first into the toilet and drowned.

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Posted By: Bullamakanka - Category: Tales

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The Purple Envelope

February 5th 2008 04:26

While we are on the subject of writing exercises Handed a piece of paper with the words "Purple Envelope" in the class for short stories. Again twenty minutes for a story.

Yeah, it sounds silly and the chances of a master piece are slim. But, as a workout for your imagination it does what it is meant to do.

Give it a try with the words "Purple Envelope" You have twenty minutes.

The Purple Envelope

As I stood there watching as Sara walked down the isle on the arm
of her father I knew I had made the best decision of my life. Her father gave
me her hand and stood to one side as we faced the preacher. I have been
assured that I made all the correct responses, even getting the ``I do'' out
on the first attempt. There was the reception, the telegrams and speeches and
all the rest. But for all the pomp and carry on, of that our wedding day, the
only clear memory I have is of my new brides face and the joy of life shining
in her eyes.

We spent the next two weeks at a ski lodge in Idaho doing what
newlyweds do. We even went out in the snow a couple of times.

The only down side was that when we got home it appeared that we
had had a break in. As far as we could tell nothing was taken but it was still
bad feeling to know that someone had been in our home.

In the next five years we had five children. At this time we
bought a larger house. As I was dismantling the bed for the move to our new
home I found a purple envelope stapled to the under side of it. I pulled the
staples out and opened the envelope. Inside was a silver disk about
seventy-five mm across. It was a master piece of the engravers art. In the
center was a hexagram of intricate design with superb detail. Around the
outside of the hexagram was engraved ``To my friend, may you prosper''.

Old man Bercht, one of the best engravers that ever lived, had died the year before. His daughter, Sara, had won gold
for the marathon at two consecutive Olympics. I carefully replaced the silver
disk in the purple envelope and put it in my pocket. In the end we bought a
new bed for the new house and while I was putting it together I stapled the
purple envelope to the underside. We had four more children. We prospered.

Was it cheating? I don't know.

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Posted By: Bullamakanka - Category: Writing, Editing

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Do I Know You

February 3rd 2008 11:44

When I finally decided that I should actually learn something about the craft of writing and signed up for the Professional Writing and Editing course, little did I know what insanity awaited me.

For one thing I thought we would be taught. Silly me. What I actually found was that I was expected to teach myself.

Does this sound anything like sane? Well, sane or not it was true. Writers can't teach you anything about writing.

The trick is, that they guide you down the paths of your mind, help you open doors to creativity you had no idea you had.

At times they shove you into the darkness where you find that you are the light.

One of the dirtiest tricks is they tell you to write a story about a subject. You get twenty minutes to write it.

So, subject; "What would you say to your self, if you, at eighty years of age, could travel back to today."

The trick to this situation is just to write, not think. Anyway, for what it's worth, this is what I wrote:

But, before you read what I wrote, do the exercise yourself. And it has to be a story and you have twenty minutes.

There I am. Sitting on that bench over there near the Turkish Takeaway. God did I ever look like that scruffy sod.

As I sit down next to myself I, well he really, looks up. A startled look flashes across his face. Then a look of relief settles there.

I can't help myself. `Seen a ghost kid?'

`Ah... No. Just thought I knew you. Do I know you?'

`Do you want to?'

`Huh?'

`I said do you want to? Know me that is.'

With a look bordering on panic he says. `I think I do already. I just can't remember where.'

`Yeah, well it will come to you.' The thought of "In about thirty years'' crosses my mind. I press on. `Doing your shopping?'

`No. Just had lunch. Got a class in half an hour.'

`Bit old to be a student aren't you? You would have to be at least fifty three.'

`What? Ah, yes... No. That is I'm not to old to be a student and how did you know I'm fifty three?'

`Just a guess. What are you doing in school?'

`Writing, creative writing really'

`Good for you. I'm a writer myself. Quite successful really.'

`Was it hard? I mean being successful.'

`Yes and no. It did take work but then I've never had so much fun either.'

He stands and looks at me as if he is hearing echoes and says.`I've got to go or I'll be late.' As he starts to walk away he turns and asks. `Is there a secret to success? Something I should know?'

`Enjoy what you're doing'