Celebrity Fun With License Plates

"Sheldon Cooper here with another Fun With License Plates, along with my capable assistant Amy Farah Fowler." Amy did a smiling nod. "Today we'll test my hypothesis that celebrity IQ is significantly lower than the norm. We've sent invites to all of them, so let's begin. Our first offering is thus, which is an indictment of society."

WAHAPND

"And we have Mr Herman Munster on the line. Go ahead, sir."

"Ehb. . .ehb. . .Wahap, North Dakota! Huh huh huh!"

Sheldon traded looks with Amy. "Are you aware of any city called Wahap?"

"Well, no, but ND stands for North Dakota."

"Good grief. As per the rules, you may now challenge us with your own plate idea."

"Lily! Ehb. . .ehb. . .Lily! You're on, you're on, you're on!" Lily called in her own challenge.

LUVYDUVY

"But madam, that's hardly a challenge."

"Nonsense," Amy said. "Mrs Munster, that's very romantic."

"Thank you. It's how I feel about my Poopsie!"

"Ai yai yai." Shaking his head, Sheldon pressed on. "Our next challenge means 'depraved or unprincipled'."

REPROB8

"Eureka!" Gomez Addams shouted. "It means 'in regards to problem number eight'. Any college man knows that. Now, my good man, my wife is going to stump you with this one!"

BONARONI

Seeing Sheldon's face twitch with the unthinkable tint of failure, Amy jumped in. "Given the five letter suffix, it kinda sounds like food."

"You've guessed it, dear girl! It's bone-a-roni, the Transylvania treat. My kids love it, and I'm sure yours do as well." 

With a smirk at Sheldon's blanched face, Amy said, "Uh, not yet, but someday!"

Even before she finished,  Sheldon announced loudly, "If you ladies will kindly refrain from sharing secret recipes. . .Now the part of our show where a caller gets the ball rolling. Go ahead, caller."

"This is Wilhelm Klink of Stalag Thirteen. Are you ready for this?" YAODER9

"Ja oder nein? Yes or no? But you can't mix languages like that! It's untidy!"

"Actually," Amy said, "I thought it was clever how he did that."

"Thank you, my dear!"

"Allow me to quote Jack Sparrow," Sheldon said. "Arrrrrhhh!"

"You've got me all wrong, mate. We pirates are, in the main, a level-headed lot."

Sheldon traded another look with Amy, who shrugged. "May I inquire, sir, how you obtained access to a phone in the eighteenth century?"

"I'm a pirate, mate. I stole one." 

Amy found it necessary to pick up the thread. "Very well, Captain. Here's your challenge."

ENUNC8

"Crafty, dear lady. You though I'd say, in the confines of my era, 'Email the nun in cell eight'. As I have no idea what email is, it can only mean. . ." He supplied the correct definition.

"Now Amy." Sheldon pointed to a dictionary. "That isn't much of a challenge for a scoundrel who uses ten words where one will suffice."

"Like you?" Amy smilingly poked his arm.

"Not bad for a bloke what never heard of a license plate, ey?"

"Time for one more," Amy said. "Here's the clue: a humdinger, in four words."

14THAJZ

"Maxwell Smart, secret agent, here. That happens to be my password: fourteen that jazz. You're all under arrest."

"Good luck with that," Sheldon quipped. "You'll be 89 by the year 2020."

"Would you believe you're under censure? Would you believe naughty naughty. . . ."

Should One Protagonist Stand Out?

That first  novel is often a whopper. We pack in every idea spawned by TV, books, games. Into this brew we drop a boatload of gonzo characters who all want equal time, and pull in different directions. Further swelling the page count is the need to intro the story world--and that's a lot of pontificating. My own instructor recognized that with the comment "There is no protagonist." Having made the corrections, I must agree. Without a standout lead, you end up with Battlestar Galactica.

Hold on, you say--that was a hit show. For one thing, TV gives actors time to share the spotlight. For another, the premise was huge: 59,000 survivors seek a new home in the cosmos, hunted by the murderous Cylons. A plot that big positively demands a high number of big egos. How else are the humans gonna make it? In this case, the top-heavy list of villains balanced the story to a standstill. By series end, we had the feeling that nobody won. Were there ever any good guys? And since books are about people, we settle in better behind one set of eyes (not necessarily first person).









We can try paring back the playlist. For those aghast at the  notion, all is not lost. There are ways to keep the prima donnas on stage while letting the top dog stay on top. Consider spinning them off to their own series, or letting them star in sequels.

Word economy makes the most of their time on stage. While we enjoy the minutiae of the hero's journey, there isn't time to indulge just anybody. Here'e what's likely to happen when a secondary character springs a flashback chapter to his childhood: el skippo, amigo--let's get on with it.

Which brings up relevance. If a shadowy thief mixes up a zombie potion, it needs to be sprung on some high-level baddie, sooner rather than later. That justifies the three pages we spent watching him do it. In the Locke Lamora series, two partners use a host of secondaries to con their way into the high life. We don't mind savoring that vicariously, since their knowledge of objects d'art is how they make money to stay in the game.

Still, it pays to concentrate on whomever makes the biggest mark on the story. It's fine to let supporting actors shine if you don't let them get out of control. The stronger they are, the more they help the hero reach his goal, and the more they bring him to life.

Quarantine projects

Good afternoon fellow writers, artists and to the creativity.  My weeks and days have been keeping up with the Homefront.  It doesn't seem like much, being home but I assure you we find quite a bit to do throughout the day since our quarantine started March 13th.   Long time but hope you all are getting progress done with your projects or started new ones.    
I have noticed a lot of people in our neighborhood are utilizing their time with yard projects or home projects.   Might you be one of them?  We transitioned our daughter's bed to a loft bed.   Anything inspiring you to do the same?  Show us your projects!

Bookworms and Fashionistas

Fresh from the academy's Potions and Talismans course, the five members of Team Dan embarked on their next class, Undead Forms. They benefited hugely from the book smarts of their blonde wizardress, Bonnie. It should have been fun, being one of those group courses. Unlike Weapons and Tactics, taken by fighters, or Channeling, taken by spell casters, it was a team effort.

Groaning students filed into semicircular tiers of seats facing the podium. The room buzzed with converse as they awaited the magister. Bonnie, eagerly opening her text next to the black-haired sorceress Zena, cast a despairing eye toward the fellas: team leader Dan, Pete, and Ed.

"What's with you guys?" Bonnie gushed. "This one is even more fun than the talismans class."

Zena cracked her gum. "Like all I wanna do is get out there and bash things." She had indeed taken a fearsome toll on mumps and other skeletoids in the labyrinth, the haunted domain where newbie teams cut their teeth.

"Let the guys do that," Bonnie insisted. "You're supposed to support them with offensive magic, while I use defensive magic." She suspected a repeat of the previous class, where students slouched and tried to look invisible when the magister floated a question. Good old Bonnie knew all that book jazz.

The class quieted when the stout magister, dubbed Professor Chromedome by Ed, came in and pulled down a chart. He pointed a stick at a grouping of grotesque shapes. "These are forms you won't encounter in the labyrinth, since no team in recent history has ventured below sub-level five. You will, however, see them in the dark realms, the Blight, and elsewhere. Let's begin with a review."

Students suddenly looked two feet tall, their heads barely visible over the chair backs. The magister posed his quiz. "Define and contrast the following: lich, wight, wraith, and phantasm." Had crickets been present, the classroom would have been a noisy place.

Zena felt an encouraging poke from Bonnie. "Like, ow, lady."

"Oh, good heavens." Bonnie launched into the spiel. "A lich is a poisonous corpse infesting graveyards. Hence the term 'lich gate', an arched structure where a coffin awaited its occupant." The class sighed collective relief. "A wight is a hybrid form of more advanced decay, to the point of being mostly insubstantial. Since their touch drains energy, captured ones are used for torture and brainwashing of prisoners." She paused, but no one took up the slack. "A wraith is a ghostly guardian, often resembling the deceased just before or after death, though its face is hidden in the cowl. They can pass through walls in tombs."

"And the  most dangerous?" prompted the magister.

"Phantasms. These are created by dark magic, and inflict a life drain by their touch. It's how they seek temporary relief from being enveloped by spirit flames. They're hard to avoid, because they rapidly blink in and out of view during short-term teleports. Their visage can paralyze victims with fear: you see this howling thing with flailing, contorted limbs coming at you."

"Superior, Miss Bonnie." The magister singled out Pete. "How does one differentiate wights and wraiths in a tactical situation?"

"Yook?" Pete tugged at his magenta head wrap. "They don't look too different. I'd be lookin' for it to pass through a solid object before makin' the call."

"In an open field?" the magister challenged. "You'll need to retreat until a suitable object presents. In the meantime, you've exposed the team to additional threats."

Zena back-handed his thigh. "Nice going, daddio."

"And your solution, Miss Zena?" The magister waited.

"Well, like. . . .a wraith has no hands coming out of those overlong sleeves. A wight has these bony white hands poking out of too-short sleeves."

Dan chuckled. "The academy should let you teach a fashion class. It has its uses."

Fun With License Plates

"Good evening out there in computer land. This is Dr--not the medical kind--Sheldon Cooper. With me is my associate Amy Farah Fowler."

"Also a non-medical doctor," Amy said, pushing at her glasses.

"Ah yes, that was remiss of me." Sheldon patted her thigh. "We're going to present clever license plate sayings for you to figure out. This will observe the convention of no more than eight characters. Keeping in mind this country's abysmal average IQ, I will offer a clue for each one. Our first entry means 'highly valued'."

The card read TOPR8ED.

A boy chimed in. "I got it: Topper ate Ed. Bad dog!"

An old-maid frown creased Sheldon's brow. "Good lord, man, how can a misbehaving pet be considered of high value? Never mind. Our next entry is courtesy of Amy."

"And here's the clue," Amy began. "Sassy and unapologetic!" Her card displayed SOSUMI.

"It's a type of Japanese cuisine!"  crowed a young woman.

"Umm. . . ." Amy paused. "Perhaps if you sound it out. . . ."

Sheldon imitated cricket song. "Another frustrated comedian. Come on, people, you can't be that dense. Try this one, whose clue is 'uncommitted'."

NO1SHOME.

"Number one. . . .something or other," an older gent said.

Sheldon had head in hands. It was necessary for Amy to continue.

"Try this one, folks. It means 'marginal existence'."

SK8NBYE.

"Skate and goodbye!" a caller announced.

"Like our ill-fated endeavor," Sheldon lamented, "this one has to do with a dearth of luck."

UN42NAT.

A regular dude weighed in. "United Nations. . . .forty two. . . .national?"

Amy put a consoling hand on Sheldon's. "Perhaps 'dearth' is a little highbrow for this audience." She held up the next card. "It means 'impecunious'."

4EVRNDET.

"For Eve, registered nurse. . . ."

Sheldon's eyes rolled. "Now Amy, you know 'impecunious' is going to knock them for a loop. Now, kids, here's our personal picks. Amy will display hers first."

"Sassy lady," Amy said, holding up IK&Y.

A gruff, country-accented voice came on. "I.K. and Y. It's a business, maybe a railroad."

Now Amy had head in hands.

"Last chance to redeem yourselves, folks,"Sheldon said, frowning. "Here's my pick."

SHTERS.

"You can't say that on the internet!" objected a matronly voice.

"What, what?" Sheldon protested. "It's 'Shutters', my proposed operating system versus Windows."

"Perhaps," Amy offered, "that first vowel is a tad ambiguous."

Sheldon glowered at the web cam. "This is Sheldon Cooper signing off until our next Fun With License Plates." He shut the laptop. "Good lord."

Snow Scene in Warm Colors

It's possible to be in such a scene without feeling cold. That's because of warm colors of light at this time of day, especially in the hollow beside the tree. You can still tell it's winter from the bleak sky, and how nature is still buttoned up in sleep mode.

All The Marbles

Mike and his son Josh navigated a store aisle divided down the center with police tape. It forced an awkward one-way traffic flow to further enforce separation. And this after waiting ten minutes for the dubious privilege of getting in. Only twenty at a time were allowed in the vast space, admitted by an officious little masked drone at the entrance. An overhead speaker blared "Thank you for observing social distance."

"Translation," Mike said. "Antisocial paranoia."

"Observe your neighbors. Any improper acts must be reported to the health department at once."

Mike added further: "This message brought to you by your local Kommissar."

Unconcerned by the collapse of society, Josh hurried toward his prize--pancake syrup, of all things, one of few items the locusts didn't deem necessary to have a three-year supply of.

"Karo," Josh said. "This is best because it's thick."

During the drive home, Josh brought his dad up to speed on his discovery. "This only works in cold weather, when humidity is low. You can also use sugar in soap bubbles, but that makes 'em heavier and more brittle. Syrup is elastic."

"I seem to recall that." Mike turned down the radio. "You wave your hands underneath to keep the bubble airborne until it hardens. Then you fly it all around the house, sometimes landing on a bed or table, then taking off again."

Josh laughed. "Remember the first time you saw one?"

"Yep. You got me pretty good that time." Mike had reached for a glass globe on the sofa, only to have it crumble to papery bits.

Back home again, Josh wasted no time mixing the concoction, which he took to the back yard. Mike and his wife Judy watched reruns, since no new shows were allowed to be made. It was nearly as annoying as having a foreign owner shut down the meat industry.

Presently Josh popped in to show them something out the front window. All three watched a pair of youths gawking at a patch of. . . .cellophane?. . . .rippling in the cold breeze at the corner of the yard. But it couldn't be cellophane; too smooth and multicolored. What the hey was it? One of them cautiously stomped at a corner, sending up a shower of reflective particles. The boys lurched away, casting frequent backward looks.

Josh solved the riddle. "A bubble crashed there. I couldn't wait for somebody to see it!" He led his dad to the back yard, where he dipped wand in bottle to blow another bubble. "Keep your eye on it. If it catches an updraft, it'll go so far that you lose sight of it." This one wasn't fated for such glory. It floated along at head height across the neighbor's yard. A sudden downdraft drove it into the chain link fence. With an audible pop, it burst into a spray of colorful shards. "Man, what a crash!"

A few minutes of fun passed before Judy came out with a worried look to announce visitors. Two men in hazmat suits glared at Mike over their masks.

"We understand you're blowing bubbles. This is hereby prohibited to prevent the spread of airborne virus far and wide."

Mike glared back. "Whatever you say, comrade. For now."

It was quite a blow to Josh. "Bubbles are harmless! Who could have snitched on me?"

"I'm thinking Old Lady Grady," Mike said. The next door neighbor never ventured into her yard without a full suit, hood and mask. "I'm also thinking it's time for another revolution."

I find myself with a sudden yen for pancakes. Perhaps I can persuade my cleaning lady to come in and prepare them. At least I think that's who she is under all the protective gear. The current situation is rife with opportunities for deception. I may find myself facing a gun barrel with a demand for cash. "You shall have to wait," says I, "until I've had my pancakes."