Friday, June 15, 2007

Scarlet Stallions (WT 13)

Mascot costumes for a high school team...
Posted on the website:

SCARLET STALLIONS

12 comments:

Dave said...

Many high schools are being forced to change their mascots from American Indians to something else.

That means getting new costumes and logos and all that stuff.

This coach has discovered a convenient method for creating new mascots.

Dave said...

This opening was hard to write for some reason. It's still a problem in that their ages and graduation years have to mesh with their histories.

I still haven't decided if the young kid, Mark Little Deer, gets to wear a new costume because you know something is going to happen with the two older mascots. Especially when I describe one character as:
"juvenile delinquent wannabee in high school and now, professional wrestling champion with a steroidally-enhanced, HGH-amplified, physique, carrying more muscle on his body than any man with a single brain cell needed,"

Steve Prosapio said...

Hey Dave,
Just yesterday I saw the comments you made on my Opening on the EE site (done in Oct) and wanted to thank you for the time you put into them. I believe I'd fixed much of what you spoke about in my second version, and will again look at your comments as I continue to write.

As for the opening lines of your story, it does pull me in and looks interesting. The begining might be rearranged a bit to give us more clarity and emotion.

You write: “No one bought my costume back in 2000.

[My first thought was that the speaker was trying to "sell" the costume. I had to reread to understand.]

I wore fake buckskins made by Jolene and Muffy Martin. They made the headdress of turkey and chicken feathers and I bought the bow and arrow from a mail-order novelty company.

[sounds cool!]

I always felt a little embarrassed by the cheapness of it. I tried to act with a little dignity,”

[oh, now I feel silly thinking the costume was cool]

What about something like...
“I wore fake buckskins made by Jolene and Muffy Martin back in 2000. [kinda grabs your attention?] I always felt a little embarrassed by the cheapness of it. [emotion] They made the headdress of turkey and chicken feathers and I bought the bow and arrow from a mail-order novelty company. There was no sponsors back then to buy my costume for me, but I always tried to act with a little dignity.” [hey, now I kinda like this guy...]

Just my thoughts. I always appreciate yours on EE and Snark! Best of luck in 07 with your writing!!!

Steve

Dave said...

Steve: Thanks very much. Your comments will be a big help.

Dave said...

Here is the first draft. . .

“No one bought my costume back in 2000. I wore fake buckskins made by Jolene and Muffy Martin. They made the headdress of turkey and chicken feathers and I bought the bow and arrow from a mail-order novelty company. I always felt a little embarrassed by the cheapness of it. I tried to act with a little dignity,” Wyatt Schaeffer introduced himself to high school sophomore Mark Chief-Little-Deer, the current mascot – a tall, broad-shouldered kid with a sturdy build, a little baby fat, and coal black hair tied back in a ponytail. “I’ve watched your performances on the films and you did the Indian Nation proud,” Mark said. Wyatt blushed and sputtered his thanks. “He’s a shy one, Mark. I never had to teach Wyatt the cheers, worry about his grades, or his grades, or drunkenness like some of the other mascots. And, no white man portrayed the Wandering Willows Braves with more dignity,” Coach Dusty said, winking and slapping Wyatt’s back. Jedidiah “Jeb” Dowler walked into the locker room just in time to hear Coach Dusty praising Wyatt. “Dignity? Why, I’ll bet you won’t be that nostalgic about my days as mascot. When I was mascot, I only wore a loincloth, moccasins and beads. I like to think I was personally responsible for Principal Carlton’s retirement,” Jeb grabbed both Coach Dusty and Wyatt in his arms. “Only the heart attack, Jeb, only the heart attack,” Coach Dusty said, poking a finger at Jeb. “How ya doin’, Coach old man? How ya doin’? Heap big white man says, howdy, young Mark Little-Deer. I’m Jeb Dowler, class of ’96.” A dozen years older than Mark, Jeb Dowler, juvenile delinquent wannabee in high school and now, professional wrestling champion with a steroidally-enhanced, HGH-amplified, physique, carrying more muscle on his body than any man with a single brain cell needed, hugged both Coach Dusty and Wyatt. Mark stiffened and stepped back from an imminent bear hug. “That’s not very funny Mister Dowler, I used to run around my yard with a bow and arrow wearing a loincloth too. Only mine was deerskin and my Dad, Chief Wild Deer made my bow and arrow,” Mark said. “I remember that loincloth from a homecoming game. It left your buns bare and, well just barely covered your crotch,” Wyatt said. “And I’m Chief-Little-Deer, my Dad retired last year and the tribal council made me chief.” “I wanted to be as close to naked as I could get. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ bare-chested or even bare-ass nekkid. I deliberately made the loincloth to hide nothing,” Jeb said. “You had the brains, the moves and the muscle. You still do. It’s a shame you didn’t play football,” Coach Dusty said, unlocking the equipment cage and removing three cartons labeled Acme Costume. “Muscles weren’t my problem. The doctors never did restore movement to the fingers on my right hand after the accident,” Jeb said, pulling a glove off his hand to reveal deformed fingers. “Well times change, guys. Last year, the School Board gave into pressure from the State Athletic Guild and let the students vote for a new mascot. Until tonight, no one knew the results of the student referendum. Mark and I tabulated the votes and kept the results secret,” Coach Dusty said trying to create an atmosphere of suspense. Mark’s exuberance didn’t help. His hands trembled when he took the third carton. It bore no label. “It was touch and go for a while but we have a new, dignified and non-controversial mascot,” Mark added, beaming at the coach and setting the cartons on the benches next to Wyatt and Jeb. “You let high school students vote for a mascot? That’s dangerous. They’d vote for something like the horny hamsters or slimy slugs,” Wyatt said, laughing, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I took my Dad and the Tribal Council in full regalia to the School Board meeting and lobbied for a dignified mascot. I think we intimidated the smart-alecks from suggesting mascots like Total Douche, Petey Penis and Pink Pussy, cats,” Mark explained. Jeb giggled at the suggested mascots. Wyatt reached for the lid of the costume box only to be stopped by Coach Dusty. “Youth first.” “The Tribal Council purchased my costume. It’s authentic and very old. So I won’t be doing my usual gymnastics,” Mark said, picking the lid off his box to reveal a 150 year-old Chief’s outfit with real beading, eagle feathers and gut stringing. “In a choice between Blue Bandersnatch, Green Gecko, Golden Eagles or Scarlet Stallions, the students chose the Scarlet Stallions.

Dave said...

Here is the second draft:

“I wore Jolene and Muffy Martin’s homemade buckskins back in 2000. The cheapness of that costume embarrassed me. They used turkey feathers for the headdress and a bow and arrow from their little brother’s toys. We couldn’t get sponsors. All I could do was act dignified,” Wyatt Schaeffer said, introducing himself to sophomore Mark Chief-Little-Deer the current mascot – a tall, broad-shouldered kid with a sturdy build, a little baby fat and coal black hair tied back in a ponytail.

“I’ve watched video of your performances. You did the Indian Nation proud,” Mark said. Wyatt blushed and sputtered his thanks.

“Wyatt here’s a shy one, Mark. I never taught him cheers, worried about his grades, or watched him perform drunk like other mascots. He portrayed the Wandering Willows Braves with dignity,” Coach Dusty said, winking and slapping Wyatt’s back.

“Why, thank you, I’m honored,” Wyatt never finished his sentence.

“I’ll bet you won’t be that nostalgic about my days as mascot,” Jedidiah “Jeb” Dowler said, entering the faculty locker room like a demented rhinoceros with bunions.

“Well gosh, golly, wizzies if it ain’t Jeb Dowler, current scourge of professional wrestling. I never thought I’d see you back here. Of all the mascots I asked to return, you surprised me the most,” Coach Dusty said.

“I have arrived. Elvis, is in the building, as they say,” Jeb announced, cutting an imposing figure, posing for an audience of three. Steroidally enhanced for professional wrestling, Jeb publicly bench pressed twice his already massive 240 pounds. He bear-hugged the Coach.

“My goodness, yes you have,” Coach Dusty said, cringing at Jeb’s strength. Mark and Wyatt stared at the nearly bare-chested muscleman.

“I’ll have you two know, when I was mascot, I only wore a loincloth, moccasins and beaded headdress. It was a might cold in the winter but hell, I like showing bare skin. There’s people that say that I was personally responsible for Principal Carlton’s retirement.” Jeb dropped the Coach and shook hands with Wyatt and Mark.

“No, Principal Carlton retired because of a heart attack, Jeb,” Coach Dusty said, wagging a finger.

“How ya doin’, boys, how ya doin’?” Jeb turned his attention to Wyatt and Mark. “Heap big white man says, howdy, young Mark Red-skin. I’m Jeb Dowler, class of ’78. And you, not-so-young man, must be Wyatt Schaeffer. My agent tells me that you were the best mascot after me.” Mark stiffened and stepped back from an imminent bear hug. Wyatt wasn’t lucky enough to get the bear hug. However, Jeb’s grip nearly broke his hand. So it’s true, thought Wyatt. This man has more muscle on his body than any man on Earth and yet, he only has single brain cell controlling his behavior.

“I’m Chief-Little-Deer, Mark Chief Little Deer, my Dad retired last year and the tribal council made me chief.” Mark bristled. He stood a head shorter and almost a hundred pounds lighter than Jeb. Dowler laughed.

“I’ll bet as a yung-un, you wore a custome made loincloth and played with a bow and arrow too,” Jeb said. Neither Wyatt or Coach Dusty laughed at the joke.

“That’s not very funny Mister Dowler, I used to run around my yard with a bow and arrow wearing a loincloth too. Only mine was deerskin and my Dad, Chief Wild Deer made my bow and arrow,” Mark said.

“We didn’t just retire your loincloth, Jeb, we burnt it, ceremonially. Principal Carlton and I did it personally,” Coach Dusty said, putting a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“You guys burnt it?” Jeb asked, waving off any comment. “I deliberately made the loincloth to hide nothing. I wanted to be as close to naked as I could get. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ bare-chested or with my butt-cheeks, bare-ass nekkid,” Jeb said.

“You had the brains, the moves and the muscle. You still do. It’s a shame you didn’t play football,” Coach Dusty said, unlocking the equipment cage and removing three cartons labeled Acme Costume.

“Muscles weren’t my problem. The doctors never did restore movement to the fingers on my right hand after the accident,” Jeb said, pulling a leather glove off his hand to reveal deformed fingers.

“Accident?” Wyatt said. Coach Dusty set a box in front of each man. Wyatt’s and Mark’s bore the stamp “Standard” and Jeb was marked “Special.”

“Well times change, guys. Last year, the School Board gave into pressure from the State Athletic Guild and let the students vote for a new mascot. Until tonight, no one knew the results of the student referendum. Mark and I tabulated the votes and kept the results secret,” Coach Dusty said. His hands trembled as he grabbed the lid of one of the boxes.

“It was touch and go for a while but we have a new, dignified and non-controversial mascot,” Mark added, beaming at the coach.

“You let high school students vote for a mascot?” Wyatt said, laughing, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“I took entire Tribal Council dressed in full regalia to the Student Assembly and lobbied for a dignified mascot. We intimidated the smart-alecks so they wouldn’t vote for mascots like Total Douche, Petey Penis, Pink Pussy, cats, and purple panjandrums,” Mark explained. Jeb giggled at the suggested mascots.

“In a choice between a Blue Bandersnatch, Green Gecko, Golden Eagles or Scarlet Stallions, the students chose the Scarlet Stallions.” Coach Dusty opened the box, revealing scarlet-red mascot costumes with horse heads, molded torsos, leggings and boots.
“And, these Scarlet Stallions are muscle stallions,” Coach Dusty said.

Dave said...

I posted this on January 20, 2007

These damn lines in black were a trap, a block, an absolute block to writing. It took me more than a few hours and the silliest technique of writing the weather into it and that broke the block. The lines in blue are part of the result - I have extended the story.

“In a choice between a Blue Bandersnatch, Green Gecko, Golden Eagles or Scarlet Stallions, the students chose the Scarlet Stallions. No one knows what won the vote. No one’s seen the costumes yet.” Coach Dusty opened the box, revealing scarlet-red mascot costumes with horse heads, molded torsos, leggings and boots.

“And, these Scarlet Stallions are muscle stallions. I insisted that the mascot be athletic and not just a suit of fake fur,” Coach Dusty said.

I thought I got away from trouble - not a chance buttmunch, not a chance!

Dave said...

I've reached th epoint where they are wearing the costumes and just about to transform into horse-taurs.

All that angst and throwing out stuff seemed to work

Dave said...

Well, that still didn't work. More writers block. Time for drastic action.
I've rejected a Deus Ex Machina appearance by Circe, the goddess of change. That approach requires too much roughage and only deserves a good enema. Flushed away, flushed away.
So now, I've dropped one character, the old coach, made Mark Little Chief the new coach, and dropped the unseen part about Wyatt dying of cancer.
A real pain in the ass little story.

Dave said...

Oh what a screaming pile of shit that was...

This afternoon, I threw out 3000 words of hooey and reqrote the end of the story.

I have 3000 words of horse-taur stupidity that deserved the garbage can. BUT, I now have an ending.

McKoala said...

Dave, I just posted some comments on your piece on the Crapometer - I know, I was slow, but was busy all weekend.

I read the rest of the comments after I wrote mine, and some of them repeat mine, so mine really aren't that exciting... But wanted to let you know that I'd read it for you.

I see you were a bit offended by some of the comments; hope you are OK now.

Dave said...

Thanks, I go read the comments.

and as for the Brouhaha, I'll recover.