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At last! Chapter DCCXLIV of Violet Crepuscular’s classic (if interminable) romance, Oy, Rodney.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Ms Crepuscular addresses her uncountable multitude of readers. “I misplaced my notebook and couldn’t remember what was supposed to happen in the story.” She refuses to tell us where the notebook turned up. When our associate editor tried to find out, goons came to his door.
“A lot of people are mad at me for bringing the June Taylor Dancers in and making them villains,” she continues. “Well, wait’ll you read about the music Lord Jeremy plays on his 20-pound accordion! We’re thinking of including an audio disc in the book, when it’s published. Warning! It would be most unwise to play this music to any potentially dangerous animals or humans.
Meanwhile, we are still waiting for Chapter DCCXLIV. She hasn’t told us anything about it! Has she actually written it? We sent some of our goons to her door to find out. (Yes, there are more goons in the publishing industry than you would ever imagine. We can’t do without them.) After some very rough treatment, Ms. Crepuscular admits she hasn’t written anything in several weeks.
“I can’t help it!” she exfoliates. “Haven’t you ever heard of writer’s block? That awful, unbearable sense of just not knowing what to write! I wake up screaming, I tell you!”
The medieval sorcerer, Black Rodney–well, he seems to be missing, too.
I’m beginning to think that the next book will be her memoir, “Oy Vay, Violet.”
That ought to be fascinating.
The travails of high art. Well, life without Violet’s work would be an empty shell of what it is now.