I am in hot water with Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense. I lost the last chapter of her immortal romance novel, Oy, Rodney. Being pretty freakin’ sick in the hospital for most of this year so far… “Is the most paltry excuse I ever heard!” she says.
I vaguely remember something about the June Taylor Dancers invading Scurveyshire, with woolly mammoths stepping on things. Sheesh, there were at least 536 chapters of that.
Well, if she thinks I’m going to rack my brain trying to find those chapters, she’s got another think coming. “I’m Spartacus!” Let’s see what she makes of that!
To the swarms of readers out there who’ve been hanging on Ms. Crepuscular’s every word, I can only suggest that maybe someday she’ll get back in form and we can all enjoy more tales of Lord Whatsisname and his American sidekick, Willis Something-or-Other.
Only 536 chapters of wooly mammoths and the June Taylor dancers? I would have thought that there were more than that.
“Violet And Her Editor” has become an epic novel on its own. I love the direction it’s been taking!
Sometimes what seems like a makeshift or handicap turns out to have been an inspiration instead. God Himself, it’s said, writes straight with crooked lines. 😊
Direction? You found a direction in it?
It’s all direction, at the same time, plus a few theoretical dimensions. 🙂
TWO directions! — Hither and yon. 😁
Am I wandering into contemporary literature?