You think it’s easy, being this woman’s editor? Hah! All week long, she’s been sulking. A customer review on some Charlie High-school website called her “Violet Corpuscle” and she couldn’t deal with it.
Nevertheless, somehow Chapter DXXX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, has gotten written. Let Ms. Crepuscular (not Corpuscle) introduce it.
“I am proud to be introducing Chapter DXXX of my epic romance, Oy, Rodney,” she gestures hypnotically, like Mandrake the Magician. For her it doesn’t work.
We were expecting the Frothing Dragon of Scurveyshire in this chapter, and for once we got just what we asked for. The Dragon comes out from under the wading pool in the vicar’s back yard and starts frothing all over the place. Lord Jeremy Coldsore and Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he is Sargon of Akkad, watch in stunned horror.
“Germy, we got to do somethin’ about this!” says Twombley, balancing his six-gun on a fingertip. This makes Lord Jeremy uneasy. He has already been shot in one foot and has no desire for the experience to be repeated. Meanwhile, Squire Oochy’s greenhouse is buried under dragon-froth.
“Who the devil’s Squire Oochy?” Jeremy wonders.
“Suspense!” exults Ms. Crepuscular. “Tune in next week to find out who the devil’s Squire Oochy!”
This is your editor speaking. For too long we have allowed Violet Crepuscular to abuse our trust. We keep waiting for her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, to break into a plot.
Just look at this mess! A rhino hibernating in back of a chicken coop. A cold snap that freezes everything but the vicar’s backyard wading pool. And Mr. Pitfall face-down on Violet’s living room floor, the victim of a swoon. He was just starting to read Chapter DXXX, she says. Well, we haven’t read it yet!
She addresses the defenseless reader: “The thing is, when you’re writing an epic romance of 500 or more chapters, you can’t just leave Mr. Pitfall lying on the floor. How could I have finished writing Chapter DXXX, when I had to call the UN to come and get Mr. Pitfall? I mean, have you ever tried to telephone those people?!? Ye gods!”
[Editor: Not so fast there, twinkletoes! What about that Frothing Dragon of Scurveyshire, that you hinted at last week? Eh? Eh?]
“As for the Frothing Dragon of Scurveyshire–” [We’ve got her on the run!]–“I simply have to hold it back for one more chapter. Meanwhile, consult the Ibid Chronicles for the year 457, the year the dragon first frothed. Then you’ll understand!”
[Editor plunges into a fruitless search for the Ibid Chronicles…]