There’s a rampaging rhino on the loose in Scurveyshire, but not to worry–Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” is back on the job, back to her laser-like focus on the plot.
Introducing Chapter DCXLXI (or whatever it is) of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Ms. Crepuscular addresses her readers directly.
“I am back on target!” she declares. “Yes, my lords and ladies, I have learned ny lesson! No more long, drawn-out digressions on that poop of a baby-sitter that I had when I was six. Nor will I venture into politics, or offer resolutions to burning social issues. From now on, it’s Plot, Plot, Plot! Just like an Icelandic saga–didja ever read one of those? There’s this saga about some guy named Egil, or Harvey, or something…”
[Editor runs screaming to the sidewalk.]
By now the angry rhinoceros has made a shambles of Scurveyshire’s Museum of Agricultural Implements. Charged with stopping the unstoppable conquering beast, Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, is still loading his six-gun.
“Better hurry up,” says Johnno the Merry Minstrel, “or there’ll be nothing in this town worth saving.”
“You made me lose count of the bullets!” grumbles Twombley.
[Yes, she stopped writing here. No, I don’t know why.]