Tag: Violet Crepuscular

The Singing Millipedes (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Okay, The Queen of Suspense, Violet Crepuscular, is up and around again and ready to go back to finely crafting her interminable–sorry! Immortal! I meant immortal–historical romance, Oy, Rodney. 

When we last checked, most of Scurveyshire’s pressing problems simply evaporated while Ms. Crepuscular was in bed with the collywobbles. She says she felt better and got up when she heard the millipedes sing.

“What did they sing?” asked the editor who should have known better. He had a feeling the answer was going to be Anchors A-Weigh. 

But Violet is already off on another track.

“Last week, you will recall, I mentioned a guy from the collection agency who got run over by a truck,” she writes. “I case you were worried, I can tell you that he wasn’t badly injured, just a little problem with the coccyx. But I felt badly for him, so I decided to include him in my book. Here you will get to know him as Squire Gervais Pong, formerly of the Isle of Wight, former explorer of The Land of Great Big Salamanders, now settled in Scurveyshire as a beloved money-lender: the loan shark with the heart of gold!”

Popular demand will not allow her to distance herself from the millipedes.

“They’re singing The Curse of an Aching Heart–all right? You got a problem with that?” She is losing patience with her readers. “They really don’t deserve me!” she says.

Scurveyshire at Peace, Sort Of (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Somehow all of Scurveyshire’s most pressing problems went away while the author, Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, stayed in bed. June Taylor Dancers, rampaging rhinoceros, all that other stuff–now that we’re being pushed into Chapter DCLXXXVIII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, it’s all given way to peace and quiet. “You can hear the millipedes sing,” writes Ms. Crepuscular. She’s out of bed now.

“I am sure many of you have noticed,” she writes, “that if you can duck certain problems long enough, they evaporate. Just poof, they’re gone! Like that lout from the collection agency who was bugging me so much. They said he got run over by a truck.”

This sets the stage, she explains, for the resumption of preparations for the wedding of Lady Margo Cargo and Lord Jeremy Coldsore.

Uh… How does some guy from the collection agency getting hit by a truck set the stage for a wedding in Scurveyshire?

“This is what I deal with all the time!” expostulates The Queen of Suspense. “People are determined not to understand what you mean! But I will not write down to their level! Pulitzer Prize committee be damned!”

Readers’ Letters to The Queen of Suspense (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, is sorry she threw open the door to readers’ suggestions for Chapter DCLXXXVI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. Here are a few samples smuggled out of the house before she could delete them. (“I am buying an alligator to guard my home at night!” she warns the public. “Break in at your own risk.”)

From Poona, Ohio: “Why don’t you write about that nice couple on the book cover? Six hundred chapters, and you ain’t giving them a wink!”

Yurm, England: “D’il a-crawly wip al yon leggety scramps!” This was the most unkindest cut of all.

Chakmalmez, Honduras: “There isn’t much romance in your romance! How about some scenes of torrid lovemaking?” (Violet replied to this one, “How about you go skydiving without a parachute?”)

Ongs Hat, New Jersey: “Keep it up, Violet! And while you’re at it, give us a couple of juicy murders, a genius sleuth to solve them, UFOs and aliens, and those things that look like pumpkins!”

Kizzuwatna, Asia Minor: “Go soak your head.”

Violet Crepuscular today is unavailable for comment. It was all we could do to get her to bed last night. Usually she stays up to watch wrestling; but after all those nasty notes and emails, it took a fair among of wrestling to calm her down. We are going to untie her this morning so she can write a little.

Lost! The Missing Executioner (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” has decided not to write Chapter DCLXXXIV of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. “It’s too complicated,” she explains. “Besides which, the Crown’s traveling executioner has gone missing–lost, somehow, on his way to Scurveyshire. This happened fairly often in those days.”

Meanwhile, for all the short time which they served as absolute rulers of the shire, the June Taylor Dancers still managed to repeal all the laws of Scurveyshire but were expelled to Tannu Tuva, in Central Asia, before they had any time to replace the laws.

“Isn’t that a fine mess?” laments Lord Jeremy Coldsore. “As justice of the peace, how am I to enforce the laws when there are no laws?” He is exasperated by the vicar, who keeps meowing for more cat food.

The disappearance of the executioner is a cause for concern. Willis Twombley, the American adventurer, has raised a dozen pesetas with which to bribe the executioner: it is known that this official prefers Spanish money. “What do I do with all these pesetas?” Twombley asks rhetorically. “They won’t take ’em in The Lying Tart. I wish I’d never fed the vicar all that cat food!”

“We are now,” Ms. Crepuscular reminds her readers, “in Chapter DCLXXXV of my epic romance, Oy, Rodney. The next chapter, DCLXXXVI, I throw open to suggestions from the readers. What happens next? You, dear readers, must decide!” [Editor resigns in frustration, vows to have no more to do with any form of literature.]

Feeding Your Vicar Cat Food (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” prepares to launch Chapter DCLXXXIV of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, with these few words to the reader.

“Imagine how different the whole world would have been,” she aviates, “had Parliament not passed a law forbidding the feeding of cat food to members of the clergy! I for one can’t imagine it! In fact, I think I’d better go lie down.”

We can only speculate on what she would have or might have written this weekend, had she been up to it. Dog-walker Eileen Spelunky of Baldy, Wisconsin, thinks she has the answer.

“But I ain’t tellin’,” she asserts: “not unless I git $500.”

We know what’s wrong with Ms. Crepuscular: all those toothpaste sandwich cookies going to bed, not to mention washing it down with maple syrup. It makes me woozy, just to think about it.

Meanwhile, we have not been told how far the traveling executioner has yet to go to reach Scurveyshire. Willis Twombley is sure he can bribe him to drop the case. “I wouldn’t of given the vicar no cat food,” he explains, “only he kept meowing for it.”

[I’m sorry, that does it–a lie-down for me, too!]

The Royal Wading Pool Inspector (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” introduces Chapter DCLXXIX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. Feel free to skip this if it’s too suspenseful.

“If you thought the vicar’s notorious backyard wading pool has stopped sucking unwary passers-by into its unknown depths,” she addresses her multitude of readers, “think again! Queen Victoria’s government–the queen herself has other things to do–has sent the Royal Backyard Wading Pool Inspector to take a closer look. It may be some executions are in order.”

We do not know the name of this inspector: he was sucked under the pool before he got a chance to introduce himself.

In his capacity of justice of the peace, Lord Jeremy Coldsore appeals to the vicar. “When are you going to let us empty that pool and get rid of it?” he demands. “Meow,” says the vicar. (Great line! I wish I’d written it.) He is currently under the impression that he’s a cat. No help there.

“They’re gonna send the army next,” opines the American adventurer, Willis Twombley, who thinks he is Sargon of Akkad. “And after that,” he adds, “the Babylonians will invade us.”

“Has it slipped everybody’s mind that Lady Margo and I are to be married?” cries Lord Jeremy. He is trying to hide the fact that it had completely slipped his mind. Lady Margo Cargo is not amused. She has just had her wooden leg polished for the ceremony.

“Be sure to be on hand next week,” writes Ms. Crepuscular, “for the exciting climax of this latest crisis!”

Promises, promises…

 

The Immortal Doris Pokeweed (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Will Lord Jeremy Coldsore be whisked into the 20th century as June Taylor’s toy boy? Or will the June Taylor Dancers simply continue as the new tyrants ruling Scurveyshire? And what about Lady Margo Cargo, who is about to lose her fiancee?

Only Violet Crepuscular, “The Queen of Suspense,” can straighten out this mess! After all, she made it.

Introducing Chapter DCLXXIII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Ms. Crepuscular treats her readers to a recipe for toothpaste sausages. This is not helpful. But she soon gets back into the story: Lady Margo Cargo has appealed to the legendary Doris Pokewood, who rode with Boudicca and bowled with Francis Drake. One cannot do such things without becoming a legend.

“Be thwan yer backus,” she reassures Lady Margo, speaking in the quaint rural dialect which survives in Scurveyshire alone. Everywhere else, they’ve gotten rid of it. However, Lady Margo is greatly comforted when she sees Doris snatch up her fabled oaken rolling pin and stride boldly into the midst of the Dancers. They don’t await further developments; they have last been seen fleeing to Tannu Tuva–and from there, back to their own time and place. Lord Jeremy proclaims a Doris Pokeweed Day. The shire celebrates cautiously.

“See?” concludes Violet. “Was that so hard? Not to mention it was the origin of our own annual Pokeweed holiday!”

One can only stand in awe. There is a rumor that this might be the end of the whole novel. We shall see.

The Legend of Doris Pokeweed (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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There are too many June Taylor Dancers to fit into Scurveyshire’s rustic little gaol and Constable Chumley has sought enlightenment at the bottoms of several tankards of ale at The Lying Tart.

Introducing Chapter DCLXXII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular braces her readers for suspense. “THIS,” she writes in all caps, “is where the legendary Doris Pokeweed comes into the story.” {Editor sweeps his papers to the floor and goes to join Constable Chumley at the pub.]

In what way, shape, or form is this Doris Pokeweed legendary?

“No one in Scurveyshire can remember a time when Doris Pokeweed didn’t live here,” Ms. Crepuscular cavitates. “Popular belief credits her with immortality. ‘She rode with Boudicca,’ says Johnno the Merry Minstrel, ‘and bowled with Francis Drake.’ I’d call that pretty legendary!”

But there is a fly in the ointment. (There! Got him out.)

June Taylor herself has fallen for Lord Jeremy Coldsore and wants to bring him back to the Twentieth Century with her–where his two left feet will make him a celebrity, if not a cash cow.

“Do not think this has escaped the notice of Lady Margo Cargo, Lord Jeremy’s betrothed,” Ms. Crepuscular writes. But for the time being I must leave you in suspense!”

How to Get Rid of the June Taylor Dancers (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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The critic snickers evilly. “Backed yourself into a corner, eh, Violet? Not so much the Queen of Suspense as the Queen of Confusion! I can’t wait to see how you weasel your way out of this!”

Ms. Crepuscular replies, “I won’t even have to break a sweat! Just watch me.”

In Chapter DCLXXI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, we find the June Taylor Dancers (from the old Jackie Gleason show) ensconced (she loves that word!) as the dictatorial and quite unlawful rulers of Scurveyshire. Constable Chumley has been trying to arrest them.

“Can’t you get these women off the streets?” cries Lord Jeremy Coldsore, justice of the peace.  The constable replies, “Verver yon maire sich frankincense, yeevie”–to which no answer can be made.

For the time being, everyone in Scurveyshire is required to dance when they want to go anywhere.

But Johnno the Merry Minstrel has it figured out.

“It’s a time-warp,” he explains. “The June Taylor Dancers are involved in a temporal shift. If it can be reversed, we can send them back to their own time.”

Blowing a raspberry hi-res stock photography and images - Alamy

“So there!” Ms. Crepuscular crows triumphantly. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Critic! And no more toothpaste and tobacco cupcakes for you!”

The Tyranny of the June Taylor Dancers (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Introducing (or not) Chapter DCLXIX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, shares an intimate moment with her readers.

“I always listen to publishers,” she writes, “so when a major New York publisher told me to go soak my head, I took it literally and did my best to comply. Only later did I realize that ‘literally’ really meant literarily–as in one literary personage to another.”

Having filled her sink with water, Violet reports, “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t breath with my whole head under water! I think I almost drowned! I must of tried this half a dozen times, and always got water up my nose when I tried to breathe.”

Meanwhile, in Scurveyshire, the June Taylor Dancers having kicked the rampaging rhinoceros out of the town, the troupe has set itself up as the new absolute rulers of the town and instituted mandatory dancing lessons.So one problem has replaced another.

In his capacity of Justice of the Peace, Lord Jeremy Coldsore has ordered Constable Chumley to arrest the June Taylor Dancers–although fitting them all into the town’s single little jail cell has created yet another problem. As the constable remarked, “Yea the vimbers hallis brogh!” Who can disagree?