If Merbear is thus transformed by "fiction novel," what does she look like when she receives
"Dear Agent J. Just dashed off the first five pages of my mystery thriller western prison-memoir comic romance. Its (sic) awesome and I want to give you the first chance to make it even awesomer since its going to appeal to the whole world and be a killer (Haha!!!) movie once you get Demme on board. And Johnny Depp can play me. I'll be round your office at about 1 p.m. to discuss how we're all going to be bazillionairres. And 15% of a bazillion dollars ain't nothing to sniff at. See you soon, this is going to be great for ALL of us, Luther Lexington."
(Please make her transformation into something fire-breathing. And a Happy Halloween to you too.)
Y'know, when you see something like that up here, it usually means you're about to make the news in some way ranging from "close call" to "became bear poop." Therefore I am very skeeered and will never say "fiction novel" (or "canine dog" or "white albino"... although I WAS going to write a fiction novel about a white albino and his best friend, a canine dog.... but now I'm scrapping it. Even if it would have made us all bazillionaires.)
The other night I was driving home and the Hercs were flying low, growling their way across the sky, homeward to Elmendorf AFB. They look like sharks: Grey, sharp-nosed, sleek and powerful. Dangerous-looking, outlined against a twilight sky. The power of their engines makes the air throb, stirs the hair on the back of the neck, sends a little shiver down the spine. They wake some atavistic thing in the primitive brain, for all that they're of the modern world.
The shark thing, of course, put me in mind of you (who else?) The airplane thing made me think: Hmm, didn't Janet swear there would be a story about flying the Cessna to Lake George to get glacier ice for cocktails...? I didn't somehow miss it, did I?
(For frame of refernce, we met at the Alaska Writers' meeting. We hobnobbed briefly about whiskey [neat, IIRC] your impending aunthood [and I sincerely hope all went well with your sister and the little one], and being f#%&ing hilarious. Which you still are, if recent posts are any guide.)
7 comments:
At least it isn't "poetry in verse form." I received many of these when editing a literary magazine.
You realize, of course, within the next five years "Fiction Novel" will be a category in the Kindle Store.
I'm very scared! Perhaps authors should include razors along with SASE's?
If Merbear is thus transformed by "fiction novel," what does she look like when she receives
"Dear Agent J.
Just dashed off the first five pages of my mystery thriller western prison-memoir comic romance. Its (sic) awesome and I want to give you the first chance to make it even awesomer since its going to appeal to the whole world and be a killer (Haha!!!) movie once you get Demme on board. And Johnny Depp can play me. I'll be round your office at about 1 p.m. to discuss how we're all going to be bazillionairres. And 15% of a bazillion dollars ain't nothing to sniff at. See you soon, this is going to be great for ALL of us, Luther Lexington."
(Please make her transformation into something fire-breathing. And a Happy Halloween to you too.)
Y'know, when you see something like that up here, it usually means you're about to make the news in some way ranging from "close call" to "became bear poop." Therefore I am very skeeered and will never say "fiction novel" (or "canine dog" or "white albino"... although I WAS going to write a fiction novel about a white albino and his best friend, a canine dog.... but now I'm scrapping it. Even if it would have made us all bazillionaires.)
So the were-merbear turns into a merbear on the full moon? What is she the rest of the month?
(Likely answer: Cranky.)
On an unrelated Alaskan Subject...
The other night I was driving home and the Hercs were flying low, growling their way across the sky, homeward to Elmendorf AFB. They look like sharks: Grey, sharp-nosed, sleek and powerful. Dangerous-looking, outlined against a twilight sky. The power of their engines makes the air throb, stirs the hair on the back of the neck, sends a little shiver down the spine. They wake some atavistic thing in the primitive brain, for all that they're of the modern world.
The shark thing, of course, put me in mind of you (who else?) The airplane thing made me think: Hmm, didn't Janet swear there would be a story about flying the Cessna to Lake George to get glacier ice for cocktails...? I didn't somehow miss it, did I?
(For frame of refernce, we met at the Alaska Writers' meeting. We hobnobbed briefly about whiskey [neat, IIRC] your impending aunthood [and I sincerely hope all went well with your sister and the little one], and being f#%&ing hilarious. Which you still are, if recent posts are any guide.)
:)
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