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  • #2363

    Fwick con Troll, one of the great Wartlocks of Mungibbs, was quite preoccupied with the situation. This sudden abundance of blubbits was no doubt an evil craft at work.

    Fwick wasn’t extraordinarily enthralled at the Majorburgmester’s idea to send someone through the Eight Portal, as for one, it was quite an antiquated piece of technology which had not been used since the Great Influence of Haitian Henwan, and second, people from the eighth dimension weren’t really easy people to follow.
    Shaped as a big eight, the portal also had some secondary effects of twisting one’s minds into loops of endless wonderment and bedazzlement. Surely no New Pealander in his own mind would dare succumb to these effects so alien to their culture.

    Nevertheless, he was a bit short of ideas, as most of his spells had failed miserably at evicting the thriving blubbits. He was lost in these thoughts when a frantic barking resounded at his door.

    #2351

    There was a blue light spiral whirlwinding in the center of what should have been a head. Ann seemed not at all surprised as if she had taken too much of those weeds of hers, though Lavender was terrified. Was that a wormhole? She coughed a few times.

    “Please, pardon me!” said the raucous voice coming from the center of the spiral. Ann was so fascinated that she stretched her arm to touch the vortex. In doing so, the voice took goaty characteristics that made her giggle.
    “We need your help…” said the goaty voice, which hurried to add “In peace, always…”

    For a moment, Lavender thought she heard someone coughing from the other end of the wormhole. But with Ann messing with the vortex who knows what it could have been.

    Note from the editor: in another version of the story, it has been a double of Ann playing with a device. Her voice was sounding much like the one of Darn Vadoor in Stare Worms before he informed Lurk that he was his janitor.

    #2348

    Ann was savooring a coughee with Lavender and Phenol. It was certainly not easy to follow a conversation when you were coughing all the time after a sip of coughee but it was quite savoory and tasty, and Flove knows why it was soo expensive.
    Phenol was one of those students at the worserversity with acne and he or she wouldn’t allow another person to see his or her real face. So maybe for convenience only we can call him or her: IT.
    It was the only moment you could hear a sound coming out of ITs hood, during thoose coughee sessions it was hard to keep completely silent.
    Ann was very curious though, and it could be the only reason that she kept asking Phenol to come. She was still in search of clooes about that when a man arrived.

    He was wearing a black hood and speaking with that particular raucous voice you only hear in movies… She got the chills and asked him to join their company. Lavender rolled her eyes because the man with the raucous voice stepped on her right foot. Not that she suffered much, because she couldn’t feel her right leg since that accident a few years ago.

    The man ordered a coughee with croombs and stayed there, saying nothing. That was not unpleasant at all, since Ann was chatting and coughing, taking the coughs of the others as a yes or a no to her questions. At least an acknowledgment that she was heard.

    #2791
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Write any rubbish, dance across the page, gesticulate wildly and enthusiastically from rubbish! Oh My God! That sounds Brilliant! and so incredibly freeing!

      She had been suffering from the Fiction Writer Within, her true identity.
      Now to write about any good week, and see fiction idea in the depths under that reluctant thought, a great time to decide to do a slobber drip gag kiss.

      Her new favourite philosophy was that everything was top marks for everything: such an encouragement to creative urges. Full credit for the flow!
      Beam brightly, a surprise gift you may use if you wish ~ and have fun!

      :bounce:

      #2788
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        (#1682)

        Elizabeth frowned as she hung Finnley.

        “crazy!” he’d said. “killing spiders and magpies and lord knows what else”

        “Woohoo”

        Really, Elizabeth could be exasperating at times

        Finnley had been silent hung in frustration floated across of Elizabeth’s closed eyes as she lay on the bed.

        She was aware of the breeze and the giraffes heat was intense, heavy.

        spiders webs, and the sound of gurgling….

        and then silence and the tinkling of windchimes….

        Big brown eyes atop gaze at Elizabeth as her eyes flutter open and then close again.

        Elizabeth can see the head and shoulders and the serious face, she can see the lips up and down and round and round …..

        Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.

        #2772
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          #54

          the voice was feeling liquid. Leörmn wouldn’t change the exit of that egg.

          Since many of his abilities were quite perfect the only difficulty was to follow any egg.

          And the egg was in another one from which the girl drifted off to sleep, despite the sounds of the camels, and then it turned into one of those heart shape!

          “BUGGER THIS” Dory was singing ‘Bugger this’ to Arona rolling around laughing.

          #2771
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            #726

            People who unlock this chamber will also wonder: do we know Becky?
            She decided to explain about analytical sounds. Obliviousness had seen her smile in other interesting roles of her focus Lola Finn. In the need to feel her warm body, a small shower of thought had cleared now, and everything had a gentle sigh.

            #2337

            Ann felt a bit guilty for being so rude to Monica, but it had made her laugh, so it was worth it. She had made it sound as if it was a big secret why she was feeling odd, but the fact of the matter was she wasn’t really feeling odd anymore, and was bored with talking about it.

            As well, she was remembering what Walter had said to her (or was it Harvey? The gorgously cuddley big teddy bear man, with his unruly tumble of brown curls and his colourful FairIsle sweaters, who had flown the nest from a potato farm in deepest darkest Idaho to pursue his dream of being an Elsespace Guide at the Worserversity.)

            #2333

            “Oh look at that now…”

            “What?”

            “The cat’s been throwing up a big spaghetti noodle of half-digested croquettes”

            “That’s what all this ‘heck heck’ sound was all about then… Is it heart-shaped… at least?”

            “Not quite… pfft, though it almost spelled out ‘ODD’, if you ask me”

            #2331

            Ann had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of that herself. Why haven’t I been expressing more of the perecption in front of my eyes, I wonder? The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. It did sound like a good idea, and she was pleased that she had created another ‘her’ as it were, to mention it.

            On the other hand, of course, there was nothing stopping Walter (or was it Gordon? No, Godfrey…wait, wasn’t it Al?) from creating another one of his ‘hims’ masked as an Ann to express more of her perceptions in HIS own ‘It’s All You’ story.

            Am I getting this right? Ann whispered to her left ear.

            #2327

            “So how was your lunch date with your new best friend?” Harvey sounded distinctly sarcastic, even to Lavender’s forgiving ears.

            “Oh, you know …”

            Harvey raised his eyebrows. No mean feat when you have a book balancing on your nose. He sighed, and let the book fall. A few months ago he was balancing four poster beds, and now he could barely manage a Lemoine novel. Heavy as they are! He sniggered to himself. Oh well, at least I havn’t lost my sense of humour, along with my sense of smell!

            “Well, to be honest Harvey .. I think I may have been possessed by those pesky aliens. I suddenly came to and I was talking all this rubbish about ‘random quote generators’ and using words like ‘dear’.

            Lavender shuddered in horror at the memory, and then rolled her beautiful eyes and sighed. “Poor Ann, I think she is a really tortured soul.”

            The writer wondered if it was time to add a dark side to Lavender’s personality. All this beautiful eyes business was getting a tad irritating, the beauty of Lavender’s eyes not withstanding. Not to mention her lips which she painted a bright shade of amaranth for every day wear, and on special occasions, rose madder. The writer wondered if the last thought made sense and wondered again how to strike out text. The writer decided to try that last line again.

            Lavender shuddered, and then with an enigmatic smile which even her good friend Harvey found hard to decipher, she said softly, “I ate olives for lunch. They were yummy.”

            The writer sighed and then noticed the random quote generator said “mean cleaner coming soon.” The writer wondered if it was a sign.

            #2292

            BLING!”

            Yurick and Yann jolted up from the couch at the sound of the crashing pot.

            “What on Earth are they on about… again!”

            Their two new cats Eeckup and Eelas were practising their new hops and jumps, reaching for the topmost shelf of the cupboard, where the pot full of earth, and topped with the remains of a dying dry plant was put —they’d thought, out of reach of the little beasts. :cat_confused: :cat_happy:

            “You know what?” Yurick said after having vacuumed the remains of dirt on the carpet “it may sound a bit strange (perhaps completely nuts even), but I had the impression Eeckup was making something with the plants just before I surprised it…” :cat_happy:

            #2270
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Just write anything. Anything you want! It is all rubbish anyway. Let your words dance across the page without thought for meaning! Prof Frantic Moose gesticulated wildly and enthusiastically from the front of the classroom.

              It is all rubbish anyway! Oh My God! That sounds like something Lemone would have said, thought Ann. Brilliant! and so incredibly freeing!

              She had been suffering from the dreaded ‘Writers Block’ for some weeks now and was secretly doing a Free the Fiction Writer Within, evening course. Disguising her true identity with a long red wig, dark glasses, and going under the pseudonym of Tracy Hoop, she was already feeling tremendously pleased with her decision.

              #2053

              In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

              TracyTracy
              Participant

                interesting thread ~
                direction deep!
                tina sound, seeing otherwise…
                once yoland thought,
                room wish ~ usual odd dogs
                beginning order knew dear
                already

                #2627

                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  The word flounder popped into Yolands head, and for want of the inspiration to do anything meaningful, or even useful, she googled flounder. She was astonished to find so many varieties of flounder, and recognized that she was counterparting with quite a number of them.

                  :fish:

                  There was the Crosseyed flounder that she felt an affinity for, at the end of an evening of trying to sort out her photos; Alcock’s narrow-body righteye flounder, which was what she felt like in a bed full of male dogs every night, and she could relate to the Antarctic armless flounder when she couldn’t keep track of the Antarctic thread. Barfin flounder reminded her of the green icon and her friend Finn; Bigmouth flounder ~ Yoland sighed, she definitely felt a connection to that often enough. Blotched flounder, well that sounded a bit like botched ~ there were many occasions when Yoland felt that everything she did was botched, half done and messy. Chain-mail wide-eyed flounder when she dabbled a bit in past lives, and the Disc flounder when she got her music in a muddle. The Dark flounders were the worst, when everything seemed to take on the tone of a horror movie, but they were often followed by a Deep flounder, which sometimes contained a few insights, more often than not promptly forgotten.

                  :fish:

                  Yoland sighed. Imagine counterparting with just about every flounder known to man! She decided she wasn’t the only one counterparting the European flounder, which was a releif, nor was she the only one counterparting the Fantail flounder, although at least it could be said that she wasn’t a complete fan of anyone in particular, dead or alive, she was a fantail of quite a number. There were long spells of resonating with the Finless flounder; Finn was always disappearing, or so it seemed to Yoland. Very rarely she felt an alignment with God’s flounder, thankfuly she wasn’t often prone to dwelling on God things.

                  :fish:

                  Ah, the Gray flounder, yes she’d had a bit of a flounder when Gray sent all those photos of the Beltane Dance, she’d had a flounder for sure in amongst all those. Looking back though, she’d had fun with the mummy and Ella Tindale in the Gulf flounder…

                  :fish:

                  Yoland had to laugh when she came across the Intermediate flounder. Yoland wondered if the majority of her foundering was counterparting with the Intermediate flounder and decided she was probably too intermediate to work it out objectively anyway. She often had a tussle with the Large tooth flounder, lordy, she was always floundering with dental issues. And the Largescale flounder, that really was the biggest ongoing flounder of them all, the sheer vastness of everything.

                  :fish:

                  Every now and again, less than previously though, Yoland had a Melbourne flounder on Saturday nights, and rather enjoyed it, but not as much as she enjoyed a good old New Zealand flounder.

                  :fish:

                  Another flounder Yoland always enjoyed was an Olive wide-eyed flounder, roaming around the ancient olive trees of Andalucia, wide eyed and awestruck with the beauty and history of the place. She also enjoyed a Peruvian flounder on occasion, too ~ she’d even had a dream recently about floundering around by the mysterious doorway of Amaru Muru. The next night she’d had a River flounder, dreaming of the river in the Grand Canyon.

                  :fish:

                  Sand flounders were the best of all though, Yoland recalled many happy flounderings in the world of sand and all its Subulmantium configurations. The trouble with the sand flounder was that it often morphed into the largescale flounder, and got quite out of hand.

                  :fish:

                  Yoland sighed, it had been ages since she’d felt connected to the Seven pelvic ray flounder, what with Dan working nights. She was beginning to feel like a Shelf flounder. However, at least thanks to her new diet of replacing meals with flans, chocolate mousses and ice cream, she was closely aligning now with the Slender flounder.

                  :fish:

                  The ongoing slug issue with the cat food was obviously because she was still strongly aligned with the Slime flounder. Notwithstanding, Yoland was rather pleased to note that despite her morose and petulant mood this morning, it had to be said that she often counterparted with the Smooth flounder; although that was easy to forget in moments of quiet desperation when the floundering got out of proportion.

                  :fish:

                  Smiling, Yoland remembered the dream of feet touching when she noticed there was a Sole flounder too. And how often the Spotted flounder popped up, she was always spotting clues. Well spotted! she would tell herself. Oh, and the Stone flounder, wasn’t that the truth! Yoland was aligning strongly with that lately, smoking more than ever, somehow striving for either inspiration, or perhaps oblivion.

                  :fish:

                  Oh well, I guess this is just a Summer flounder, it will pass, Yoland decided (who was secretly glad that she was nearing the end of the list of flounder names). And sure enough, the next on the list was the Three spotted flounder, surely a good sign! A probability change perhaps! As if to validate Yolands impression, she noticed the Tile-colored righteye flounder. There was even a Warthog flounder, which seemed to ring a bell with a recent entry to the Reality Play.

                  :fish:

                  Best of all was the Windowpane flounder, Yoland felt she would even go so far as to say that this was her new focus animal. Well, she thought, if I am making this all up, I can make that up too!

                  :fish:

                  Thankfully Yoland reached the end of the flounder list, rather pleased that it had ended on such an amusing and encouraging note.

                  Being closely aligned with flounders wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

                  :fish:

                  #2624

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  The newly deceased Shar and Gor

                  “Shouldn’t he say something less grim you think?”
                  “I definitely agree my dear Shar”
                  “Something like in-ceased, or up-ceased… We’re ascended after all!”
                  “I’m not so sure it sounds better, but…”

                  Well, them being up-ceased, involved a new challenge for the writer(s) of this story, as the two blusterously boisterous ladies were in a desperate move to attempt sending communication to the objective world —officially to discover the extent of their influence. Their new-found access to the collective subconscious made them all the more a trouble for the writer(s).

                  Anyway, as we speak, Shar and Glor, were… or are actually trying to influence some characters and hence co-authors of this work of fiction to test their own ability to manipulate some of these individuals.

                  So far the extent of their experiments had fared tepid results.

                  “OK. Let’s try with these two. I’m beaming something down to them!”

                  To which, moments and some non-physical sweating on Glor’s brow later, one of the two subjects of this experiment (the blond one) blurted out without knowing from where it came: “Spiggot on the spike freak, Lingenburg Dash

                  “What the hell was that Glor?”
                  “Good Lord, I don’t have any idea!”
                  “What was it supposed to be then!?”
                  “I just beamed them ‘Speaking now without mike – leap if you ain’t dead’!”
                  “Good grief… Those two might as well be hopeless…”

                  Of course, unbeknown to them, in other potential realities, what she really beamed to them was entirely different; something like ‘Speaking now – dead to the living – leap and bound if you catch’… Subsequently, Ann’s catch was in fact an indication of great disposition to tune into more than one probabilities at a time, the benefits of which were lost to the poor dabbling souls.

                  But this point notwithstanding, as they were speaking, another potential just appeared at the horizon. A woman named Yoland, with an improbable ability to express strings of thoughts inspired from above (anywhere that ‘above’ might be) without much distortion.

                  “Have to tread carefully with that one, Glor”
                  “Yes, I reckon dear…”
                  “We could even manage to fully channel her body, she seems a perfect candidate!” Sharon would have rubbed her hands with glee if she’d had hands still.
                  “Innit a bore though that she would ask for such grand truths…”
                  “Not to worry, we’ll invent them as we walk. I’ve even got an idea for session one with her: the great cluster of Mamarose of energy essential oils.”

                  #2616

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    “It’s the 57th Creative Challenge theme, so I have to do it,” Ann remarked to her editor. “Obviously”, she added.

                    “What do you mean, obviously?” asked her editor (Ann had forgotten his new name in the second book, and toyed breifly with the idea of making up a new one ~ perhaps Rumbold the Pale?)

                    “Well, I would have thought that was obvious, Godfrey!” Ann replied tartly, secretly delighted that she’d remembered the old boy’s name. Notwithstanding, Ann continued to make little ‘cuh’ and ‘tut’ noises, and rolled her eyes a bit, until Godfrey eventually replied.

                    “Spiggot on the spike freak, Lingenburg Dash”.

                    “I beg your pardon?” Ann looked at Godfrey in astonishment. “Holy Moly, I said that earlier myself, whatever does it mean?”

                    “I haven’t got a clue, dear,” he replied. “Just popped into my head, you know, how it does…” His voice trailed off as he stared into space.

                    “I’ll google it.” As Ann started the search, she realized she’d completely forgotten that she was doing the 57th Creative Challenge entry. “Blimey O Riley, what am I LIKE” she said to herself, with a wry grin ~ she wasn’t altogether sure what wry meant, but somehow she felt it was wry ~ “Now what was the theme again?”

                    “Misery Loves Company” Godfrey piped up. “And dare I say, it’s rather obvious what has occurred here.”

                    “What do you mean, obvious?” retorted Ann, somewhat snarkily, although nowhere near as snarkily as Lavender might have said it.

                    Godfrey resisted the urge to respoond with a few little ‘cuh’s’ and ‘tut’s’, and chose to simply smile enigmatically.

                    Ann scowled at her old freind and said “If you don’t spell it out, you maddening old coot, I’ll write you out of this story. I’ll delete you.”

                    “You can write me out of YOUR story if you wish, but I may continue to write YOU into MY story.”

                    “Oh Gawd, WHAT?” Ann said to herself. “Where did that come from?”

                    “Ann, let me explain.”

                    “You sound just like Elias, Godfrey!”

                    “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

                    “Ahahahahahahah”

                    “Now shut up and pay attention”

                    “Elias would never say that”

                    “That’s YOU saying that, Ann, to yourself,” said Godfrey.

                    YOU said that Godfrey, it’s right here in black and white!” retorted Ann.

                    “It’s never black and white, Ann, and it’s only here in black and white as ME saying it because YOU wrote it.”

                    “Well there’s no answer to that” replied Ann. She went to put the kettle on.

                    Ann returned to her computer with a steaming mug of tea.

                    “Now, shall we get back to the point, Ann?” inquired Godfrey, with a wry grin.

                    “I must look up that word later”, Ann mused. “I seem to be inordinately fond of the word wry tonight, I wonder why. I Wonder Wry…”

                    ANN!” Godfrey shouted. “Back to the point!”

                    Ann looked pained. “What point?”

                    “The point of this story, and the obvious occurence therein.”

                    “Welp, you’ve lost me there, Gordon, there was a point?”

                    “Oh My God, this could go on all night” Gordon was wringing his hands.

                    “Good God Gordon, didn’t see you come in!” exclaimed Godfrey.

                    Ann was giggling helplessly. She was rather pleased with the way she covered her faux pas over the editors name.

                    “‘Ann was giggling helplessly’; you see Ann, there is your clue!” Godfrey said excitedly, as he read aloud what Ann had just written.

                    “OH! NOW I get it! D’oh! Nonsense loves company! Giggling loves company! No wonder I couldn’t stay focused on misery!”

                    #2595

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      “Just do it. Either just do it, or just make something up” she told herself. Again. “Either do it, or make it up, but stop thinking about it and talking about it.” Yoland sighed and turned on the radio. It was an old pink one, the kind with the dials that turn, and a pull out antenna. The antenna was a bit rusty at the bottom and didn’t rotate very well, which made it a bit tricky to get a clear reception without alot of preliminary juggling around and fidgeting. The dogs under her desk scratched themselves noisily as Yoland fiddled with the radio.

                      :yahoo_puppy:

                      “In the backwater….”

                      “…yes you’ve got the Splain Channel loud and clear now all you have to do is focus on what the next word is and then write it down without thinking about the spelling, as you can see you are looking at the keybaord and tryping”, Yoland smiled at the typo, “the words that you are hearing without trying to anallzye them too much now. ok are you ready? We’re going to do some balloon exercise first to get the ball rolling, you see, there are many ways to blow up a balloon, and I’ll be the first to tell you you’re doing it wrong, I am kidding, of course.”

                      :yahoo_oh_go_on:

                      Yoland smiled, inching forward on the chair to accomodate the dog that had wormed his way round her back, wondering whether or not to move him.

                      :yahoo_puppy:

                      “Your chair is fine the way it is, that’s a very common delaying tactic my freind, and one you are quite familiar with. Now, pay attention once again to simply the words that you hear as you are writing, watching the keys is rather mesmerising is it not….”

                      :yahoo_hypnotized:

                      Yoland did a quick reality check and agreed that she was feeling a bit mesmerized, and realized that she possibly could feel considerably more mesmerized if she stopped doing reality checks.

                      “…and as you watch your fingers moving along in a rather detached way, you can detach your attachment to knowing what the next word might be and simply write what you hear; we are practicing the sliding away from the strict hold on trying to anticpate the net words and then you freeze the flow, it shouldn’t be tiring if you let go and relax a bit and simply allow your fingers to move of their own accord while you relax your shoulders…”

                      :yahoo_chatterbox:

                      What a load of rubbish, thought Yoland, as she adjusted her chair, which had a habit of suddenly dropping down an inch, just enough to make it hard for her to reach the keyboard. Sighing, she wondered about ever getting a satisfactory answer to her Really Big Questions, the ones that nobody had answered so far. All she ever managed to tune into was rambling waffling inane….

                      :yahoo_sigh:

                      “….you feel that your questions are so large that the capacity for distortion is huge, and you feel that other questions are easily answered via other routes and methods, and this is correct.”

                      Yoland wondered what THAT was supposed to mean.

                      :yahoo_straight_face:

                      “Ok we can forget questions then and I will tell you a story.”

                      Yoland relaxed. That sounded easier.

                      :yahoo_big_grin:

                      “Once upon a time there was a beer fisherman from the planet of Oxbloodshire.”

                      Oh here we go, she thought. What’s coming next…

                      :yahoo_rolling_eyes:

                      “Whether or not you find clues in there is entirely your choice to create them, and all are equally valid. This is such a simple thing: that even the most seemingly miniscule sentences contain a myriad of potential diversions and convergences, routes, patterns, nets, from even the tiniest particle of an idea. All of them are boundlessly creative offshoots which become a particular stream, or string.”

                      :detective:

                      Yoland found herself wondering where some of them started, and found she didn’t know where to start.

                      “With the question of syncronicities every point of them is the start point, the end point, the main point, the moot point, and the connecting links as well, as are all the others. When you get your ball of string in a tangle, it’s easier to throw it away and start a new one.”

                      Yoland was inclined to agree, but wondered if that sounded like sensible advice.

                      :yahoo_thinking:

                      “Immediately the new one starts linking up all kinds of things in a new interconnected design pattern, and then when that gets in a right tangle, a fresh ball of string awaits; the tangled ones aren’t in a tangle at all when you’re not tangled up within it.”

                      Well, that certainly sounded resonable, Yoland had to admit.

                      :yahoo_star:

                      “And why waste time with old tangles anyway when you can start afresh and just make something up, for no particular reason?”

                      Bloody good question, why not indeed? Yoland decided to start making things up there and then, and turned her computer off and went to pack her case.

                      :bounce:

                      #2582

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Yoland decided to have another go at the Pink Radio Exercise with a few online freinds.

                        (I’m procrastinating over turning this damn radio on…) she typed.

                        ~ special effects from Franz E ~
                        (that’s what I just heard and we didn’t say START yet)

                        (Later)

                        (I’m procrastinating over turning this damn radio on…)

                        ~ you see you weren’t listening. I said special effects from Franz E and you stopped listening immediately. ~ (well I was writing it down) ~
                        ~ (mans voice) …..weather, and you don’t know whether or not to listen, do you… I didnt think so, off you go ~ (then a football match can you beleive it, can’t get off the football station) ~ and this is the whether station again, whether or not we want to listen ~ (mind wanders) ~ and the whether is changable ~ (mans voice sounds amused)

                        (Its channel 46 FWIW, I just asked him. And his name is either Roy or Gilroy. Gilroy.)

                        ~ Gilroy Spadhammer ~ (now he’s laughing)

                        (ok lets see if I can move off the whether and football channels…..)

                        ~ the whether is stabilizing ~ GOAL! ~ song: we’re all going on a summer holiday ~ Wakefield Pressman (solemn male voice)~

                        Yoland was sidetracked then by Teleport Moll’s sudden appearance, and forgot all about Wakefield Pressman.

                        #2546

                        In reply to: Strings of Nines

                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          These past few months away from home had been the occasion for a great deal of introspection.
                          For one, indulging fully into that somewhat frowned upon habit of his, regarding peanuts, had allowed him to gain a great deal of understanding and acceptance as well. Now his daily ration had dramatically decreased and he didn’t fancy as much as he used to the little round things.

                          Another thing that Godfrey had noticed was the reorganisation that had taken place in all aspects of his life, and to be perfectly honest, his life was still a bit messy in places, but he was slowly getting there. How could a publisher publish anything of common interest without a bit of presentation, henceforth order?

                          Ann wasn’t too keen on the “O” word —especially when doubled— and surprisingly it always managed to give good results so far. So perhaps now he was settling down, and she was getting her own flamboyant creative juices all ablaze, they would manage to get somewhere. Or anywhere, for that matter.
                          A Tramway to Elsewhere was Ann’s debut novel, and had made her known to Godfrey. It was a brilliant short story about three tourists lost in a huge hotel in Europe, and trying to get an easy escape to Anywhere. And by some uncanny and hilarious succession of events, they were led nowhere but to Elsewhere.

                          Now, something else was giving him a strange feeling. He didn’t know if that was because of the lack of peanut oil in his bloodstream (or the accompanying whiskeys for what was worth), but he was starting to get slightly paranoid.
                          He didn’t know where he’d got the idea, but he started to suspect the cleaning lady to not just be a cleaning lady. She was doing her best to keep a low profile, but somehow she wasn’t that good an actress. A thing that started his suspicion was that name… Franlise, eerily reminiscent of the obnoxious yet efficient Finnley in Noo York. Elizabeth had told him they’d suspected her for a long time to have inserted some paragraphs in Elizabeth’s novels, especially the most torrid parts that would have made a pimp blush like a nun. What had saved the cleaning lady was that in addition to being rather forgiving, Elizabeth suffered from frequent strokes of forgetfulness and bipolarity which made the investigation difficult if not moot altogether.

                          But there, Godfrey was rather surprised at Ann’s sudden interest in continuity. He’d known of a covert organization known in the milieu as the Fellowship of Unification and Continuity in Knowledge.
                          Over the years, the hearsay had amounted to just a few deranged people, but recently there had been an increase in mentions of such nature in reports of the Guild of Authors. Strangely, there was less and less books that were published which had not an impeccable sense of continuity.
                          In a way, it had been perceived at first in literary circles as a blessing for the authors who had not to contend with fans and geeks of all kind who were hunting down each and every detail to prove or disprove unsaid theories. But Godfrey was starting to see some not so perfect points in that. It would be like wanting to string together all the eyelets of your shoes even if they do not belong to the same shoe (or the same pair of shoes). Soon, you’d be embarrassed to find a way to walk without looking like a penguin.

                          Anyway, though all allegations made as to the existence of such secret organization had been mostly derailed as utter nonsense, he couldn’t help but find some inexplicable appeal to them as sound explanations for all the glitches he kept noticing.
                          He would carefooly spy on Franlise.

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