Face-Lift 503

Guess the Plot

Quantum Magic

1. Is making potions too slow for you? Cauldron not boiling fast enough? Turn to quantum magic, the quicker, easier way for Wiccans to have fun in the forest!

2. When an evil Celtics fan threatens to turn Los Angeles into a radioactive puddle of slag, whiz kid Mario Degas shrinks basketball legend Magic Johnson to molecular dimensions. Can Magic drive the lane and slam-dunk the evil plot? Or will Los Angeles be destroyed, thus bringing joy to billions worldwide?

3. The physics lab is not all work and no play. Scientist Lou McNerdle has used quantum physics to create an anti-gravity shoe for the basketball team. Will his Quantum Magic lead to a tournament bid, or will NCAA watchdog Hillary Hooper bring McNerdle back down to earth?

4. The Muse of Inspiration has a problem in helping humanity to the stars: Getting scientists to believe in magic, because only magic can go faster than light. Hilarity ensues when she utilizes ethanol and some untried new designer drugs to effect.

5. The dean laughed when physicist Norman Gannon first proposed teaching a course about Magic at the university. But that was before the Sociology Building vanished into smoke.

6. Murders and miracles, physics and prophecy are linked to the author of this magical autobiography, an alien being who explains such mysteries as Revelations and the numerology of 666 and 911. Also, Sputnik.


Original Version

Quantum

1004

5

0

2008

Magic [That, apparently, is the full title. I decided to make it easier for fake plot writers.]

On October 4, 1957 the Soviet Union launched the first of humanity's machines to reach my realm. [You know me as . . . the ionosphere. I'd been sitting there for millions of years, minding my own business, when suddenly this hunk of junk shows up and starts beeping. How's an atmospheric layer supposed to get any sleep? And that was only the beginning. This . . . is my story.] [If you think a memoir narrated by the ionosphere would be weird, wait till you read the actual query.] Sputnik means "co-traveler", so I hitched a ride and waited 92 days to plummet to earth on the burning Star of Sputnik exactly 9 months before I was born on October 4, 1958. I entered the developing egg of a random woman [I'm not saying I was born in 1958, but just out of curiosity, what did this woman look like?] and waited while minions, terrified of a primitive tin can in space, scrambled to create ARPA, the organization which would design your web of weapons of war while giving rise to Gog.

Mine is a new non-fiction genre where one weaves a verifiable yet impossible tale over a Biblical 40 years with a 10 year preamble. [Where one weaves? I think you mean where you weave, unless you know of someone else writing in this genre . . . By the way, are you Gog?] You'll find out how and why I took out the USA's most expensive military aircraft, along with her older sister. [I once took out the younger sister of a heavy battle-axe.] I explain Revelations and the numerology of 666 and 911, [666 is the only 3-digit number which, when added to half of itself and then flipped over yields itself; 911 is the highest known prime number*.] as well as the secrets of the SS9, [Secrets like what it is.] and link them repeatedly to me and only me. [Better title for this book: I, Gog.] I add physics and prophesy to 23 murders [Whoa, 23? Did you come up with that theory that everything is connected to the number 23?] and many miracles in this web I call Autobiographical Magic.

I've been loud. [I wouldn't call it loud so much as annoying.] Much of the plot can be Googled, [So, Gog, did you invent Google?] and lots of folks will remember the rest. Police and paramedics and pastors and physicians [all start with "p" and] make wonderful witnesses when people live and die on cue. And when it comes to weather, I like wind. [You do sound kind of like a gasbag.] Of course, since I'm me, you'll get shredded with commentary on your wars and other fun games, too. [Of course, since we're us, we'll tune you out.]

Part 1, which covers my childhood, is both lived and written. Part 2&3 [2 & 3? 23? Spooky.]continues on through my 50th. A third book, The Gospel According to rick, no, that's later. For now, I'll just prove that I'm the Dick you've been waiting for. [No additional proof is needed.]

* Known to Evil Editor


Notes

WTF?

I assume if this were a hoax you wouldn't have come up with a weird title, so . . . even if the book is wildly over the top, there's a better way to convey this than with a wildly over-the-top query. You're trying to convince an agent to represent you in a business deal, or a publisher to invest lots of money in you. Thus it's best that you not give the impression that you actually believe you're Gog.

You had a plot going for a while there, stowing away on Sputnik etc. Is the rest just a series of rants and a listing of your accomplishments? I think you need to focus on a progression of events that culminates with your biggest achievement or failure. Even a memoir tells a story.

Cartoon 23

Caption: Robin

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New Beginning 465

In your minds, you are all special. You like to fool yourselves that your experience and outlook on the world is different, unique. Any suggestion that even your most unusual thoughts have already flitted through the minds of billions of others on this rock you live on is instantly quashed. You are convinced by your significance. If only others could just look in to your souls and see what a unique being you are, oh how they would worship you.

“The things we’ve seen... way beyond anything you could dream of”, you cry. The reality is that even Saturday afternoon B-movies have dreams that are more exotic and astonishing. You are mediocre, unoriginal, clones. You live your lives desperate to prove yourselves... with bad relationships, risk taking, playing with fickle fame. You laugh at those who have reached the pinnacle who claim that really, they just long for the simple life, an ordinary existence. You know they are lying.

The irony is that those few individuals who have genuine originality are hunted down and ousted from society. We’re labelled insane, heretics, psychopaths... or, if feeling somewhat generous, merely eccentric.



Freddie stopped reading the letter and, after a moment's thought, threw it in the trash.

Jeez, she thought, I knew The New Yorker had a reputation as pompous assholes, but do they have to send out such pretentious form rejection slips?


Opening: Pewari.....Continuation: freddie

Cartoon 22

Caption: anonymous

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Cartoon 21

Caption: Tal

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Face-Lift 502

Guess the Plot

The Taj Mahal Romance Repair Agency

1. From the outside it is looking like ordinary Indian restaurant. But those couples being strangely attracted to its most exotic menu are finding its warming food and most philosophical waiters are exceedingly putting the spices back into their troubled relationships. Also, a chapati.

2. Three clueless Indian virgins are starting running an agency specializing in the fixing of the ailing romances for some other Indians lacking the clues, but are quickly getting sucked into some most amusing misadventures.

3. Arranged marriages can be most great for the families, but for the couple thrusting together without the spark of the romance, getting to know each other can be most traumatic. Jaswinder and Anjul have a plan to fix that with their newest business idea. But when they are setting their call center up in Lexington, KY, the miscommunications lead to hilarity on two sides of the world.

4. Sanjiv has made his fortune as a Kama Sutra instructor, and his mother is after him to seek the wife. Hilarity is ensuing when he meets his future in-laws. Can he be convincing Mr. Gupta that he is computer repairman before Mrs. Gupta is recalling "The Reverse Cowgirl"?

5. Bishakha's husband has died twenty years before, but she isn't seeing why death should be a barrier to romance. With help of the Taj Mahal Romance Repair Agency, she plans to hunt down her husband's reincarnation, and marry him once more. Also, a sacred elephant.

6. Getting to work for a top literary agent right out of Brown is Sissy Lions' dream. But no one is telling her she will be slogging through endless piles of romance novels rather than literary fiction. And now they wish her to be editing this tripe? Is there any escaping...The Taj Mahal Romance Repair Agency?


Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Novel Query: The Taj Mahal Romance Repair Agency

Three clueless Indian virgins, seeing a business opportunity in teaching even more clueless youth in India how to interact with the opposite sex, decide to start an agency specializing in fixing ailing romances.

Armed with Western romantic-advice books and expecting to deal with broken hearts, they quickly get sucked into both romantic and criminal misadventures as their clients drag them into one scrape after another. Before long, the company motto becomes Stay Out of Jail. Or Stay Alive. [Is "Stay Out of Jail. Or Stay Alive." the new motto? If so, "and" would be better than "or." If it's two mottos, I'd stick with just one. Actually, those don't sound like mottos anyway. "Mission statement" might be better.]

The Taj Mahal Romance Repair Agency has the pacing of a James Patterson novel, the humor of a Janet Evanovich novel, and the cultural immersion of a McCall Smith [How come you use the first names of Patterson and Evanovich, but not McCall Smith? It's Alexander, though those of us in his inner circle call him Sandy.] Botswana-set novel. [According to . . . the author? If decisions on which manuscripts to request were made based on the authors' opinions of the works, all manuscripts would be requested. I've said it before, but it bears repeating, apparently: Leave the hype to the person writing the back-cover copy. If you declare that your work is like James Patterson's, Janet Evanovich's and Alexander McCall Smith's, there are three possible reactions from an editor:

1. I've never gotten around to reading anything by those authors, so I have no idea what you're trying to say.

2. I hate all three of those authors, so even though I was loving your query letter, forget it.

3. I worship those three authors. And you have the gall to compare yourself to them? The ashes I've placed in your SASE are what remains of your query, which I burned as a symbolic gesture in hopes that James, Janet and Sandy will forgive me for reading it.]

Thank you for your time.


Notes

What you've provided is the situation. Three unqualified people start a business, and get more than they bargained for. It's an intriguing setup, but we want to know what happens. The setup was two sentences. That leaves plenty of room to tell us about a couple of the romantic and criminal misadventures so we can judge whether we think they're as funny as you do. And so we have a lengthier sample of your writing.

If you must mention other authors, there are those who don't mind your saying something like fans of James Patterson will enjoy the pace of this book. But usually the editor has decided whether to request the manuscript before then anyway. He's unlikely to change from no to yes just because you claim it's Patterson-paced. And if he requests it and thinks that it's Ayn Rand-paced he won't believe anything else you've said.

Cartoon 20

Caption: Anonymous

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Cartoon 19

Caption: Anonymous

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

New Beginning 464

Susan stomped her way down to the village market. The sun was already high, she'd swelter walking back up the hill in the lunchtime heat. John's fault. She'd found him still in the Shark's Head, slumped over the counter. No use in shouting at him, he wasn't in any state to pay attention, bleary-eyed and hungover, surprised to find himself still there. Damn him.

She bought peanuts for setting on the bar and some olives for the tables. The fruit was all bruised and battered, the vegetables dry and sad-looking. All the decent stuff had been bought hours earlier, while she was cleaning out the kitchen and sweeping the floors. John's fault again, he should have done all that last night. She bought skinny-looking green beans because she knew he didn't like them and then she bought some green apples because she knew he did.

As Susan gathered her breath for the trek back up the hill, she noticed a woman sitting in the dust, leaning her back against the side of a stall selling bikinis and wrap-around skirts. Their eyes met.

"How big do those come?" Susan indicated a violently pink bikini.

"You don't need as big as all that," said the old woman. "You need a small one."

"No, give me a big one. That one will do."

She paid the woman and started her trek. Too wasted to clean the bar, eh? Well, explaining to all his buddies why he was lying on the floor in a pink bikini should teach him.


Opening: Sylvia.....Continuation: Khazar-khum

Cartoon 18

Caption: Anonymous

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New Beginning 463

Waking from the coma was much easier than all of just about everything else. The lights were off and then- without my doing anything- the lights were on again. I was a suddenly-woken focus of hospital wonder who got baby-spooned small bits of information and food that I nibbled and swallowed. Nurses came and cleaned between my cheeks and welcomed me back. Some reporter came and took my picture. She called me a hero. They all did.

“You’re a hero.“ they all said while I nibbled and swallowed.

I really had to blink my eyes at what I had woken to become. I got trampled by a dozen pairs of boots is what they tell me and I’m a hero? Imagine that? Three and a half months in a coma and you’d think I’d bump into some unique understanding of life’s profundities; and here I am, dumbfounded by a compliment on my second waking day? It’s all a mish mash. Who knew it would all become a mish mash?

Who knew I could get so angry, and “do” those things I think I remember?

They'd been in the bar a while when we got there, those good ol' boys. They'd traveled up from a dry county and had a good soaking in mind. I just wanted a quiet drink and a bite in my own dim corner.

They got louder as they got wetter, and as the volume went up things started to break. Sooner or later someone was gonna get hurt.

But not if I could help it. I slipped out back, cut the brake lines on their pickups and came around front. "Excuse me," I yelled, and for a moment, they did. "I need some help. I just hit a deer down the road."

Who knew it would work so well? Of course, a real hero would have had more sense than to stand in the doorway when he said it.


Opening: Scott from Oregon.....Continuation: Anonymous

Cartoon 17

Caption: BuffySquirrel

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Face-Lift 501

Guess the Plot

The Last Resort

1. The all-inclusive island vacation destination of La Boraca is normally a peaceful, family-friendly place. But now, people are dying. Can security chief Hector Vargos figure out the connection between the bodies and find the killer before this becomes his last resort?

2. Somebody with a grudge is blowing up all the resorts in Orlando. Damian and Marie McVellyan have their fingers crossed, hoping that these environmental terrorists will ignore the Motel 6 they manage, and it'll eventually be . . . The Last Resort.

3. Her post-divorce party is going to be huge, if Lola can find a Las Vegas hotel room during the hardware show. She settles for The Last Resort on the edge of town, but when her guests start disappearing, Lola must play detective. Is there a murderer on the loose, or is it just that Lola's parties are deadly boring?

4. They've been driving along the desert freeway for what seems like forever. Up ahead, they spot a glorious fantastical image: a huge castle complex. They're exhausted. But if they stop, will they ever be able to escape . . . the Last Resort?

5. CarePark Nursing Home is the "Last Resort" most of its residents will ever visit. But Goldie Goldberg, a quadriplegic former prostitute, isn't going gently into that good night. She gives her doctor, Julie Sternberg, an education in life--along with a few dating tips.

6. After a century of out-of-control Global Warming, four holy men each recieve a prophecy that leads them to the last remaining ski resort - on the top of Mt. Everest. There they find an unininvited guest - orphaned 14 yr. old Sean. Can he hitch a ride on their latter-day Noah's Ark?


Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

I’m writing to you with regard to my recently completed novel, The Last Resort, a 67,000-word fictional memoir.

Dr. Julie Sternberg is excited to begin her helping career counseling the elderly and infirm of CarePark Nursing Home. [Three hours later she's seriously considering quitting and taking a job as a cafeteria server.] She quickly discovers that infirm hardly describes the strong-willed quadriplegic former prostitute she is charged with “fixing” by the hardnosed administrator. Goldie Goldberg, along with her young peers, challenges Dr. Sternberg’s blithe assumption of health and wellbeing and puts her dating problems into perspective. [Is Goldie the ex-prostitute or the administrator? I assume she's the ex-prostitute just from the name, but who, in a nursing home, is likely to have young peers? A patient or an administrator?] As CarePark’s elderly reminiscence about their regrets and successes, Dr. Sternberg receives an education in how to live that surpasses any knowledge she picked up in grad school. [I once stared at my hand for five minutes and gained knowledge that surpassed what I picked up in grad school.] Caught up in her patients’ dramas, she finds herself at odds with the powerful administrator and struggling with an ethical dilemma that threatens her job and her faith in the health care system.

The Last Resort reveals a surprisingly funny world [Call it what it is--a laugh-a-minute, side-splitting romp through the boffo world of eldercare.] based on my early experience as a psychologist in nursing homes. Now with over twelve years in long-term care, I contribute scholarly articles to trade publications, conduct workshops, and lecture in my field. [Anything to keep me out of the actual nursing homes.] I’m an active member of two writers groups and have been published in an on-line magazine.

I would be pleased to send you my manuscript at your request. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Notes

You need to spend more time on the main plot, which I assume is: she finds herself at odds with the powerful administrator and struggling with an ethical dilemma that threatens her job and her faith in the health care system. Her patients' dramas and her miserable love life can be mentioned, but there's more here than a series of vignettes, right? There's the conflict between the naive grad who discovers that old people are still alive, and the administrator who insists that they aren't. Focus the query on that.

Give us the name of the administrator. Unless it's Goldie Goldberg, in which case change the name of the administrator.

New Beginning 462

Bryan, our wingman and designated driver for the night stopped the SUV and opened the door. The smell of farm animals, the sound of night birds and the chill of spring accosted our senses. No moon. No streetlights. No stars. No nightlights. No motor noises, just the silence of the great outdoors greeted us.

The arboretum loomed even blacker in front of us. Old Man Gandar said his great-grandfather discovered this mossy mound because it sat all green and growing in the middle of winter, a hot mound in the middle of hot springs. He built a greenhouse over it and used it to grow exotic plants. Jerry-Man, his son and heir, turned the arboretum into our own private rubber bondage clubhouse.

We all piled inside the arboretum, lit the candles and stripped naked; six shaved, pink bodies waiting to be clothed in rubber.

No socks. No underwear. Just rubber. Huge, man-sized condoms that covered us from head to toes.

Bill fell on his face and couldn't get up. Bryan waddled around in his until he tripped over a tree root. I watched his pink, shaved feet waggle in the air until it dawned on me that I couldn't breathe.

Not enough thought had gone into this.

Opening: Dave F......Continuation: BuffySquirrel

Cartoon 16

Caption: Anonymous

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New Beginning 461

It wasn’t crowded in The Regulator Bookshop. Tricia had finished rereading Sheila Levine is Dead and Living in New York the night before, and she wanted something new, something she hadn’t read, something hot off the press. She was in the front of the store, across from the cash registers, where the newer books were shelved. She chose four paperbacks, based on the titles on their spines, not even a peek at the cover art, and took them to the café downstairs. She ordered café au lait.

Seated in the café was a ruggedly handsome man wearing jeans and a black shirt, reading a book. Tricia took the seat across from him and set her mug and books on the table next to her. He looked up. "Four books?" he said. "You must be a fast reader; the place closes in a few hours."

Tricia smiled and said, "I’m just taking them for a test drive. I read the first ten pages. If I want to read more, I buy it." Handsome guy, she thought. And he knows how to read. Wish I could see the title on that book. Probably some book on how to build a deer blind. Then again, what’s wrong with that? The carpenters on Trading Spaces are hunks.

She glanced at one of her books and looked up again. "I haven't seen you here before."

He smiled. "Here on business," he said.

"What do you do?"

He took a sip of his coffee. "Contract work, mostly. This is my busiest season."

Spring. Of course. He had to be a builder; or a landscape gardener. The rugged, outdoors type. "You must be glad of a break." She tried to make out the spine of his book. Was it Practical Landscaping, or An Encyclopedia of Power Tools? Practical Roof Repairs? She couldn't stand it. "What are you reading?"

He lifted up the book. "Pennsylvania State Tax Code (2007) 2nd Edition."

"I need to run upstairs and exchange these," she said, grabbing up her books and coffee. "Not what I was expecting." Man, you really can't judge a book by its cover.


Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: Anonymous

Cartoon 15

Caption: Anonymous

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Cartoon 14

Caption: Tal

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Face-Lift 500!!

Guess the Plot

Time and Tide

1. A Tsunami threatens to destroy a  Pacific island - and more importantly, its last surviving Yellow Bellied Toad. Can dedicated naturalist Stephanie Peters keep the toad safe from harm in a bunker - or will both of them drown before starvation forces her to commit genocide?

2. A young man has visions of the future. Apparently caused by the tides. Anyway, hoping to profit from his gift, he sets up shop as an oracle. When, in a vision, he sees his fiancee murdered, he rushes home to prevent it. But will he find that seeing the future and changing it are two different things?

3. Shakespeare said that time and tide wait for no man, but nuclear physicist Phyllicia Higgs-Boson has spent her career trying to prove The Bard wrong. With "Atlas," the giant, pulse-pounding, heart-throbbing contraption strapped onto her back, can she stop time and reverse the tide?

4. Though the sign on the wall says "Washing Cycle 25 Minutes" it's really more like 40 minutes. It gives Miranda time to reflect on her upbringing in The Bronx, her abusive marriage, the suicide of her only son in El Salvador and the fact that those little packets of detergent cost more, pound for pound, than caviar.

5. When Professor Mendeldorf uses his time machine to go forward 50 years, he fails to account for global warming. What was Richmond, Virginia when he began, is now the Atlantic Ocean. And the time machine doesn't float. And the tide is in.

6. When Romeo Carp books a cruise, he's hoping to escape the rat race. But after three weeks without a port of call, he begins to suspect that time is passing a little too slowly. Is there any way off of a ship to nowhere?


Today, in honor of Face-Lift 500, I'm instituting a new feature. I call it Evil Eyes. How it works is this: as the query progresses, instead of inserting blue comments which invariably interrupt the flow, I'll periodically show the degree to which my eyes have glazed over. Here are some of the more common symbols, and the thought processes that usually accompany them:


Just once I'd like to pick up a halfway decent query. Maybe this'll be the one. I don't even care if the book sucks. Just a halfway decent query would be refreshing.






Uh oh, he's losing me already. Should I hang in there in case it becomes comprehensible? Nah. What are the odds of that?







I should have been an agent. One whose website says he doesn't accept new clients.







Christie Brinkley. I could make her happy.








Zombies? Did you say zombies?!!!

WTF?! Are you serious?

What are you doing in my office? No! Don't shoot! She came on to me! I didn't know she was your wife!










Original Version


Dear Evil Agent,

The Touched carry the blood of gods. With that blood comes power--at the price of their humanity. The Circle of Grimhild, an order of the Touched, once tried to conquer a continent, leading to the rise of the Inquisitors. When the Inquisitors discover a Touched bloodline in Nagryth, the Church drives the Elysian Empire to invade it in an attempt to quash the last bloodlines. But not even the Inquisitors suspect that some of the Touched have reformed the Circle.

Rudra, a burgeoning oracle, finds the pull of the tides gives him prescient visions. Despite his powers, he fails to protect Nagryth from the Empire. To save his people from slavery, he agrees to join the very army that conquered them. At least until a vision reveals an Inquisitor killing his betrothed. Though he deserts the army and rushes home, everything plays out as he foresaw it. His brother, Bala, saves him from suicidal revenge, but Rudra instead falls into fatalistic depression.

Rather than endanger his people by remaining among them, he flees into the heart of the Elysian Empire. Saving the life of a young noblewoman draws him into the service of her brother Agloval and gives renewed purpose to his life. But Gaheris, a rival noble manipulated by the Circle, attempts to seize power from Agloval. Rudra foresees the murder of Gaheris’s mother and fears her death with spark a war.

But his attempt to save her thrusts her into the arms of her killer and creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. As every dark future he has seen comes to fruition, he descends back into fatalism. Rudra loses his brother and his best friends, leading him to launch a berserk campaign against Gaheris and the Circle. But when he discovers the mother he thought dead among the Circle, he realizes the Touched bloodline survives in him. The power it offers might grant him his only chance to destroy the Circle, but the price could be his soul.

I am seeking representation for my fantasy novel Time and Tide, complete at 122,000 words, the first book in a series. I have a forthcoming short story in this setting accepted by The Harrow. I would like to send you a complete copy of the manuscript. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,


Notes

Rudra agrees to join the empire's army to save his people from slavery? What kind of army makes a deal like that? We were planning to enslave your entire country now that we've conquered you, but if you alone join our army we'll call off the whole thing? Wouldn't they just say, "We're enslaving your entire country, including you. Welcome to the army, Private Rudra."?

The first four sentences introduce The Touched, The Circle of Grimhild, the Inquisitors, Nagryth, the Church, and the Elysian Empire. I can't tell which of them, if any, are the good guys. We know the Circle tried to conquer a continent, but not if they succeeded, and not if we wanted them to succeed or fail. We know this gave rise to the Inquisitors, but we don't know if they rose from the continent, the Circle, the rest of the Touched, or none of them. The good news is, we don't care about anything in the first paragraph, so instead of fixing it you can scrap it.

When you're having prescient visions, how do you determine that they're caused by the tides? Wouldn't you think that if the tides caused visions, everyone would be having them?

You're hoping we'll care about Rudra, so start with him. Though he foresaw his country's defeat in battle, the oracle Rudra was unable to prevent it. To save his people from slavery he agrees to use his powers to aid the enemy--until he sees, in a vision, his betrothed being murdered (by the enemy?). He rushes home, but is too late.

Wracked with guilt and depression, Rudra's life no longer has purpose. Then he meets Agloval, a nobleman who is being threatened by an evil organization known as the Circle. Can Rudra help defeat the Circle? Or will the Circle be unbroken?

You can add to that, but stick with Rudra, and don't list everything he does. What's his goal, what's standing in his way, and how does he plan to overcome his biggest obstacle?

 

New Beginning 460

August 22, 2005
Sunset
<8:20>

Laz asked Will to toss him the salt, fully aware of what his request would invite.

A smile slid across Will’s thin cheeks. His fork clattered onto his plate. He snatched the hourglass salt/pepper shaker and lobbed it across the dining room table before his wife, Nell, could speak. Her impending protest disappeared in a gasp as she watched one of her prized knick-knacks arc end over end, glinting in the orange candlelight as it passed over the place settings.

Her fears were groundless. Without looking up from his soup, Laz caught the shaker in his free hand and used it.

Will pounded on the table with laughter. Nell closed her mouth, rolled her eyes, and then joined her husband’s mirth. Lazarus conceded a smile but allowed nothing else to mar his dry façade.

This stolid demeanor came easy to him. Will and Nell were his closest friends. Spending time with them brought his only joy over the last four years. But even this joy couldn’t touch the melancholy at his core. A painful vacuum that made keeping a dead, unresponsive manner during a joke as easy as screaming when you pound your thumb with a hammer.


<9:05>

Laz wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his plate away. He stared at the white tablecloth. Nell asked him how was it. He said it was okay.

Nell took a deep breath. She couldn't believe they kept inviting this ungrateful, miserable fucker over; it was like he wanted to get under their skin. She glared at Will. Will looked at Laz and offered him more Chateau Latour. "I want root beer," he said.


<9:08>

Nell jumped up, grabbed a bottle from the fridge and pitched it across the room. Laz didn't even try to catch it. It caught him right on the temple and he keeled over backwards. Suicide by pop.


Opening: Gareth Bendall.....Continuation: ril

Cartoon 13

Caption: Anonymous

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

New Beginning 459

Standing on the median strip of the highway, washed intermittently in light, he chooses his name. He has had his old one for three months, and that is long enough. He has been in California for three days, and that is far too long.

He is on the coastal highway, one abrupt drop away from the ocean. Before sunset, he'd seen the water—rocks flung out like ponderous accidents into the glass-calm of the tide, pelicans and cormorants circling down to land on them with a lazy lack of intent. There were so many birds, roosting even on near-vertical faces, that the skins of the rocks looked black and boiling.

The driver who brought him to this point had bought him a drink at a bar just off the highway, right by the water. It was a nicer bar than the ones he'd been to in the Rockies or the Midwest: carpets rather than gap-toothed floorboards, jazz rather than country. Michael—the driver—hadn't offered him money, but he'd given him a clean bandanna and a word of advice: Get the hell out of California, son.

That's what I'm planning, he'd told Michael, who slapped him, a fraction too hard, on the back.

Why do people do that? he wonders. Everything was cool and then Michael goes and does that shit. He looks down at the inky water. And now they're gonna blame me, when they find him and his car tomorrow. If only the damn thing hadn't hung up on those rocks.


Opening: Juliet.....Continuation: ManyAndVaried

Face-Lift 499

Guess the Plot

Love Inferno

1. Hunky fireman Jett Avery has been depressed ever since the fire that killed his best friend. But when he meets Nurse Roxanne he ignites a flaming inferno deep within her, and discovers that playing with fire can be fun.

2. It's business as usual at the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic for Dr. Percival Green-- the arrival of yet another new venereal disease, the Love Inferno. Can the good Dr. find love without flames? Also, a horny panda.

3. Porn stars Viv Lickum and Gary Coonch are shoe-ins to win the year's Best Love Scene Award, until they learn of a young couple who are burning up the cameras. Can Viv and Gary turn the heat even higher in their new movie Love Inferno, or will they have to kill the competition?

4. When the New York Vampire Clan - Big Apple Blood Suckers - hold their spring social, Scarlet Emmenecker learns more than the tango, samba and electric slide. Her hunky dance teacher introduces her to the latest craze - the Love Inferno - and she, in turn, drains his blood.

5. An elite society of Dante fanciers hears that one of their own has been murdered. They promptly agree that it's none of their affair. Unfortunately the murdered member's spirit begins attending meetings and informing them of points of agreement between Dante's Hell and his. He can't rest until they publish a new translation of 'Inferno' with his notes. But is the world ready for an explicit, sexy romp through Hell?

6. There's a new gentlemen's club in LA: the Love Inferno, with the usual exotic dancers and overpriced drinks. It also has a VIP Room, where customers seem to vanish, only to reappear later, weak and disheveled. Just what does lurk behind the velvet rope?


Original Version

Dear Ms. Agent,

I watch your blog with interest and have queried you in the past. I would like to submit my newest romance novel, currently untitled, [Untitled? Sending a query for an untitled book to an agent is bad enough, but sending one to Evil Editor is worse. Have you noticed that the other 498 Face-Lifts on this blog start with Guess the Plot? Lucky for you EE was able to come up with the perfect title for your book.] complete at approximately 55K.

After suffering the devastating loss of his best friend's death in a recent warehouse fire, fireman Jett Avery has been haunted by flashbacks of that fateful night. Using sex as a balm to bury his pain and grief, his own brand of psycho-therapy helps to keep the agonizing images at bay for a while, but the flashbacks begin to incapacitate Jett with sleep disturbances, anxiety, and depression. [Then he sees an ad for Viagra and realizes he can continue his psycho-therapy indefinitely, depression or not.] Driven by a need to cure his PTSD, he's in search of the one woman whose touch can douse the flames of his own personal hell, [Aquawoman.] without strings or commitment. [He wants a relationship without commitment? It sounded like he already had that. Who's he been having sex with, the other firemen?]

With her thirtyith [Did you run spellcheck?] birthday imminent, Roxanne Carter is more than ready to settle down. She dreams of a family of her own, complete with white picket fence, 2.2 children, and a dog. [Spoiler alert: she gets the fence and dog but has to settle for 1.75 children.]As the big Three-0 approaches, [No need to open one sentence "With her thirtieth birthday imminent," and another sentence "As the big Three-0 approaches." Lop one of them off (preferably the one with "thirtyith").] she's doubled her efforts on the single scene to find the perfect man. Speed dating, double dating, blind dating, and internet dating have proved fruitless, leaving her [with no choice but to rear-end guys' cars and then ask them out.] [Hey, it would work on me.] stuck in a kind of dating purgatory made worse after Jett Avery tries to pick her up in a bar. As an emergency room nurse, she thought she could handle any catastrophe to come her way. But suddenly, the hot fireman with sinful abs and crystal grey eyes is everywhere, extinguishing her attempts to find the perfect match. [Not sure I'd compare this situation to an emergency room "catastrophe."]

Roxanne tries to resist the flaming inferno bad boy Jett ignites deep within her, knowing he's definitely not husband material. For Jett, playing with fire has never been so much fun, and soon, he discovers he's caught in another blaze beyond his control.

I'm a member of RWA, I recently contracted with The Wild Rose Press, selling my first book, XXX. [Is that the title or the rating?] I'm an intensive care nurse currently residing in Arizona, and draw a lot of my ideas for my books from my work [and my bar-hopping]. I appreciate your time and look forward to sending my manuscript for your review.

Sincerely,

Notes

Here's how it looks: Jett is picking up women in bars and sleeping with them because of his flashbacks, but it isn't satisfying and he wants to find Ms. Right. His solution: pick up another woman in a bar. If he doesn't want a committed relationship, what exactly does he want from Roxanne that he wasn't already getting? And if he does want a committed relationship, why is he picking up a woman in a bar? (Not that you can't find Ms. Right in a bar, but where's he been finding his Ms. Wrongs?)

Also, saying he's "everywhere, extinguishing her attempts to find the perfect match" makes him sound like a stalker. Is he following her around?

She's doubled her efforts to find a guy, yet she's still in dating purgatory . . . yet a hunky guy who's attracted to her is unappealing? Assuming she went into the bar hoping to find someone who might conceivably be husband material, what was wrong with Jett? I think it needs to be more clear on why he thinks she's the solution to his problems, and why she thinks he isn't her solution.

Other possible titles: Flames of Passion, Burning Desire, and My Loins are on Fire, and You'll Do.

Cartoon 12

Caption: Evil Editor

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Book Trailer 3

Still no evidence here that book trailers lead to sales, but third time's the charm.

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Cartoon 10

Caption: McKoala

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Book Trailer, Take 2

My previous book trailer had no effect. I've learned from my mistakes and put together a tighter trailer that focuses on just one book. Enjoy.

Face-Lift 498

Guess the Plot

The Brave Little Onion

1. After losing a court case to the giant, Ruta Bagle, Stinky McScallion projects a brave front to keep her neighbor from depositing chicken litter on the back forty acres.

2. From the author of "The Shallow Shallot" and "Greedykins Garlic" comes another in the best-selling children's series "Happiness is Halitosis."

3. "Don't cry," her momma said. But what's a little onion to do? Pearl doesn't want to wind up chopped, sauteed or carmelized. But then she meets an anchovy-stuffed olive who teaches her that there's an entirely different career choice for a diminutive onion. Provided, of course, she can learn to swim and overcome her fear of toothpicks.

4. The true story of how a group of unhirable Liberal Arts majors created an unstoppable comic force.

5. Consigned to the vegetable drawer with the evil Miss Chipotle Pepper and her gang of pomadoro thugs, Pearl Onion discovers there's a bigger danger in town when Mung the Moldy threatens to envelop everyone in fungus. Prequel to The Burpless Cucumber Saves the Party.

6. After a routine check-up at Dr. Shallot's surgery, Vidalia's is devastated to learn she is suffering from stemphyllium blight. She vows to do good in the world during the little time she has left. As the layers of this story are peeled back, even the strongest reader will be left in tears.

Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

"Have you ever wondered why onions are so green and stinky?" asked the raging-red, Miss Chipotle Pepper. Thus begins my allegorical and multicultural "Early Reader" novel of 20,000 words, "The Brave Little Onion." [If you replace "allegorical and multicultural" with "funny" it'll sound less like a hoax.] When Pearl Onion and her six sisters are stacked into the vegetable bin.

From the early days on a family farm in Central Ohio with bright sun and abundant water to the frantic time of pulling and the freezing, dark 18-wheeler, Pearl Onion wins and loses friends in the vegetable world as she is process, weighed and priced into one of California's upscale supermarkets. In the display case, she finds a love and rejection with a Mayan sweet. Discovering the first whiffs of conspiracy from the pepper patch, Pearl Onion attempts to organize the Spanish Red and Bermuda Yellow onions into a fighting force. Before her plan can be executed, she's purchased and consigned to the vegetable drawer.

As the days pass, Pearl learns of other cultures; from the unwrapping of the Bright Green Oriental Cabbage and the peeling of the Exotic Asian Mangoes, to the evil rumor mongering of Miss Chipotle Pepper and her gang of pomadoro thugs. However, an even greater conspiracy threatens life in the vegetable drawer. Mung the moldy from the White Asparagus enters and threatens to envelope the drawer in green, white and black fungus.

Can the brave little Pearl and her sister onions defeat the evil Mung? OR will the entire vegetable drawer turn black and succumb to an odiferous liquid mutiny? Victory rides with Boston Lettuce and Idaho Potatoes.

The Brave Little Onion is the first of a series with work subsequent titles being: The Burpless Cucumber Saves the Party, The Prune and Rabbit Soiree' and The Great White Truffle Sings for His Dinner.

I am a college-educated [University of North Carolina at Shallot] writer with technical publications [in such magazines as (links provided not because there's anything interesting there, but to prove I didn't make them up) Spudman, Corn and Soybean Digest and Artichoke.]. The completed manuscript is ready for your perusal. Thank you for your time and effort.


Notes

First of all, get rid of "Victory rides with Boston Lettuce and Idaho Potatoes." These characters haven't even been in the query. At this late date, you're better off not mentioning them, even if they are the heroes.

Normally it's not necessary to include that you're college-educated (though when your title is The Brave Little Onion, maybe it's a good idea to imply that you're not six years old).

Besides, "I am college-educated" sounds like something you'd say if you dropped out after your first semester, and now you're hoping they don't ask you to elaborate.

"Early Reader" novel of 20,000 words? My early reader was about Ted and Sally, with vocabulary words like See Boots run. Run, Boots, run. Are you sure early readers are ready for Oriental, Exotic, Chipotle, pomodoro, thugs, fungus, soiree, truffle? (These are the ones I suspect are in the books; others, like upscale, mongering, conspiracy, odiferous may appear only in the query . . . but the editor of The Brave Little Onion may not be that impressed by adult vocabulary. Keep in mind that first-reader slush piles are handled by six-year-olds in Asian sweat shops.

Has a few minor errors you'll want to clean up, including "pomodoro," "processed," "envelop." And the third sentence isn't.

The main problem may be that the age range for kids who read 20,000-word books with this vocabulary may not intersect with the age range of kids who would be intrigued by a book called The Brave Little Onion. Little kids aren't going to get much of the humor, and if your audience is, say, fourth graders, you need a better title, something like Onions versus Peppers: The Vegetable Drawer Wars.

New Beginning 458

Hannah Carpenter had been married 24 years when her husband Denby died in a Peruvian bus plunge. He and Hannah had been vacationing in the Andes, hiking from village to village, getting the local flavor, avoiding the usual tourist spots. The bus was overcrowded, the road was narrow, and the driver was speeding. It was an accident waiting to happen, and it didn’t wait long.

Hannah was devastated, but she pulled herself together. She phoned Denby’s sister and asked her to pass along the bad news to their friends and relatives. She arranged to have Denby’s body flown back to Columbus. She canceled her flight home and caught an earlier one. She even tore the report describing the accident out of a newspaper and put it into her purse.

Home in Columbus, Hannah put the newspaper clipping in her photo album, the same album in which she put the photographs of Denby and the Peruvian peasants and the llamas. The news report read:

Crazed Driver Kills 37 Gringoes, Four Goats and Seven Chickens In Bus Crash

Lima, Peru (Reuters). Gustavo Rebozo made the last wrong turn of his Andes Shuttle Service last Monday as he sped along Cliffside Drive with a pint of Old Crow rotgut whiskey in one hand and a cell phone in the other. Witnesses saw the bus fishtailing wildly and passengers hanging out the windows screaming American vulgarities, no doubt distracting Rebozo from his phone call.

In business news, stock in Denby China International plunged drastically in late trading.

Opening: Evil Editor.....Continuation: Dave F.

Cartoon 9

Caption: BuffySquirrel

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Face-Lift 497

Guess the Plot

On After the Sunset

1. An insider's look at the Hollywood machine and what it does to those on the periphery of the industry, as told by NF14221, a streetlight outside the Chinese Theater.

2. When Maggie Farnsdahl goes to live in a sixties style commune, she finds that Earnie Parnecker is carrying on well after sunset. Can she handle this new life of pot, acid, mushrooms and booty calls?

3. Convinced she has a great title for her masterwork, Cheryl is heartbroken to learn that a crappy Pierce Brosnan movie shares the same name. Undaunted, she tacks on a preposition. Will two simple letters spell the difference between the slushpile and stardom? Also, a talking eraser.

4. When his friend Lazarus is killed, Noah is suspicious. His investigation takes him to Florida where he discovers the Fountain of Youth. Could getting younger bring back the hearing he lost, ending his career as a rock star?

5. Gigi, a devoted soap opera fan, gets more than she bargained for when one lonely Friday night she decides to flip on her TV and see what's . . . On After the Sunset.

6. Forced into a nursing home by his greedy daughter Marcia, Emile Lord isn't about to go gently. If he has to run his financial empire by cell phone from a wheelchair, so be it, and if he has to lose everything to ensure that Marcia doesn't get a dime, so be that, too.


Original Version

Dear Malevolent Manuscript Mauler:

My name is ___________. I found your listing on the AgentQuery website. My novel, On After the Sunset, is an urban fantasy at about 115,000 words.

Rock star Noah McCabe lost his hearing, and along with it, his reason to exist. [Lazy slob. What if Beethoven had cashed in his chips after losing his hearing? There'd have been no Die Hard, no A Clockwork Orange, and none of those movies with the Saint Bernard.] Now, the aging ex-musician holes up in his London flat, the Internet his only connection to the world. Then he [discovers newspapers and magazines and that he can turn on closed captioning on his TV, and then he] finds a suicide note posted on his friend's, Lazarus Brown's, blog.

After several unanswered emails, Noah's concern turns to worry. [He was concerned, but not worried, after his friend left a suicide note?] How do you locate someone you know only over the Internet? [I'm hoping it's impossible, because there are a few guys in Nigeria looking for me.] What he knows about Laz is incidental: he lives in America, he became a recluse when his wife died, he collects old music. [Not bad, he's narrowed it down to six people already.]

Through EBay, Noah finds Echo Capris, an artist who sold a vinyl album to Laz. A former fan of Noah's, Echo agrees to help. The shipping address she has for Lazarus is in Kentucky.

When they arrive at the house, its decrepitation [I think you want decrepitness; decrepitation is something else.] indicates that they are too late. [Of course it's too late. The second the EBay woman came up with the address, he should have had her call the cops in Kentucky. Instead he books a flight from London? Or did he come by ocean liner?] That evening's news confirms it; Laz was killed attempting to rob a bank. The obvious conclusion: suicide by cop. [That's obvious? I would have concluded that he was planning to kill himself because he was broke, and then he realized that suicide wouldn't get him nearly as much money as robbing a bank.]

But Noah refuses to accept this, despite the video footage. Not just despite it, but because of it. It's Laz's eyes. They're too empty: empty of thought, empty of pain, empty of volition. [Don't beat around the bush; if he's a zombie, say so.] Moreover, the bullet wounds have too little blood. Against her better judgment, Echo stays with Noah and listens to his ravings on kidnapping and brainwashing. They rewatch the robbery footage, and she finds herself falling down the rabbit hole with Noah. [How much footage do they have?]

Their investigation leads them to a green-eyed man who is murdered before they can question him. A second murder takes them to Florida, and a third forces them into the Everglades to avoid the police. [A fourth has them jetting to Bermuda, and then it's off to Nigeria with the fifth murder.] [Rarely if ever has one of my query critiques mentioned Nigeria twice when the query itself didn't mention it at all.] [But can I work in a third?] There Echo falls under the thrall of a youth-obsessed harridan, [Have you been using your thesaurus?] LeGar. Tethered by his burgeoning love, Noah follows Echo and LeGar on their search for the Fountain of Youth. [You travel from Kentucky to the Everglades with a woman you met a few days ago, and then she and a woman you met a few minutes ago invite you to join them in searching for the Fountain of Youth . . . and you agree to go with them?]

LeGar defeats the guardians of the Fountain, and as they cower at her feet, [Wait a minute, they've found the Fountain of Youth? And it has guardians? This feels out of the blue. Five and a half paragraphs of what sounds like it could be a mystery or thriller or mainstream fiction, and suddenly LeGar the harridan is defeating the guardians of the Fountain?] Noah is astonished to discover that a seemingly unharmed Lazarus Brown is their leader. [Lazarus is no longer dead? Didn't see that coming.]

He has no time for wonder, however, for LeGar orders Echo to drink. [And she obeys because . . . ?] The pain of reverse aging rips screams from her throat, and even more terrible, the Fountain is mixed with the River Lethe so that each year of recaptured youth is bought with the memories of that lost year. [Even more terrible? Personally, I'll take a few lost memories over pain that rips screams from my throat.]

When Echo opens her eyes, she no longer remembers coming to the Everglades, no longer remembers searching for Laz, [They were searching for Laz? I thought they thought Laz was dead.] and no longer remembers Noah. [Mainly because she's now two years old.]

I have pasted the first two pages of On After the Sunset below my signature. I look forward to hearing from you.

Thank you,


Notes

I don't care how burgeoning my love for someone I recently met is; when she seriously suggests searching for the Fountain of Youth, the red flags go up.

It needs to be more clear what's going on with Laz. What is he? If he's your first supernatural element, get it into the query before we forget it's supposed to be urban fantasy (I'm not convinced it is in any case.) You might even want to mention the Fountain up front, so it doesn't come from nowhere: When Noah McCabe flies to Kentucky to prevent a friend's suicide, he has no idea he's embarking on an adventure that will lead him to the Fountain of Youth. Yes, the actual Fountain of Youth.

It's way too long for a query letter. Limit yourself to ten sentences, unless this is a synopsis. I can't tell whether the novel ends at the Fountain, or whether most of it takes place after they find it, but focus on what's most important and cut what you can do without.

Having a main character who can't hear would seem problematic. Do all the characters write everything down to communicate with him? It's hard enough to convince someone to go look for the Fountain of Youth if he can hear; trying to convince him by playing charades is nearly impossible.

Cartoon 8

Caption: Evil Editor

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New Beginning 457

Girls have it made. They don’t have to worry about what they look like without a shirt on. They’re not expected to get their heads bashed in at football. They can be creative without people questioning their sexuality. They have doors to lock when they pee. They don’t have to deal with big stupid jocks.

“Had enough, queer bait?”

My hair is dripping. The water plinks back into the toilet. At least someone flushed this one recently. ‘Queer bait’. As if Jack would recognize a real queer if one walked up and kissed him.

“Let him go, Jack. We’ll be late for practice.”

Yeah, Jack. Let me go and take your little dick off to the field. Go play your homoerotic games where you pat each other on the ass and pretend it doesn’t mean anything sexual.

“All right, fairy Marcus. More of the same tomorrow.”

Jack’s hand leaves the back of my neck. I wait in case he’s kidding and will shove me down the minute I relax. I wait as the door opens and closes. I wait, but I no longer know what I’m waiting for. Salvation? The answer to my life?

It's quiet now, safe, so I slip out into the corridor, I want to avoid any more attention from these fucktards. I brush back my dripping hair and freeze at footsteps behind me.

"You alright, Principal Ellis?"

"Fine, fine," I mumble, and scuttle back to my office.


Opening: Sarah L......Continuation: Anonymous

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Evil Psychiatrist

The renowned lecturer, innovative scientist and "Shrink to the Stars" takes a rare opportunity to dole out his advice to those he normally wouldn't give the time of day, all because of his love for humanity and that unpleasant community service sentence.


When I submit entries or comments to writerly blogs run by amusing editorial types, even though many of the readers know my online identity, I still feel compelled to click "anonymous" at the last minute and slink back into the shadows. How do I cure myself of this zero personality disorder?

Anonymous

Every time you submit anonymously, put a dollar into a jar. At the end of the year, send me the money, and I'll put together a big Evil Psychiatrist party. Though you won't be invited (hey, you'd be a real downer), your anonymity will have brought joy to many.


Dear Evil Psych,

It is all about me, isn't it?

Sincerely,

Author of going to be the best damned book ever written, hold on to your wallet, we're going to make millions together and you only criticise my work because you're jealous and not smart enough to understand it and what do you mean it's not believable, I was there, it actually happened, and you just don't understand how important it was but it was an important lesson that I have to share with the world. Actually.

To be frank--and I'm always frank (why, I even go so far as to criticize waiters and hair stylists when their work doesn't meet the high standards a person of my standing has every right to expect from his admirers and servants)--I would have to say--and keep in mind that this is just one man's opinion, albeit one highly influential man who has achieved the greatness for which he was destined, and much sooner than expected; and who enjoys a good cheese danish with French roast coffee--not really.


Deer EP:

Last tim u aksepted kweschins u sed mi spel een wuz bad. Az a rezult I tuk a long wok and fel in 2 a dep depreshin. 4choonitlee, mi oners fownd me and it ternd owt thuh depreshin wuz akchooalee a seenk hol. B cuz I discuvrd it errlee, thuh sit!ee wuz abl 2 fix it b 4 thuh hol naybrrrhud wuz kunsoomd. I wuz a lokul hero and in al thuh payprs. Mi oners evin gav me a treet and sed gud boy! How du u du it Evl Sikiatrist?

Gud Boy in Grrrreenvl

Thousands of lives have been saved, and while I appreciate your giving me the full credit, that's hardly fair. The truth is, it's the city of Greenville that should be giving me the full credit, including the key to the city and a substantial reward.


All I want to do is sleep. What should I do? Is the answer obvious?

You need to dump your husband and take up with a man who won't bug you constantly, and who I know can keep you happy and keep you awake: Mr. Coffee.


Recently I was stood up at the altar; well, a seaweed-covered rock, given that it was to be a beach wedding. I have learned that my fiance was actually seeing three other women at the time. How should I recover from this trauma?

Word on the street is it was you who didn't show up. The good news is, your man has dumped the other three women. The bad news is, he's fallen in love with a cute 27-year-old bakery owner.


I often feel like I should wear a black cape when I'm in public, but I always chicken out at the last second. I've noticed that you used to wear a cape, but now you don't. I've also noticed that you darkened your eyebrows recently and changed your eye color. Also, you now roll your garbage cans to the curb between 6:30PM and 7PM on Monday and Thursday evenings, instead of early Tuesday and Friday mornings like you used to, except last Tuesday when you forgot. Can you offer me some advice on my cape dilemma? Please write back soon! Or just shout the answer out your window. I'm the woman in the blue Ford Taurus. ;)

Indecisive in Your Driveway

HEY LADY!! YOU'RE DRIPPING OIL THERE! I JUST HAD THAT DRIVEWAY PRESSURE WASHED!! COME ON, MOVE IT!!!


Dear Evil Editor:

I am just 18 years old, lithe, nubile and pregnant. I have a rare genetic disorder in my family that crops up every few generations: we bear furry young. I have ultrasonic confirmation that such is the case with my current condition. Even though some might view my offspring as more akin to werewolf (or weredingo -- there's an Austrailian brach) than human, I know that you are not counted among them. Having luked this sight since its inception, (well prior to this conception) I am well aware of your ah, should I say, affection for weres and how! I do not feel that I am prepared to take on the challenges that raising this child might bring and I was wondering if you would be interested in adoption? Please contact me at your earliest convenience, being mindful of the lunar cycle, of course.

Sincerely,

A silent minion

Evil Editor? I think you put your letters in the wrong envelopes, babe. Just my luck, I get this EE clown's weredingo spiel, and he's probably got my tasteful nude pics.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Recently I am having stressed at work. I am the facilitator of a non-profit organizational with the goal of returning to people their money that has been lost or unclaimed for reasons of unknown death. As you can maybe imagine this work requires much correspondence! Some people are cordial in their response, but occasionally such as in recent weeks I have epistolized with very shrewd and tenaciously individuals, hence my increased stressing. I would be most gratefully if you could relate to me some ways to ease the stressing. As time is preciousness, I do not wish to make yours unprofitable. Any advice you can offer to me in this matter I will gladly compensate you handily in advance. Please forward a bank account number to which I may electronically wire payments.

W.K.

Ameribank 024 9837711. No, wait, that's my savings account, and it already has half a million in it. Send it to my checking account: 923349854. That'll be safer.


Dear EP,

I'm scared of my psychiatrist. He looks angry. What should I do?

Scaredy Cat.

Paying your bill on time would be a good start, Mrs. Langton. Yes, I recognized your font. I feel certain you wouldn't want me so upset that I accidentally posted a transcript of our sessions on the Internet, now would you?


So, I'm like in the airport after persuading the bitch at check-in that she can't bump me and reroute me through fucking Manila to get from Atlanta to Austin and those dickwads at security have xrayed my pantyhose and shone a torch up my ass and now I'm trying to get to the gate dodging round those asswipe "business" men in their cheap sports coats and Gap chinos, followed around by Tumi rollalongs like they're training guide dogs or something, and they're weaving along in front of me with a fucking Star Trek communicator sticking out of one lug with a flashing blue strobe that could bring the airplanes off course, and they're saying like "Hello! Hello? Hi! Yes. I'm in the airport. The airport! I'm going to catch a plane. Right. At the airport. Talk to you later," and all I want to do is get on my fucking plane and have a drink and get home sometime before fucking midnight, so, WTF?

I feel for you, man. I can't help you with the airport, but if you want to discuss why you're wearing pantyhose, make an appointment.


Hunter S. Thompson hails from my hometown. (At least he did before he moved out west and ended up killing himself. Maybe it was existential angst that did him in. Maybe it was facing the reality of his declining years. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither. I'm not him, so I don't know.)

Well, anyway, it was his hometown first, really, long before it was mine, and he didn't feel all that at home there - any more than I ever did.

He was one of my written-word heroes before the killing himself part of that story happened.

So my question is this - do you think restlessness and disenchantment are, maybe not necessary equipment, but maybe often helpful, in the formation of an author's temperament?

And, is it helpful to have been from a place like Louisville, a city I still think of by its slogan back in the day: "The City of the Seventies"? Because it still works, you know, that slogan. Sloggy, doughy, dead-zone memories of a place that you can only fit in if you’re like everyone else, is what lives there. That's why Hunter didn't much like going back there. Me neither. Because it never changes on purpose.

God, lady, I'm about ready to off myself after that. Where's my fuckin' Prozac? You didn't happen to write Hunter S. Thompson a fan letter about three years ago, did you?


Why am I so neurotically insecure?

You feel no one likes you. For the rest of the week give every stranger you encounter a big hug. It's a good way to uncover people's true feelings and set your mind at ease.


At my last book club meeting, a woman talked about a recent tour of Dubai. Apparently the German tour guide pointed out a Locals house where Western women can have affairs with Emariti men. Apparently this is a secret.

How can I get these women to talk about books at our book club meetings? I'm fed up with doing all this reading for nothing.

The direct approach usually works best:

You: "Ladies, I fantasize as much as any of you about having an affair with an Emariti man, but we're here to discuss the Koran."

Them: "Again? Can't we discuss Novel Deviations for once?"

New Beginning 456

As Sailoil's ship had brought new supplies, Barnabas had gone out to help the hobbits with the heavy lifting. Talpianna was minding the bar, calling out food orders, serving drinks, attempting to register the crowd of unexpected guests, and fuming.

She was angry with Dragonmama and Roland for their carryings-on.

She was angry with Julia, MD for the news that her Inn might be a source for contagion of Boglin's Bane.

She was angry with (and terrified for) Helen for going off on her own.

She was angry with the moles for letting Helen leave.

She was angry with Sailoil for disappearing.

Taking one consideration with another, Talpianna was not having a good day.

Mary-Fitz was helping out, in the interests of public safety as well as out of her naturally kind and practical nature. Stationed within easy grabbing distance of Tal's left wrist, she wondered if she could interest the Mistress of Moles in enrolling in the charm school she had seen advertised on a matchbook cover. She quietly greeted guests and handed out registration forms and keys, which the moles fetched back and forth. Mary-Fitz made a mental note to check the files before she left; the moles had many virtues, but knowledge of the alphabet was not one of them.

Suddenly the door was flung back against the wall of the draught lobby as a late arrival flourished his way in.

A well-groomed weasel with a pointy hat strode into the bar, skipping his way to the ceiling on gasps of "Randolph" transformed by a whoosh of his whiskers into levitating stepping stones.

"I need a dozen moles," he said, "stout and true, to burrow underneath Mordor and save Middle Earth - and I need them fast."

Tal poured herself a stiff tankard of gin, topping it up with Boglin antidote till the pewter began dissolving.

Now she was angry with Randolph, too.

She was angry at him for walking in without wiping his feet.

She was angry at him for not blowing her a kiss.

She was angry at him for destroying her favourite trollflesh chandelier with his hat.

Mary-Fitz ducked under her desk to avoid the stampede of eager moles and violently hurled Wyrmwear crockery.

"What's the big hurry?" Tal asked.

"At the rate Frodo and his team are moving," Randolph replied, "this'll end up running to a trilogy. And it's way past my bedtime already."


Opening: Talpianna.....Continuation: Whirlochre