"This chap 'Anon.' is writing some perfectly lovely stuff. Nobody seems to know who his agent is...."

(giggling) That's one of my favourite jokes. "Have you read Anon? Man, his stuff is everywhere. I wonder who reps him?"

I know there are a couple of other Flanders&Swann fans on the board.

I know there are a couple of other Flanders&Swann fans on the board.

I'd think that number is in the hundreds.

That's one thing about the series for me, Deb -- being completely ignorant of folk music outside of my dad's old Four Freshmen albums (with stuff like "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?"), I want to hear the songs the books are based on!

Actually, what I want is to hear Broomfield Hill, in a nice cozy venue with a good glass of ale. I don't suppose that's going to happen though, huh?

Monday is New Drabble Day!

Challenge #56 (home; using pictures [optionally]) is now closed.

Challenge #57....is not as easy as it looks at first glance. Anyone can write badly; we've all read it. But those people weren't actually *trying* to write badly; but this week, you are. Writing badly ON PURPOSE is a bit of an art, not just the unfortunate output of someone who doesn't understand the rules of grammar.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is this: deliberately poor writing. Take whatever topic you choose, and write a cringe-worthy drabble. Make Anne Rice look well-edited. Make Dan Brown look like a god of deft description. The badder, the better.

If you're at a loss for a topic, try these time-honored ones: love; death; war; puppies; grocery shopping; clowns; enlightenment; shoes.

And please don't beat me for the topic.

I don't suppose that's going to happen though, huh?

Wanna bet? Nic, Matt and I are already working out arrangements of the title songs for "Broomfield Hill".

All we need is a good fiddler.

WHEEEE!

Bad Porn 1.01

"Oh how very very beautiful everything is today," Melanita whispered meltingly. Her eyes, as blue as the sky, wandered devouringly across the perfection of herself in the mirror. Her perfect breasts and luscious thighs beckoned to me like a dimpled buttery crumpet, a raw untoasted pastry that needed the kiss of a good toaster and my jam to fill its every shallow waiting crevice.

"Yes" I crooned excitedly. "Oh yes."

She licked her lips that were as scarlet as flowers whose name I don't know. "Take me!" Melanita moaned. "Take me now! Make this the best morning of my life!"

can't breathe

can't breathe

Yes, but is from laughing, or trying not to vomit?

Bad writing! BAD!

Night

As I walked through the fields, strewn with a thousand dots of starlight that sparked like diamonds dancing on a sea of darkness that could have been the ocean under a mantle of divine wetness thrown by an Unseen Hand, I pondered and mused on the meaning of night.

Night is beautiful, I thought to myself, stopping in the middle of a path that was covered with myriad tiny hard rocks that tried to pierce the soles of my shoes like tiny flaming arrows against which my feet could know no defense, and night is dark.

Truly, night is unknowable.