First off … Happy Friday!
Now that that’s out of the way, we can get down to the business at hand. After all, I’ve got a blog post to write! I can’t be dawdling about, sloughing off, and being a slacker.
No more than usual, anyway.
I know it may seem like they do, but these posts don’t write themselves.
No, I put a lot of effort into each one.
I start by rummaging carefully through the dumpster out in the back alley behind my mind, looking for that interesting little wadded-up nugget of blog post-i-ness. When I find one, I lovingly wipe the kung-pao sauce, tapioca pudding, and bits of noodle off of it. I smooth out the wrinkles and repair some of the tears with duct tape and baling wire. I spritz a little Febreze™ and Goo-Gone™ on it to really give it that bit of pizzazz (and to keep it from sticking to your fingers). Then I hang it up near the radiator to dry off a little.
And voilà! A quality blog post!
I recommend keeping the screen door closed as you’re reading it in order to keep the flies outside in the yard where they belong. Also, keep an eye on the cat. They have been known to try and bury my blog posts from time to time.
Now, on with the post!
Things That Go Chirp In the Night
We have had a few stray thunderstorms roll through the area over the past two days. They were not big enough to bring any relief to the drought, but they were intense enough to have the smoke detectors make piercing chirping noises in the middle of the night when the storms made the power glitch for a millisecond.
Of course, the first thing anyone does when awakened by a piercing chirp in the middle of the night is to look over at the clock to discover that it is now blinking 12:00 endlessly.
So, later, when I am being questioned by Hercules Poirot and he is asking me when the power went off (because it was right around the time of the murder in the library), I can say, “The clock said it was midnight.”
Then I will be trundled off to Scotland Yard, still in my pajamas, and charged with the crime of not cooperating fully with a Belgian detective.
Maybe if he’d brought waffles with him, I’dve been more cooperative.
Just when my dudgeon had settled back down to a reasonable level, I was browsing through an “Everything’s A Buck” store earlier this week and found this:
Now, I’m a pretty reasonable fellow. I’m not prone to fits of anger, bouts of ire, or episodes of vexation. But this is beyond the pale!
There was only one P. G. Wodehouse. There can only be one set of Bertie and Jeeves. It is blasphemy of the highest order for someone to write a book using Wodehouse’s characters, in Wodehouse’s style, and to try and pass it off as “the Real Deal” to an unsuspecting and Wodehouse-starved public.
Now, some of you may point out that my Alistair and Alexis stories are very much written in the style of Wodehouse. I don’t deny that. Wodehouse would not find a bigger fan than me on the planet if he had looked high and low his entire life. So, yes, I try to write in his style as much as I can (though I am not worthy to unstick the keys on his manual typewriter).
However, I do not steal his characters and settings and try to pass it off as something that Wodehouse himself would have written if only he had lived long enough.
And, yes, I bought the book. It was only a dollar … how could I pass it up?
I will probably even read it someday.
But I’m telling you right now that I won’t enjoy it.