|Chap 1.1 - Page 4||frangles: Skip book 1: Writer's Bricks|
"Well that was unproductive."
"Touche. So where to now?"
"While I usually have things under strict control, I have to admit I'm
at a loss at what to do with a writer who's lost his mind, got off his
rock, and completely forgotten what he's supposed to be doing there."
"Perhaps we should find someone more competent."
"Darlene! We should find Darlene. Come on, why don't you
keep up your narrating practice as we walk."
" 'Skip and the still-nameless Worflii--' "
" 'Toad.' "
" 'Skip and the dwarf with the absurd name in full-plated armor--which
either harbored a few plotches of blood or a couple remaining polka dots
from Skip's earlier misinterpretation (Skip couldn't decide
which)--strode the vifor streets over a period of time that it was
completely pointless to bother relaying. The whole
transition was an imposition on any freader hovering about, as it was
being relayed simply for Skip's benefit of practicing his narration
skills. It also had the second purpose of a cheap ploy to ensure
continuity, because for some strange reason, the hovering friter was
wrapping local events around a skeleton plot structure that involved
having no break in the scene from the last to the next, no matter
how awkward the segway.
" 'Finally, after a long
and seemingly endless walk, Skip and Toad arrived at the office
building just fifty feet next door, and entered a small, plain
office. Some sort of chubby secretary was typing at some sort of
vifa desk top computer. She glanced at a clock, whose hands read
just under quarter past one.' "
"Not bad, Skip, but shut up for the moment, would you? Darlene! Thank god you're on your shift."
"A strange comment, dwarf, since I've never left my desk even to pee in
the history of the known universe." She spoke without removing
her eyes from her computer monitor, as if the flies who'd just entered
might be shooed away with a few words as she was too busy to swat them.
"Worflii! I'm a worflii!" Darlene melodramatically thwaked
a small red button on her keyboard while continuing her rushed typing,
which sounded like the clickety-click of a racing sleigh of a dozen
horses on a titanium road.
"What do you want,
Toad, I'm very busy self-integrating a hundred poorly defined tasks
into explanation tables of why they need to be self-integrated."
"What else do you ever do?"
"Once this is done I'll let you know. So what is it? Oh, good day to you, Skip."
"I suppose it might be if I had any other to compare it too."
"What's he talking about?" Clickety-clackety-click-clackclick.
"Our acquaintance Skip has kindly decided to loose his mind on the day
on the day he's supposed to submit his first frwoa novel to the
Developing Arts Council, causing me to clear my schedule for the day
and help him out, as if I don't have anything better to do."
"I don't think so. He didn't have the art of deception down very
well before, never mind improvisation, and he was trying so diligently
to improve both. It's unlikely he could hit such a sudden
breakthrough in both skills to be able to carry on a farce of this
magnitude. Also, being unkind enough to thrust the task of fixing
this up on me is entirely unlike him."
have decided the skill of deception would be most useful if no one had
any idea he was capable of it, and began lying about his
progress. Then he developed harmonizing his improv skills along
with them, continuously concealing both. As to his morals, they
don't surpass his ego, and he probably considers the artistic progress
of an all-important friter secondary to abusing the generosity of a
close friend. He is in
fact clever, so if he's planned the whole thing well enough, you'll
never even find out that he's screwing you over." Clackclacklacklickclack.
"And yet, I don't think the precedence ratio of his ego to his morality
surpasses that of your ego to your pessimism."
"Touche. So is this why you've come? To see if I'd care
enough about either of your dilemmas to raise a finger off my keyboard
to help you out?" Clickcliklack.
'Darlene's rudeness and frantic typing were both a little much so even
for her, which indicated to Skip that something else important had
recently come to her attention and irritated her.' "
"How rhetorically intuitive."
"Of course that's why we're here. Now can you do anything to help us or not?"
"Absolutely not. Our local frwoa budget is still
plummeting. We initially thought we'd have to begin cutting
blockbuster movies down to tv miniseries, and book chapters down to
half their size, but now we're down to reducing the former to mere
ten-minute independent film student projects, and the latter down to
loose pages and unrevised paragraphs. They might as well be down
to letters or pixils for anyone in financing cares. And since
you've been in the office quite long enough to comprise a short
scene--and are probably well over a page in any prose frwoa hovering
about--it's about time you left before it becomes a longer one and
taxes the budget."
" 'This seemed to begin
explaining the feeling Skip had had just outside, who now frowned in
confusion as to what a frwoa or movie or miniseries even was
exactly. The worflii continued oblivious to Skip's momentary
dilemma, and to the surreal fact that Skip had predicted that he would
speak before he even did so.' "
"What if we simply paused and resumed our dialogue in a few moments?"
"Out of the question. Now get going. When I have a spare
moment I'll run a couple searches see if there's anything I can do to
help, if only to be rid of the potential monotony of these scenes
keeping up all day long. Now shoo."
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