Episode 8
Here it is by popular demand of my reader, the continuing saga of Harry Splutter and the Never Ending Story….
“When a wizard does something bad, like jaywalking, a piece of the sole is torn away and can be placed in a container. Making the wizard, as it were, immortal…if he or she can remember his or her shoe size.”
“And, that’s a bad thing?”
“Oh yes. Who’d want to live forever? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Harry knew that Bumblebore had now lost the screw that had been loose. Living forever sounded pretty groovy to him. If he did so, he might even be able to make some money in the stock market. Analyzing trends and such.
“Anyway,” Bumblebore continued, “I’m sure that you’re going to want to know how to destroy a Horcrux.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. sure.”
“Could I trouble you to get me an iced tea from over there?” Bumblebore pointed vaguely to a rather seedy place next to the Three Broomsticks Express. It was called The Rusty Cauldron Nail. “They make the best ones around Long Island, or so I hear.”
Harry walked toward it or towards it, he wasn’t certain. Anyway, he walked over and went inside the dark interior. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. There was a very long bar and a man behind it, wiping the wooden surface with a magical rag that left everything damp after it passed.
The man was tall and wore a spotted white apron. His black hair was combed straight back and unguentined into place. He had a sharp beaky nose and squinting eyes as
though he was always trying to focus on something. He had a toothpick that danced magically in his mouth when he spoke.
“What can I get you runt?” the man grumbled with a voice as if a well could speak. The toothpick did the rhumba.
“Do you have the iced tea like they make in Long Island?” Harry asked timidly.
“Sure. Anything else, bub?”
Harry shook his head.
The man turned and began pulling strangely shaped bottles from in front of a magical mirror that reflected the man’s opposite side than the one Harry could see and the bottles on the wall. “One Long Island Iced Tea coming up.” The man mixed different colored liquids together and the magically changed colors and became a blend of the colors they had been.
And so it goes…
Nullius in Verba 
Ooh, I’ve got one of those rags!
I never knew it was magical. Is the creation of a damp surface all it does, or are there further hidden powers that only emerge with the right spell?
Maybe I need a Magic Word.
Any ideas?
I have always liked “Rannygazoo”
How about “Windex”
I dunno about that. Sounds vaguely Greek.
I was so taken with the magical rag, I missed the mirror!
This is spooky, I’ve got several of those!!!
Not the magical drink, though.
Unfortunately.
Norm,
I was about ready to call MySpace just another pointless and bottomless waste of time when I logged on and found a new addition to my “Friends” gallery.
Christopher Moore!
Gee!
You think it’s too soon to hit him up for a loan?
Oops, I fergot. It was so reassuring to know that the toward/towards thing tortures others.
It is almost as bad as which/that.
CHRISTOPHER MOORE!!!!!! Holy carp! I would pinch myself.
Maybe not a loan, but perhaps a bon mot for one of your books, ne c’est pas?
Generally Americans use toward and British use towards.
Holy carp sounds fishy doesn’t it?
By the by, Lexi, Alan, Cat, and Anna,
Thanks for the kind words on YWO. I’m still blushing.
Hey Alan!
I have tracked down your My Space page, and would have left a comment but (rotten meanies) you have to be a member, and My Space isn’t for me. So I’ve hi-jacked Norm’s Comments again…
May you attract loads of enthusiastic and book-buying Friends, and dodge the designing females (are they after your body or your money or both?)
Thos shameless floozies are obviously attracted to the royalties of Close Enough….
Lexi, (Sorry about appropriating your blogspace Norm),
Seeing as how I have precious little to offer either in the way of money or physical attributes, I am afraid these gentle ladies are chasing after a truck (lorry) with no cargo.
We shall see what, if anything, MySpace is good for.
Nice metaphor, Alan.
Why can’t I do them? It’s not fair.
Maybe the gentle ladies are after your metaphors…
I shall invite them to the first booksigning. I will be happy to autograph their double entendres (did I spell that right?) at that time.
Sorry, Norm, this is for Alan, though while I have your attention isn’t it time for episode 9?
On second thoughts, if this blogging delay is caused by your ploughing (plowing) through my books, I quite understand.
Alan, I did enjoy your rejection analogy. Excellent. I still prefer the non-form rejections (just the one, I’ve had) painful though they are.
Lexi,
I’m glad you liked the rejection pondering. When I sat down to write it the analogy I used wasn’t even in my mind. But that seems to be the way my writing goes, the good stuff doesn’t appear until after I get the brain and keyboard (or pen) engaged. I guess it is a matter of trust. Even when you think there is nothing particularly worthwhile to write, write anyway ’cause the worthwhile just may show up anyway.
Hey, the e-mail beep just beeped and I’ve got yet another review of my publishable yet somehow unlovable story “The Baer Boys” on YWO. Ted does seem to like to break in the newbies on “vintage” material. I guess I’ll see if there are any pearls of wisdom in the review that I can use to push it over the edge.
Have either of you seen the movie “Peaceful Warrior”? Anne and I watched it last night. Preachy, but the message it preaches is pretty sound.
See ya!
Alan
Alan, reviewers who can’t spell or use the spellchecker do not inspire trust, or indeed anything except a desire to chuck a dictionary at their silly heads.
I love Word myself. It does half the writing for me. I have huge respect for writers before its invention; though the difficulty of producing a manuscript must have been compensated for by the fact that, if you managed it, publication was almost guaranteed.