Greetings Aaron Burch of Seattle! Happy American Thanksgiving! (I believe that Aaron Burch and I are the only two people in the whole wide world on the internet today.)
Well anyway, now that Maud’s gone we don’t have to be quite so literary around here. It’ll be all Michael Jackson, all the time! Except, of course, when we pause to find out what Paris Hilton is wearing. Or not.
However. We shall keep things at least a little bit literary so Maud doesn’t get mad. Maud, mad, Maud, mad… huh.
Words are very interesting.
I haven’t finished my coffee yet.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Attention all you perspiring young novelists! Think of this as an email message from your muse: The life of a Michael Jackson-like figure would make a perfect subject for the Great American Novel. If you can figure out some way to work in a Paris Hilton-like figure, that’d be fine too. But please, only take up this challenge if you are a young Dickens crossed with a young Nabokov crossed with uh, a young David Lynch. Or a very old Andrew Lloyd Webber. Yes, a young Dickens crossed with a young Nabokov crossed with a young David Lynch or a very old Andrew Lloyd Webber. You should also be an American. Attempt this only if you’re someone like that.