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18 February 07 - 14:14Count The Dreams

Rachel Mildeyes bad been writing for a living since she could remember. A bit like sleeping...

Her first novel “Love In The Sick Ward” had been a successful feminist pot-boiler. She never cared to read it, however, simply because she could not understand it any more. Her mind was too convoluted and twisted for a straightforward narration. A beginning, middle and end (in that order) were not at all what the shrink ordered. She was confident that she had something growing inside her head, something sharp and incisive, but which could only best come out bent and skewed.

Thus, after a series of gradually compounding fiction sequences under various outlandish pen-names, at the age of thirty seven, she embarked on what she considered in advance to be her tour de force and raison d’etre. Not that it was written in French. The working title was “The Miscreant And The Moonstream”. She tried out a number of her old pen-names, but none seemed to sit well on the title page. ... (more)

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07 February 07 - 21:49Bare Pickings

"Can't we rehearse it?" asked a strange bag-lady.  David Ogden was looking for a certain random pub but, having been accosted by her in the West End of London street, he saw that she was not strange in herself; it was merely the way she seemed haphazardly to pick him for something her mind believed was far from haphazard. 

          He tried to unlock his eyes from the ones with which she pleaded—as he normally would with street beggars: those tattery rinklings under blankets who often whispered out for a few spare coins from down in the corner where pavement met wall.  "Have you a penny for us?"  "Just a coin for me?"  Underbreaths of whining.  Pitiful pasty plates instead of faces.  The sole difference here was that she was well-dressed, or as well-dressed as it was possible for a bag-lady to be.  Even standard folk, these days, were no more than a drift short of dapper, he thought. 

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