The fictional book I have written is intended for entertainment and is designed to give the reader a weekend of enjoyable reading. To this end, it is short and to the point containing 140 pages, 37,000 words. I have used high points in entertainment that I have experienced over 60 years to convey the story. It is a tale of renewal. I use the technique of identifying the speakers used in “Our Gang” by P. Roth and, like his work, mine is not a play. I might characterize it as a novelette. It would probably make a good chick lit.
Ref. No. 405005ms
Length 37,000 words
From The Book
…by the door.
The opening, each occasion, began with a standing salutation to this land of sunshine and shadow, of mountains and misty landscape and it was to bad – Riana thought – that the whole thing did not take place in that position.
After the gang was all there and seated, …
Within an hour, Citty Cat pattered in to sit at a desk at the back dais and to the side of “the chair”. The timing was calculated to avoid the “guest” that the nortes quite often brought in but who knew that “the woman” would not appear until they were gone.
Once, a “guest” did return after Citty Cat had arrived and obtained the floor when she signaled Riana to recognize him.
“G”. When will this government, ever, pay its bills. I represent a business, not a foundation.
I’ll tell you how I handle these matters. All the names of the creditors go into a hopper each month, a child is selected to draw out the names and amounts until the available funds are exhausted. Since you have succeeded in getting my attention during this current month, I shall make sure that your concern’s is left out of the hat.
…one of what Riana called, the space ladies.
Crat. What do you know about this place – miss?
Riana. It’s a coastal area, shaped like an arrowhead, with a seaport.
Crat. No one wishes to interfere in your affairs but it is the affairs of your government to protect you.
Riana. And the holding company too.
Crat. (After the RIP*, marched on) This is one of the most beautiful places on the planet and one of the most dangerous.
Riana. (Not waiting for more, almost sang) “I will survive – I will get by.”
Crat. And the odds of it shall be underwritten. There are no embassies, of any kind, there nearly every nation has a trade representative in permanent or temporary residence. A trade rep. And his wife will be stopping here next Monday. While they do, they will collect you. The trip and stay will cost you nothing. They will be there for a fiscal quarter and you may spend it all with them. The plane will return after four days. We strongly urge you to accept their hospitality and guidance while there.
Riana. I don’t speak any other language, even conversationally, but maybe I can make do and four days should be enough.
Crat. If you speak your own language slowly and distinctly, you will be understood.
Riana. I don’t know what to say.
Crat. Then say nothing – good luck miss.
The dark side on which the Cat had sprung and the Owl and the Kiwi had flocked together, had not grown dormant.
When the Owl had incidentally pulled out the wedge / plug. The ensuing rush could not have been put back in the bottle by a million petulant pontifices or a billion prideful patricians.
The plant, once blown, bent inextricably into the sun and spread its branches to its height and breadth.
It had become a regular lot-a-la but unlike its sound alike it remained a dark side of the moon whose only real change was that it had stopped vying for the summer hell games.
About The Author
My name is W.W. Mason. I reside in a suburb of Fort Worth, Texas. I have been writing for fifty years. I have no published works. This is my first fictional work.
Copyright 2004 – 2007, Twane Markson