There is much to be said about a writer-in-waiting having to create one more blog. Perhaps it says a lot more that I have now lost count of the number of blogs I have created, maintained, abandoned and lost.
Paperbackwriter is now long gone, but will never be forgotten. The blog title is the only thing I can take from it, a tribute if you please.
As is custom, my first post shall remain incomplete in essence, without the inclusion of the short story that began my torrid affair with this format of fictional narrative prose.
My quirks.
The inspiration.
Death Speaks
by Anon
There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdadm for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.
No comments:
Post a Comment