Salutatory notification from M.A.Devereux (Nonvelist, Write-Ah, and Or-ther):
Calling all cavaliers and claviers and clever edwardlears!
Having just finished “The Tempalimpsest” (and eagerly awaiting its arrival in cinemas and theatres, which I believe is happening approximately this afternoon or maybe at the very latest tomorrow morning – for time is of the Peter Quince essence), I was surprised upon waking from my slumbers that I had not, after all, retired from not being a full-time writer but was, instead, carrying on not being a full-time writer and rushing like Tokyo rush-hour to my porridge and my ginger tea and then polishing it and warsawing it off as fast as possible so I could get back to my wordgutenberg.
At some stage there may or may not be a story here. It might or might not involve a knight who discovers that he can catch people’s dreams on his ipad using dreambots and then transmute miserable stories into happy ones. And, perhaps, a summer nuptial. Perchance it may feature an ice hockey puck which is disguised as a goodfellow of an Erithacus rubecula. And possibly there could be a technicolour dreamcoat, although some Argotnaut or other might have already donner-vanned that amazing idea.
Who knows? Do you? After all, whose human write is it anyway? If you can write it better than me, why should I even bother getting my hypertext quills and quartos out in the first place?
Perhaps, if, at some stage, I become a full-time writer, then progress on “A Midslummer Knight’s Dreamboat” might accelerate, perhaps exponentially.
Caloo Calais! Right now, however, I must off to earn a pittance of pitta-bread and therefore must
Post-Scriptum. The harvest combinatorical link below is not my work, but I had to include it here. Isn’t it miki-lush?
Post-Post Scriptorium. Retweeters and sharers of this page at other social networking sites will receive an autograph from me next to a picture of a mini-Stonehenge on a napkin (if I manage to organise it, which is easier said than done, since my literary agent and promotional potentate, Mr.Invisible-Nonexistent, is pretty awful at admin)
Tread softly, Dear Reader, for you tread on my dreamweave. I wish for the dishcloths of the seven-eleven. My status has hit rockcake bottom, no matter how much I update it.
To bee or not to bonnet, that is the questia.
Shall I write, or shall I quit?
Or shall I quince, or shall I quincunx, or shall I quixt?
Dream on, lovers and livers. Music makers & narrative shakers.
May we clamber up our amdrams and camber all our ampersands.
Mayday merry marry on, robins and goodhoods.
Hermias & Afro Ditties.
Con brio, confetti please.
No fetters. Say cheese.