Saturday, January 24, 2015

A Beginning, A Muddle, and An End


“What could I write that has only two words?"
"A very, very short story."
"Could you give me an example?" asked Avon.
Edward thought for a moment. "Here's one: 'He died.'"
"That doesn't seem very lively," said Avon.
"Then you've understood the story perfectly," said Edward.

“An egg is not likely to grow on its own," said the crow crossly.
"She's right," said Edward. "I've never seen a grown-up egg."
"The egg doesn't grow!" cried the bird. "It's what's inside that grows."
"Then why don't you sit on what's inside?" Avon asked.
"Because there's a shell."
"What makes you so sure there's something inside?" asked Edward.
"It's always been that way!" insisted the crow.”

“The last time I looked," Avon pointed out, "the world isn't bigger than the universe, though I'm willing to admit I've never actually measured it.

“Edward," said Avon with a sigh, "maybe I shouldn't be a writer or an author. I had no idea it would be so hard."
"Be a reader then."
"Is that easier?"
"Actually, it's much harder."
"I don't understand," said Avon.
"Avon, what's writing? Scribbled letters on paper. It's the reader who has to make sense of it.”

“An enormous fish poked his head out of the water and stared at them. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Avon Snail, at your service," said Avon.
"Edward Ant," said Edward. "But I am not at your service.” 


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