The Pondering Chicken's Report
Pondering Chicken here. I haven't seen much of the Pig in days. But he showed up bleary-eyed in the kitchen today, ate a few cheese sandwiches, then staggered back in his office crying "Time must have a stop!" I kind of worry about the guy. After all, he pays the salaries around here when he remembers.
But I thought I should tell you he is reading a lot. When I straightened up his desk this morning I found a technical explanation of how baby monitors work, and a very old book called Principles of Radio Wave Transmission. This is new for him. Usually I find old comic books in there, like Richie Rich and that fat girl who wears polka dots.
The other day I was walking in the park. I turned into the rose garden, and there was Pig sitting on a bench gazing into the antique roses display. I didn't say anything to him because he seemed to be lost in thought. But at least he wasn't eating the roses like last time.
He told me yesterday he needs a better name for his story. He said he's only calling it The Walrus because it fits on the sidebar. So I thought about it and suggested "Why not call it Walrus Pemmican and the Sorcerer's Stone?" Go with a proven winner, that's what I say. He said he'd think about it. But I'll bet he won't. He doesn't like anything unless he thinks of it himself. He'll probably call it Pigs Ate My Roses.
I just hope he gets back to fighting for justice pretty soon. I liked it when Madonna used to come by. She always brought snacks. If this goes on too long I might have to take that job over at The Pilfering Pig. She's already offered me a bonus if I can find the plot outline for The Walrus and sneak it over there.
Well, for now, I think I'll stick with Pig. I'm always curious to see what he'll do next.
But I thought I should tell you he is reading a lot. When I straightened up his desk this morning I found a technical explanation of how baby monitors work, and a very old book called Principles of Radio Wave Transmission. This is new for him. Usually I find old comic books in there, like Richie Rich and that fat girl who wears polka dots.
The other day I was walking in the park. I turned into the rose garden, and there was Pig sitting on a bench gazing into the antique roses display. I didn't say anything to him because he seemed to be lost in thought. But at least he wasn't eating the roses like last time.
He told me yesterday he needs a better name for his story. He said he's only calling it The Walrus because it fits on the sidebar. So I thought about it and suggested "Why not call it Walrus Pemmican and the Sorcerer's Stone?" Go with a proven winner, that's what I say. He said he'd think about it. But I'll bet he won't. He doesn't like anything unless he thinks of it himself. He'll probably call it Pigs Ate My Roses.I just hope he gets back to fighting for justice pretty soon. I liked it when Madonna used to come by. She always brought snacks. If this goes on too long I might have to take that job over at The Pilfering Pig. She's already offered me a bonus if I can find the plot outline for The Walrus and sneak it over there.
Well, for now, I think I'll stick with Pig. I'm always curious to see what he'll do next.
Labels: A Panoply of Pondering
posted by Christopher Newton at 10:18 AM
3 Comments:
Fear not, friend cat. HP has already been produced and wrapped and sealed with great success. The world don't need no pale imitations. Or even highly colored imitations. Although it will get them in great numbers whether they need them or not.
The Syndicate of Eternal Friendship's plan is just to stay cool, stay stoned, and stay out of the clink.
I should read more fiction. Problem is, I don't like fiction too much. It never happened so why should I care?
My wonderful in-house bookworm adamantly disagrees with me on this. I seldom utter words of non-support regarding fiction writing because my HUMBLE opinion gets my hands smacked!
At least, if you must, read fiction outdoors...
I love to read, but like you, it's mainly to find out more about this interesting world. But, once for Christmas Patrushka gave me a turn of-the-twentieth century Collected Works of Charles Dickens. Still like new with the pages uncut. It took a couple years but I read every single volume. And after that, nobody else's fiction could quite cut it for me. Dickens was the man!
However, I feel completely different about writing the stuff. It's great fun.
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