Beginner's Luck

Perhaps it is hubris, or the need of a human being to see his name in print. Or the conviction that, with all of the low standards of our age (as evidenced by the Bestsellers at Barnes & Noble), "I COULD WRITE BETTER THAN THESE FOOLS!"

In any case, you have heard that Pin and her faithful sidekick Rizzle have begun writing a book. Foolishly, you have asked, "what is it about?"

The Piper’s Call is about a middle-aged bachelor who lives in a small town – a well-to-do hermit, who’d rather not have anything to do with people. He has to learn to come out of his shell and engage the world – through a series of amusing adventures. (The little old ladies can’t resist matchmaking and the kids can’t stop using his backyard as their playground.)

Below is an excerpt: read, and weep (for various reasons)

Day Into Town

Spirit was behaving most oddly, thought Sir Nigel. “Don’t you think so?” he asked his long-suffering housekeeper, who had been listening to him prattle on about Spirit’s resemblance to the giant in the Jack and the Beanstalk fairytale. Mary sniffed, peered out the window and remarked that That Tree didn’t look much more than a pile of leaves to rake at any time. Both gave a mutual sigh at each other and strode off to their various employments.

To-day was for errand-running, ticking boxes off of lists of things to do, and general swath-cutting amongst the people of the nearby big city. Our hero had donned his favourite black leather trenchcoat for the occasion, as he had an impression to make to various big cheeses at the bank. “Remember to polish the boots”, advised Mary’s voice from the kitchen, just as Sir Nigel was making an experimental sweep with the coat before a full-length mirror.

After paying a princely sum for the privilege of parking, Sir Nigel strode into his bank, admiring the confident air lent to the building by its faux Greco-Roman architecture, its Corinthian columns, and bas-relief carvings of historical-looking figures. Impressive, but the stones could do with a bit of a wash, he thought. He strode confidently up to the head of the queue and was confronted by a weedy person with watery brown eyes, long thin nose and scraggly tea-coloured hair, who was eyeing Sir Nigel’s approach with a worried frown. Sir Nigel’s stride became a stroll. Make no sudden moves, he thought, the mouse may take fright.

Placing his hands and chequebook where the mouse could see them, Sir Nigel thought fixedly of a small brook of conversation flowing around him, a mere ripple across the surface of speech. “Might I enquire after my bank account balance?”

“Ah…. Ah’ll hef to see about that, sir”, said the teller in a high-pitched nasal tone, turning around and whisking down the hall. The lunchroom door banged shut, and out came a hulking form of a three-hundred-pound person in black-and-white stripes, with a walrus mustache that seems to sprout straight from his squat, tri-cornered nose. “Mr. Perrywinkle at your service!” boomed the man.

For more - keep posted.

Pin and Rizzle