My elevator pitch for my current work, There Was A Time, Oh Pilgrim, When The Rocks Were Not So Smooth is “In Xanadu, did Alison Alexandra / a stately pleasure dome decree”. Stolen whole cloth from Samuel Taylor Coleridge and his Kubla Khan.
So, I was startled awake this morning by a ringing phone. Just rang once. I have been attempting to write a dialogue between three characters in a pub concerning a dish of poutine. Although I did not exactly leap from my supine position to write the following, it was damn close.
I look upon the incident as a gift from the Backward Gods of writing.
Excerpt from: There Was A Time, Oh Pilgrim, When The Rocks Were Not So Smooth
“I’ve not had that,” says Bridget. “What is it?”
“A heart stopper.” says Amanda.
“Pretty well,” agrees Alison Alexandra.
“They start with a big effing pile of French fries.”
“Excuse her French,” says Alison Alexandra.
“And then they pile on cheese curds and smother that with gravy.”
“Smother,” agrees Alison Alexandra.
“Then they check your pulse and let you go at it.”
“They don’t really do that,” says Alison Alexandra.
“Maybe not,” says Amanda. “But I bet they have a defibrillator handy.”
“Probably,” says Alison Alexandra.
“Well,” Bridget smiles. “It sounds as if a pitcher of draft will go real good with that.”