Sunday, March 18, 2007

Dearest Willy Shookaspear! So good to hear from you, guy!

Upon my word (and sentences) I was surprised - pleasantly so - to receive your most welcome letter! Yes, dear, dear, literary friend of mine: I'm still sending-and-waiting but not necessarily in that order. On occasion I wait and then send. Either way the result is the same.

Please forgive me for noting that you too are experiencing a similar problem as me. One cannot help but ponder those words, 'cannot sendeth it, fatal error, address not known.' Doth thou think there's a conspiracy afoot (or arm)? It is even more surprising given your reputation and establishment within literary community!

Perhaps - just perhaps - the delay in response might be as a result of sending my plays through the snail-mail method. Actually and until you brought the subject up, it hadn't occurred to me that my plays, although sent some years back, may never have reached their destination. Perhaps - just perhaps - they are still in transit! Or - horrors-of-horrors and I hate to think about this prospect - they may somehow have ended up in France where snail-mail takes on a whole new meaning! Don't know if you're aware of it but snail-mail-snails are selected specifically for their large-ish size and muscular makeup plus their ability to trek accross country but as you and I know, snails are known for their bad sense of direction. Hence, the distinct possibility that they might have asked for directions and were sent to a café in Normandy where their journey ended in a pool of oil and garlic. Oh the guilt and prospect of being a snail murderer is too much to bear!

I shall now take to bed with a jug of Grandmother Moliz Elder/Youngerberry Wine for comfort and reflect upon my erroneous-but-innocent action.Here's mud in your eye... Cheers... L'chaim...and all that.

Your friend (and snail you-know-what),


1 comment:

Al McCartan said...

Verily there is a conspiracy afoot, armed and ready to sink in the toe.
I'faith, a userer gettteth more praise than we who feedeth words to strolling and stage player. Thinkest thou, that a play about userers, comely youth and a silver tongued damsel wouldst gain a shilling for my coffers. Tis a play about a diffident gentleman of the hebraic persuasion. Mr Lock - a shy man why not a Shy Lock. Snail's blood, I wilt call him Shylock and set the scene in a small town in New France - Mount Royal. Nay! second thought! the public doth cry for Venciceor Verona So be it. Venice.

Signor Lock's adversary shalt be a youth - Antonio and he is beloved of Portia.

What thinkest thou of that for a play.

But I must impart news that I hopeth wilt not be published abroad. One has to sell himself. Nay, smilest thou not. I do not mean the streets of London - must give that title to my minstrel friend Ralph McTell. but to this spawn of Stan, may the devil taketh them - The advertising agency.
They thinkest that my little skits on Hedgerows, Wylde Thyme, Faeries and the like, bringeth the person - aye marry. The client, shillings aplenty. But, dear scribess. Desparate measures for measure. Byr Larkin, t'would be a comedy of errors, if my little playlet about sleeping artisans who transforms into an ass one mid-summer shouldst be considered for the anti-drug campaign being waged here. I have thus sub,itted a play, 'tis about a youth and his sister. This youth doth dream and in his wildest fancy he is king of chefs, players of the football, explorers and chaser of wrondoers. It shall be set in a mythicalland - a Southland, I callest it Australia and verily, it shalt be considered for use on a devise where a voice is heard but no humankind - I hear they call it radio.

I wilt not use a snail. I fear a French kitchenmaid my scoop it up. I wilt have it transported by coach and a good horse. The play. I callest it Dream On Kelly and i'truth is fit only for the ear to be performed by players from Insight. If worth, my play shalt be performed and One hundred ducats shalt fill my purse.
Thou WILT BE PERFORMED. Verily Yea. Surely someone in New France wilt buy?
Keep thy quill sharpened and write.