..something about the color of Wodehouse

My voice held all the innocence of a guileless infant. But inside, my heart lifted her hem and danced a highland fling to the tune of distinct triumph.

-Fly Away Home

I may have missed the last several Snippets of Story, but now I am back into the full swing of writing, and I hope you might have a moment or two to look over my bits and tell me what you think of them. Most are from Fly Away Home, a couple are from Cottleston Pie. Enjoy.

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A deep sense of loyalty to myself forbade me to answer dishonestly. “Yes.  I do think mediocrity is easier.”

“And is that what you desire?” It frightened me—the grave expression his eyes held and the fading of his smile.

-Fly Away Home

.. As a cure, I generally recommend a good book—something about the color of Wodehouse would serve very well. Don’t try Chesterton—he may give you a headache.

-Fly Away Home

I barricaded myself in my room—locked the door, pulled the curtains shut, and threw my hat and purse into the diminutive closet. I stood in front of Nickleby like a woeful nun before her Father-confessor, and wept. “I am wretched!” He blinked and mewed as if to console me on that point. “Well, I am. I was having a perfectly lovely day until home came in the picture.

-Fly Away Home

“There is no question of whether you will suit me, Miss Harper. We mightn’t agree on a number of matters, but if I take a liberal dose of Patience every morning and you tame your tigers a bit, we will refrain from killing one another before the first issue goes to print. After that—why, the both of us will be too guilty of a dozen trespasses to extricate ourselves from the web we’ve woven. No, our partnership is sealed, and in good faith I say.”

-Fly Away Home

“A pound of shrimp, fresh off the piers this morning, fried to perfection and destined to be the lunch of the stunning Miss Harper.” He presented one of the shrimp to me on the end of his letter-opener and then frowned. “No, no. Something’s wrong…oh yes. I forgot. My briefcase, Miss Harper!” I handed the leather case to my employer in great confusion and watched as he rummaged in its depths with a concentrated expression. “Aha. Here we are!” He resurfaced with a glowing face and a bottle of tartar sauce, presenting it to me with a bow. “My lady, will it be the sauce for you?”

-Fly Away Home

“You?” Simpian asked. He was not a little disappointed to see it was only a rabbit after all. He had grand thoughts of the voice belonging to something threatening—another pirate, perhaps. But you couldn’t have a swordfight with a rabbit. That much was certain. He sneezed once—a cross between indignation and goldenrod—and glared at the owner of the voice. “What are you doing here?”

-Cottleston Pie

“Yes, who are you?” Sylvi interrupted.

This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Simpian bit his lip and whacked the top off a dandelion. Its fluff went sailing away on a fitful breeze that started up as if the earth was yawning. “I am Simpian Grenadine.”

“Oh,” the rabbit said. “Why didn’t you say so? If I had known you were the Simpian Grenadine I’d have not bothered to speak with you.”

-Cottleston Pie

“Oh, Rabbit,” he said at last.

“What, Boy?”

Boy? How rude. “My name is Simpian Grenadine, you know.”

“And mine is Sylvi, but you called me Rabbit.”

She had a point. Simpian let the subject lie. “Are you going to be leaving pretty soon?”

“No.” Sylvi nestled into the grass and yawned a little yawn that showed her two white teeth.

“No?”

“No. You’ll be leaving pretty soon.”

“Oh.” Afterward Simpian wished he’d said, “Aha,” which sounded a bit more like a pirate and less like Sulking. But he only said, ‘Oh,’ and nothing else in Cottleston Pie spoke after him.

-Cottleston Pie