I decided that I since I have deprived people of my new works long enough and the endless promising to write more. I shall share a bit of Fizzy Lemonade that I have written lately.
“Ashleigh, Ashleigh, terrible news!” says Roland, a black Labrador, with an adorable yet annoying smiley type face.
“What?” Ashleigh replies.
“Our Author friend has died,” Roland whined. “You know Sarah Evans. I saw her book published this morning you know that means she has passed on to writer heaven. You know the system of signs, the place all great writers go.”
“What?” Ashleigh repeats, dumbfounded.
“Sarah’s an author,” says Barthes, his Husky companion. Husky as in the dog not husky as in husky, but you know the breed of dog…
“Ummm why is that terrible?” Ashleigh asks.
“Well if she’s an author she is dead!” Roland remarks. “DEAD!”
“Yes and I she must be pregnant too,” Barthes adds.
“There is also a big baby boom too!” Roland says.
“Let me guess they are all readers,” says Ashleigh. “You do realise that an author’s death is only metaphorical.”
“What?” says Barthes.
“Sarah isn’t dead,” says Ashleigh. “She was merely the first reader. Readers are the ones that say what a book is about. Therefore there are no author only readers and the author therefore enters a symbolic death.”
“I don’t understand!” says Roland.
“Sarah’s isn’t dead,” says Ashleigh. “It’s to do with the system of signs. Language doesn’t belong to the author. It belongs to everyone. Therefore there can be no authors anyways only interpreters.”
“But she is an author not an interpreter!” says Barthes. “Authors die. Interpreters work at pregnant old lady man conferences and translate old Fergarianese.”
“And then readers are born,” Roland continues. “But when they become an author they die.”
“You’re misconstruing an entire theory,” says Ashleigh.
“So are you coming to the funeral?” asks Barthes, completely ignoring Ashleigh’s common sensical answers.
“AN ENTIRE THEORY!” Ashleigh bellows.
“You’re are so disrespectful,” Roland growls. “Have you know respect for authors?”
“She is being disrespectful to authors,” a lonely dejected voice in the background calls. “Lets get her!”
“Yeah! Good idea lets get her!” says Barthes.
Ashleigh is suddenly chased down the dirty alley way by a black American cocker spaniel, a black and white Shiatsu Terrier of all cuteness, (both of which are important enough to be named later as nothing of ill will is intended towards them) and the aforementioned Roland and Barthes, who are coincidentally named after the crazy French guy Roland Barthes who actually conceived the idea, that was misinterpreted by the two of Ashleigh’s pursuers.
“Ashleigh, Ashleigh, terrible news!” says Roland, a black Labrador, with an adorable yet annoying smiley type face.
“What?” Ashleigh replies.
“Our Author friend has died,” Roland whined. “You know Sarah Evans. I saw her book published this morning you know that means she has passed on to writer heaven. You know the system of signs, the place all great writers go.”
“What?” Ashleigh repeats, dumbfounded.
“Sarah’s an author,” says Barthes, his Husky companion. Husky as in the dog not husky as in husky, but you know the breed of dog…
“Ummm why is that terrible?” Ashleigh asks.
“Well if she’s an author she is dead!” Roland remarks. “DEAD!”
“Yes and I she must be pregnant too,” Barthes adds.
“There is also a big baby boom too!” Roland says.
“Let me guess they are all readers,” says Ashleigh. “You do realise that an author’s death is only metaphorical.”
“What?” says Barthes.
“Sarah isn’t dead,” says Ashleigh. “She was merely the first reader. Readers are the ones that say what a book is about. Therefore there are no author only readers and the author therefore enters a symbolic death.”
“I don’t understand!” says Roland.
“Sarah’s isn’t dead,” says Ashleigh. “It’s to do with the system of signs. Language doesn’t belong to the author. It belongs to everyone. Therefore there can be no authors anyways only interpreters.”
“But she is an author not an interpreter!” says Barthes. “Authors die. Interpreters work at pregnant old lady man conferences and translate old Fergarianese.”
“And then readers are born,” Roland continues. “But when they become an author they die.”
“You’re misconstruing an entire theory,” says Ashleigh.
“So are you coming to the funeral?” asks Barthes, completely ignoring Ashleigh’s common sensical answers.
“AN ENTIRE THEORY!” Ashleigh bellows.
“You’re are so disrespectful,” Roland growls. “Have you know respect for authors?”
“She is being disrespectful to authors,” a lonely dejected voice in the background calls. “Lets get her!”
“Yeah! Good idea lets get her!” says Barthes.
Ashleigh is suddenly chased down the dirty alley way by a black American cocker spaniel, a black and white Shiatsu Terrier of all cuteness, (both of which are important enough to be named later as nothing of ill will is intended towards them) and the aforementioned Roland and Barthes, who are coincidentally named after the crazy French guy Roland Barthes who actually conceived the idea, that was misinterpreted by the two of Ashleigh’s pursuers.
(c) Copyright 2008 by Melissa McKenna no part of this may be reproduced with out written permission.
What do you think?
So what has happened since I last wrote…
Well I am still couch bound for starters, but I am getting used to the vegetable-onion couch as I like to call it.
I have a cold or some sort of something that is making me sick. Urgh! Although, I was particualrily pleased I could have the cough (lollies) candy I like. They didn’t have the brand I liked back in Australia…
I miss Australia.
Winter has arrived and I am not ready. I am barely acclimatised as it is!
I now work at Wal-Mart. Satisfaction is Guaranteed Always! I have less hours here so I am officially going to devote myself to my writing when I am not working. It’s not that bad to be a cashier. I mean you say hello you scan, scan, scan take the payment and say goodbye. The End! Oh yes and the Wal in Wal-Mart is short for Walton as in Sam Walton the company’s creator.
McDonalds probably thinks I am passive aggressive, which I think I am too.
My dog Sydney has a new obsession, the computer keyboard. He was sitting on my lap last night and he kept trying to type stuff with his floppsy white paws and/or licking my fingers. I put him on the ground but he kept jumping up to sit with me. Maybe he missed me while I was at work? You know your life is boring when you write about your dog. He attempting to sabotage this blog entry as I write this.
My birthday is in 10 days! My mom and I are going to the pub across from where we live for a meal and a celebratory drink! Woot!
P.S. Sydney likes noses too!
