The first draft of Anna Chronistic And The Scarab Of Destiny is nearing its climax, and I’m tentatively hoping for a 2017 release. Here is a snippet of today’s writing (may be NSFW, depending on your workplace: mention of vintage erotica)
“Hey, this fell out of a pocket in that waistcoat,” said Polly, picking up a piece of paper headed with a sumptuously engraved picture of a library and the words Symeon Curlew, Curious And Antiquarian Volumes Privately Bought And Sold, Discretion Guaranteed in very curlicued lettering. “What is it?”
“A receipt for dirty books, I expect,” I said. I snatched the receipt out from under Cin, who was about to smear marmalade all over it. “Confessions Of A Ballet Girl… The New Paphian or Epicurean, Illustrated… A History Of Birching In The Orient… The Plumbing Of Paris.”
“I wonder what Helen of Troy got up to in that one,” said Cin, trying to steal Polly’s cheroot. She fended him off.
I thought fondly about Elunukhepa. “The Tale Of An Oyster, And The Pearl I Found There… Her Governing Pleasure… Lady Bottomley’s Indiscretions… Bradshaw’s Paris And Its Environs, Newly Updated With A Full Description Of The Grand Exposition of 1889. Wait a minute, that’s not erotic.”
Cin gained possession of the cheroot. He stuck it in the corner of his mouth and did a very bad impression of Groucho Marx. “Sometimes the Eiffel Tower is just the Eiffel Tower, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby. Don’t call anyone baby. And give Polly back her cigar.”
“I’m trying to make her feel at home by reminding her of the 1970s.”
“No one needs reminding of what you did in the 1970s. I still remember that time you tried to talk me into funding a porn film called Starship Innerthighs.”
“To boldly go…” Cin began obligingly. I smacked him.
“All the same,” he said more seriously, “there’s no use poring over the receipt, Anna. He meant to leave it behind. He meant to leave all of this behind. It’s a false trail.”
Image from PipitVintage on Etsy