Michelle Franklin

He pointed at the caiques, but Peppone declined the librarian__ offer, saying only, __o you think the proprietor of the inn where we met will report us?_ __he money I left him was more than enough to silence his alarms,_ said Danaco. __old has an amazing habit of altering memories.

Tell me, Peppone, what other talents do you have besides erasing undesirables?_ __ enjoy a fair bit of sneaking, sir. I also enjoy pilfering and killing as a professional courtesy._ __hat a delightfully horrid urchin you are._ __hank you, sir.

The rest of the evening passed agreeably: the crew had their games on the main deck, resigning themselves to Sirs and dice now that dancing was out, those who would go ashore to enjoy the dining halls and tea houses went after their matches were lost, and those who remained either took themselves off to an early rest or remained with the musicians, to sing out the remainder of the evening by way of a few round songs, calling out verses in melodic dissonance, singing the history of Good Marrie the Whore and though there were __en hands in her purse, there was still room for one more!_,

Books are an absolute necessity. I always have at least two with me wherever I go, to say nothing of my digital collection, and whenever I can get my hands on a delicious new reading piece, I will finish it at a slackened pace, to savour it with all the esteem it deserves, gratulating in its pleasance, deliciating in every word with ardent affection. I have an extensive library that I could never do without, and there are at least four books decorating every surface in my house. A table is not properly set without a book to furnish it. Half of my great collection is non-fiction, mostly science and history books, ranging from the archaeological to the agricultural, and my fiction section is dedicated to the classics, mostly books published before the world forgot about exquisite prose. I have all the greats in hardcover, but I do not read those: hardcover is for smelling and touching only. For all my favourite authors, I have reading copies, which I might take with me anywhere, to read in cafes or to be used as a swatting tool for unwanted visitors, but books are always fashionable even as ornaments; everyone likes a reader, for a good collection of books betrays a intellectualism that is becoming at anytime. Never succumb to the friable wills of those who reject the majesty of books: there is nothing so repelling as willful illiteracy.

It is 32c today, and the only thing keeping me from hanging myself is the small sense of relief Iglean from attaching my body to the vents of my delicious cooling piece. It is a stunning unit,exquisite in all its forms, exceptional in its application, and effective in all its functions. I wouldmarry it, if only I knew it would not die on me sometime within the next five years. Appliances,like obedient children or silent extroverts, cannot last forever, and while my unbidden affectionkept my other air conditioner alive for the better part of ten years, not all inanimate objects canbe fueled by my love.

Everyone is a raconteur without realizing it. We speak to our friends, we speak to our doctors and therapists about the nothing-meaning nonsense that goes on in our lives, but the difference in telling a story and complaining about the ills of one__ life is in the delivery. We can talk about how someone slighted you at work, or we can talk about how that person looked when they promptly fell down the stairs a moment after disdaining you. There, you see, is the difference: people will often notice the main but not the nuance; they will notice the face of the person yelling at them and the pitch of their shouts, but will not notice the comfort that the ululations of agony and twisted limbs lying on the bottom stile can promise.

In my desperation to try to lull myself into a gentle sloom, I have created a list of things that will often assist my descent into delicious treacle-sleep. The list includes a series of things I can do if I go to bed and wake up early, and includes things like playing games and reading books, but one item that continually seems to work is telling myself:The faster I go to sleep, the faster I can have cookies for breakfast.This idea might seem rudimentary, but it staves off the sulks long enough that I can find a few hours of sleep, even on the hottest of days. If only Biscuit Power worked for other insomniacs, cookies might save humanity from itself.

My face is rather like a collision waiting to happen: head-on I can be borne, but turn sideways, and it is all calamity.

Why are you wailing away? What is the matter with you?___ was playing and__ and her lip quivered as she spoke, ___nd it was cloudy, and then__ a sniff, ___nd then, as I was playing, the sun came out.__ gave her a flat look. __ou__e crying because the sun came out?___es,_ she moped, wiping the tears from her eyes, __he sun came out, and now__ she heaved, ___nd now, it__ hot! I don__ like it when it__ hot. Being hot is dumb!__ immediately absolved her of all previous sins. I slumped over the sill and gave her as much sympathy as my now warm face allowed. __es, child, being hot is very dumb indeed. Very well, you have a reason for crying. But then why are you outside?___ecause it was too hot inside and mommy won__ let me have ice cream.___ell, there is your problem. You must get an air conditioner and a new mother.

Swearing is a currency the countryside spends well.

Another atrocity of summer is soccer. When the Euro Cup is on, it brings out the worst in people. It turns them into ravaging beasts who complain when a team they like, which they have done nothing to deserve, slips from grace and loses the match.An old man sitting beside me at the cafe was watching the men watch the soccer rather than watch the soccer himself. He found their reactions more entertaining than the game."All this stuff and nonsense over men kicking a ball," he groused. "And they don't do any of the work themselves."I told him, "We should just have wars. Then we would not need sports."He laughed and quite agreed with me.

Life is really a travesty of will: it is a parade of learning how to lose people and improve at feigning indifference.I suspect I shall always fail at this, and fail miserably. I do not know whether that is winning at life or failing at happiness.

He__ going to kill me,_ Peppone murmured, his jaw drooping, __r at least send out the order to have someone take care of me. Well,_ with a sigh, __ight as well get rid of this body before the others wake up._ He canted his head and mused to himself. __aybe I should carve it up first._ __t long last,_ Bartleby cried, raising his eyes and wringing his hands, __omebody who has no regard for collective conscience and general morality. Oh, happy, happy morning!_ __ake care, Peppone,_ Danaco laughed, __f you have so little regard for life and the creatural condition, Bartleby will attach himself to you and never leave you for a moment.

Astonishing how tea opens the ears.

A library always housed a trove of undiscovered friendships and forays, and a bookstore, a place where those temporary connections might become a constancy, must always hold a charm over any scholar__ heart.

She deigned to asked me how ice queens reproduce. I grinned, and her mother looked horrified.__e procreate by way of ice cubes, of course. We put them in our nests and let them incubate for the period of about four months, and when the temperature is right, we put them out to roost and let them flake off into billions of snowflakes, rather like tadpoles breaking in droves from their eggs. And that, child,_ I said, with a simulacrum of glee, __s how winter is born.___oes it hurt?___o more than the approach of Monday does to most of the world. It is a natural process, you understand, but it is dreadful hard work.

The sins of my sex... A woman who is ugly is pitiable, but a man who is ugly is forgiven.

Any advice for how to be a successful author?""Yes. Don't be a woman. And be dead. And do both at the same time, if you can.