Post by rockefeller on Sept 10, 2020 17:55:23 GMT
So here's a tale of a has-been SF writer who scores an old typewriter from a ghost at a lawn sale, which, no matter what keys he presses, types out a young girl's account of her abduction by whom at first I believed to be Joe Biden.
"He keeps talking to me like he knows who I am, and stroking my hair.... He says things I don’t really understand."
The paranormal mechanisms in play are never really explained, but that's okay; that's what makes them paranormal. There's a definite UK lilt to the narrative, even though it's set deep in Amurika, but which only detracted a little. The MC's under pressure from his agent to finish editing some 700 page manuscript, his wife is tentatively divorcing him, and there's a lot of chit-chat with the old lawnsaler's elderly, black, next door, gardening neighbor whose revelations and dad-gum huck-shaw vernacular start to wear a little after a while, and whose husband (spoiler alert) abducted the little girl who, unbeknownst to her, has been moldering in a trunk in their basement for the past 40 years. So probably she has Covid, loss of sense of smell being one of the primary symptoms. I might be a little shaky on some of the plot details. I was reading pretty fast by the end. It's not bad, though. Actually held my attention longer than most. But in the end it just seemed like there was too much filler, too much gab and unrelated goings on, despite which, I never did learn if he ever finished his SF novel, what it was about, or if he and his wife ever managed to reconcile. So somehow, it was both too much and too little.
[Rocks taps Carol on the shoulder then steps back out of swinging range. She's cleaning the Porthole after DD, who should've never tried to go shot-for-shot with Doomey, threw up out but forgot to open.]
No hurry, but when you're done there, I have this manuscript...