"So, J.R.R., how are the hobbers coming?"
"I've told you a million times--it's hobbits! Hobbits!"
"Sorry, sorry. Now, I imagine them as similar to dwarves. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Well, Jack, no. Dwarves live underground, in the mines. Hobbits live in hobbit holes! Like ground hogs."
"Quite, quite. Did I mention I've added a wicked queen to Narnia? She's an ice queen--I modeled her after that testy librarian."
"Yes, I know exactly who you mean! Always grimaces when I hand her a book, as if I've soiled it somehow by touching it."
"You have elves in your story don't you? I can't decide if I need them or not. Narnia doesn't seem elf-friendly. Plus, they get on my nerves--so jolly and smiling all the time."
"No, no, no. I've got elves, Jack, but they are solemn. Solemn I tell you! No one in my story is jolly except the hobbits. They're a bit like retards, really. Playing in the garden, believing whatever anyone tells them."
"I see. I have to say, this whole fantasy story business is merely a way to pass the time until I find myself a foxy lady."
"I agree completely, dear chap."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment