Dedication
I'd like to dedicate this, my first novel, to Mitzy and Dame Pennington. You two are calico ladies of the utmost refinement and integrity, and it is my honor to be your home-partner.
Mitzy ... oh, Mitzy. Your confidence, your willingness to stand up for yourself, your feline grace---you have taught me so much. Without you, I'd have never had the courage to write the story of noble vampire cats benignly guiding civilization’s advancement throughout the ages.
In this book, the character of Marie Curie is directly inspired by your tenacity and problem solving. Do you remember when you learned to open the dryer door and crawl inside? All on your own? I think the real Madame Curie would have been proud of that sort of ingenuity. I know I am.
And, Dame Pennington. You are my rock. Without you, I would have succumbed to that accursed scourge---the dreaded writer's block---years ago.
Often, I would hit an invisible wall when no words came, and the blank screen loomed before me, a glowing monolith. During those times, you'd simply purr, stretch your limbs, and lie down on the keyboard. As if to say, "Type on, kind artist! Marshal your strength to craft word and legend. Yours is a gift destined to be shared with a world of vampire cat aficionados."
And, thusly inspired, I would push forward, eager in my new resolve. The entire chapter on the House of Medici and its cat vampire, Felixorenza di Silvestri, was written in one day on a keyboard newly-warmed and sprinkled with soft sheddings.
I thank you, my tabby muses. I thank you with all my heart. It is only under your watchful guidance that I was able to fashion an epic "tale" out what might have been a simple “yarn.”
Oh, also, I guess I should thank my husband Lloyd for staying out of the way.
Yours in partnership,
Elizabeth Anne Winstead-Cohen
The Purplest Nurple
The following is an excerpt from my tween murder mystery novel, The Purplest Nurple, about a kid who dies from a titty twister:
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“What are we even doing in here?” begged Smitts. “There might be a ga-ga-ga-ghost.”
Smitty could be a real dork sometimes. I flicked him in the junk. Hard. That shut him up. “Shhh, we’re getting evidence, stupid,” I told him, because that’s what we were doing.
Smitts kept tugging at his shorts, trying to get his nuts to not ache. “But, the school said it was anophalastical shock. ‘Cause he ate a peanut.” He meant antapolapstic shock. Duh.
“You saw those bruises around his nips. That was no accidental death, Smitts. It was murder by titty twister.” I was right, of course. I’m right a ton of the time.
I had just set down the victim’s Lego Deathstar when his mom came in with a tray. “I thought you boys might like some Rice Crispy treats and juice,” she said, all chipper and stuff. Smitts is a lard-ass, so he snatched ‘em up right away.
“Thanks, Mrs. Flannery. Hey! These are real good. Do they got M&Ms in ‘em?” Smitty asked with his fat mouth.
“They sure do, Riley. Peanut M&Ms.”
“Peanut M&Ms?” I said, “I thought Josh was allergic to peanuts.” Josh’s mom’s face got all sad, and I realized I was coming on too strong, Batman-style.
“He was, poor thing. We haven’t been able to have peanuts in the house since he was born.” She was kind of sniffling, but then she got real happy again. “But, now we can have all the peanuts we want!”
Right then’s when I noticed the locket she was wearing. It was the same locket I had saw on coach Meyerson’s desk in the locker room where Josh was found. No, it couldn’t be--Josh’s mom and Coach Meyerson? Were they boyfriend and girlfriend, even though she was married?
And, could that have something to do with the titty twister? Holy balls! We had to get out of there …
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My Accidental Plagiary
Dear Mr. Cobblemeyer,
I was mortified to learn that I accidentally plagiarized your novel. Believe me, if I had known there were so many similarities between our two books, I never would have published mine.
I have always been a fan of your work. In fact, you’re one of the reasons I became a writer. So, it would be understandable that I was influenced by your writing style and characters. I guess I must have internalized your book, because I loved it that much. And, my subconscious allowed bits of it to escape through my typewriter.
For instance, I can now see that my novel about a young banjo player on a journey to find his uncle has some resemblance to your book about a guitar player on a journey to find his father. And, when my protagonist falls in love with a beautiful zookeeper, that somewhat resembles yours falling in love with a pretty veterinarian.
I do agree that my book’s post-apocalyptic hellscape is very similar to your description of Miami. And, while my story takes place on Omacron-5, the motorcycle gang from your book certainly influenced the mutant gorillas on hovercycles in mine. Although, I insist the similarity between the names Gordon McCloud and Gorzon Cloudchild was merely a coincidence.
I hope that you can take this incident as a fond homage. Just a fan who was touched by your work so deeply, that it felt as though it became my own. It wasn’t meant as a “blatant rip-off” or “wholesale idea theft” as your letter to my publisher’s lawyers suggests. Rather, those few dozen word-for-word paragraphs were a love letter to your novel and its lasting influence.
I hope to discuss this further with you soon. Maybe even over lunch. As an obvious fan of yours, it would be a huge thrill to meet you. I’d love to have you sign my book.
Yours truly,
Andy Ross