The Great American Novel, Chapter 1: Onions
A few years past the apocalypse, during one of the twice-yearly times when all the clocks are set correctly, our young heroine was dismayed by the contemplation that she might be developing an affinity for onions. Resolution of the predicament was immediately hampered by her indecision as to whether she should initially react to this conflict by declaring, “Egad!” or “Jumpin’ jehosophat!” She was initially drawn in by the more alliterative one but then hesitated as it implicated a certain amount of quaintness that she was loathe to invest in considering she was to be everlastingly hampered by a first and middle name combination that immediately drew to mind the image of a young girl in a gingham apron baking pies. Oh, how she dreamed to have one of those she-spy names that at once conjured the sensation of enticing danger and the image of female genitalia. Our heroine did realize that she-spies most likely also began their early lives with humdrum nomenclature that evoked Iowan baked goods, but later changed their names to something more likely to catch their male opponents off guard. Our leading lady did not feel that option was open to her as her first name came from her great-grandmother and her middle from her aunt: a Nordic homemaker and manic-depressive respectively. Also, our heroine was always distressed by the needless destruction of vases, which she assumed would be a hindrance should she ever take up a career in espionage. None of this, of course, would have anything to do with how she would solve the predicament on hand: onions.
3 comments:
I do like - curious though, which came first the idea for "onion" and then the song was stumbled upon, or did the song inspire "onion?"
AD is very excited that you've started your next book - but surprised that you made no mention of it. Must be one of those writer things methinks.
Paragraph 1 came upon me like a kind of feverish malady that needed to be exorcised in some way. Hence the post. Afterwards, in the heady afterglow, I had the Onion song stuck in my head, but I couldn't quite remember the words. Thank the Big Guy for the Internet. I think everyone should have the onion song stuck in their heads as they read paragraph 1.
AD, I must confess, this is the third new book I've started in the past month. They ain't sticking. But I try to try...
p.s. Don't move.
How about a novel of novels begun, rampaging, stuck, unstuck, oniony, misshapen, sliced and diced, aromatic and roomy? Chapter 1 of TGAN is a lovely goo, whether preamble or epilogue or anything in between. As a prose poem, she's mighty fine.
I've been playing with the idea of a review of The Great American Novel, Chapter 1, but I've been working too hard this past week at the lesser things in life, like employment. Suffice it to say that Ms Austen never treated so delicately of Allium cepa, or she-spy names.
Bon voyage.
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