Top Ten Tuesday is an original feature/weekly meme created by The Broke and the Bookish
March 28: Top Ten Authors
I'm Dying To Meet / Ten Authors I Can't Believe I've Met
(some other "meeting authors" type spin you want to do)
I had a rather wild
idea with this one. I’m taking a small liberty, but it’s about authors meeting
authors: Top Ten Authors who might accidentally bump into each other in a bar,
and cause an uncomfortable, awkward, humorous, and tempestuous scene. I’m just
going to start writing and see where this goes.
We start at the
Eagle and Child Pub, where Professors C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are want to
discuss, linguistics, etymology, mythology, theology and the like. They are
enjoying a nice warm English Beer, and their pipes, when Ernest Hemingway makes
a grand entrance. He saunters up to the impeccably dressed British Gentlemen,
in his wrinkled linen shirt and Bermuda shorts to ask,
What’s the best drink in this bar boys?
Lewis: it’s a pub my good man.
Hemingway: They serve booze?
Lewis: Of course.
Hemingway: Then it’s a bar. Hey, ain’t you the brains
that write about leprechauns n monsters?
Lewis: Satyrs
Tolkien: Hobbits
Hemingway: Whatever, let me try the brew, eh Mate?
He grabs Prof. Tolkien’s glass, takes a long draught, and spits it out cursing
profusely.
Hemingway: Barkeep, double martini, extra dry, EXTRA
cold, or I’ll cut your throat.
Tolkien and Lewis
begin speaking Latin to one another, hoping Hemingway will leave them, but it
is unnecessary as at this time, Evelyn Waugh and George Eliot walk into the pub.
They are hailed by the shouts of regular patrons:
Allo Evelyn; evenin George.
Hearing the name
Evelyn, Hemingway thinks it sounds hopeful and he strolls up to the two
newcomers.
Hemingway (to
Eliot): Allow me to introduce myself
Evelyn – Ernest Hemingway, world famous adventurer.
Waugh: Yes, I recognize you old man. Allow me to
introduce you to my friend, (Waugh winks), George Eliot.
Hemingway: She’s George? Who are you?
Waugh: Evelyn Waugh ole bean, I thought you
recognized me.
Hemingway, visibly
baffled: Brits are nuts. Barkeep, where’s
that martini?
Next Jack London
staggers in, sees Hemingway at the bar and shouts:
Ernie!
Hemingway, turns
angrily and growls, Jack I told you never
to call me that.
London: Take it easy Papa, I’ll buy you a drink and
we’ll get this place going.
This quiets
Hemingway for a bit until Virginia Woolf enters. London whistles a long cat
call on spying her, immediately piquing Hemingway’s interest. He saunters
toward her and says
Evening ma’am, Ernest Hemingway, world famous
adventurer.
Before she can
respond, a tall and sinister figure emerges from a dark corner, pulling gently
on a glowing cigarette. He takes Woolf’s arm, gently, and says to Hemingway,
I beg your pardon, Mr….what was it? Adventurer? Just
because the lady’s name is Woolf does not mean she keeps their company. Then he turns to Woolf and begins: Allow me to introduce myself Ms. Woolf, I
am…
Woolf: Yes Mr. Fleming, you are known to me.
Ian Fleming: Not half as well as I will be. Virginia – be
a lamb and ask the barman for a dry vodka martini, Russian vodka if they have
it, very dry, shaken not stirred. And get yourself something too – something strong.
Woolf: Can’t you walk to the bar Mr. Fleming?
Fleming: I’d rather watch you make the trip.
Meanwhile,
Hemingway knowing he was outdone, had rejoined London at the bar. Malcolm Lowry
crawls into the pub, literally crawls, and calls out:
Hem! Jack! Help!
They rush to his
side, and ask,
What is it Malcolm, what’s the matter?
Lowry: I needa gedoo the bar.
When they get him
to the bar, they meet a jovial young dandy, bit of an idler, telling jokes and
buying rounds. They are entertained, and Hemingway asks,
So, what’s your name then mate?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway: Last name?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway a bit
annoyed: First name?
The idler: Jerome
Hemingway, squints,
wrinkles his nose, and then punches Jerome K. Jerome in the mouth.
A glorious row
ensues, with Hemingway and London fighting all comers. Malcolm Lowry helps
himself to some unattended glasses, Ian Fleming subdues several patrons, nearly
spills his martini, and then leaves via back entrance with Virginia Woolf.
Evelyn Waugh and George Eliot are content to watch, as is Jerome K. Jerome,
though he makes notes of the entire debacle, while holding a cold cloth to his
split lip. Tolkien and Lewis do not notice the to do, as they are entirely
engrossed in the old English etymology of certain modern English conjunctions. Eventually, the din dies down, the patrons disperse, and the pub prepares to close. A last lone denizen, unnoticed and alone in a dark corner, leaves quietly and says goodnight to the barman,
Goodnight Thomas. Says the barman to Thomas Pynchon.
Oops - that was eleven.