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Medicinal Reading, Waffles, Revisions, and, Unexpectedly, both Kafka and Plato

Medicinal Reading, Waffles, Revisions, and, Unexpectedly, both Kafka and Plato

Here's the thing. I was going to write more blog posts following my triumphant return to blogging two months ago. But then I got a thousand migraines and then my life fell completely to pieces and then it fell to pieces again. It isn't fair to have that happen twice in three weeks, and I've been recovering by spending all my time reading novels, as I am pretty sure emotional comfort is what novels are for. What on earth could have happened to me? Well, my tonics of choice were I Capture the Castle, Life Among the Savages and The Road Through the Wall (why read one Shirley Jackson when you can read two), half of the collected stories of Evelyn Waugh (the poor man's Wodehouse in my opinion), Scratch: Writers, Money, and the Art of Making a Living, 85% of Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (I'm not stopping there, I'm just not done yet), and up next either some Dorothy Dunnett or perhaps a re-reading of The Once and Future King.

That should tell you everything you need to know!

In other news: I recently discovered that waffles were not unknown in America in the 1790s. IMAGINE MY DELIGHT. Unfortunately, this means that I need to revise my entire novel - thematically, structurally, and morally. I need to cut some entire plotlines and replace them with waffle-based plotlines. Plotlines plural, you ask. Isn't one enough, you ask. NO. Why have one waffle subplot when you can have two, or seven? 

I hope to blog more regularly, but I'm not sure how long this waffle revision is going to take. And if I find out Ben Franklin and Deborah Read were eating popovers for breakfast, God help me, I'll have to do a second round.

I'm sorry to have to post two waffle-related posts in a row, but I'm afraid I had no choice.


Image from The king of Gee-Whiz (1906), by Emerson Hough, Wilbur Besbit, and Oscar Edward Cesare. I must say I am concerned it took three grown adults to come up with this:

You think that things go wrong
If you should stub your toes;
If, when you run along,
You fall and bump your nose

You sometimes wail and cry
Because you may not wear
The things that please your eye;
You do not like your hair!

But-
Wouldn't it be awful
If you were a waffle?

Puckered, brown, and round and flat
Would you only think of that!
If you were a waffle
Wouldn't it be awful?
Sometimes you sigh—you do,
Because you are yourself!

What would you think if you
Were on a pantry shelf?
If you were set away
Because you had grown cold—
Left from but yesterday
And now, alas! too old!

Oh-
Wouldn't it be awful
If you were a waffle?
Hot and brown, and made to wait
On somebody's breakfast plate—
If you were a waffle,
Wouldn't it be awful?

Thoughts: (1) Is this some kind of Kafka knockoff? (2) I wouldn't like to be contrary, but the answer is no, it would not be awful to be a waffle at all. As the platonic ideal of batter is waffles (everyone knows that) and the platonic ideal of carbon is almost certainly not humans (cf. everything), any little girl or boy should feel honored to be a waffle. At the very least it's better than waking up a cockroach.

Picnickers Abroad

Picnickers Abroad

Four months later, four waffles to the wind

Four months later, four waffles to the wind