dopebeatz
01-19-07, 05:28 PM
RADASANTH, January 19, 2007
Dear Sirs:
I have been directed to your publication by my literary agent and editor, with directions to submit to you a proposition for a future publication contract. Although my submission is perhaps an exotic one for your storied periodical, I have no doubt that you will find it enchanting, and perhaps worthy of reproduction among your other contracted writers' work. It is a serial, with numerous episodes: Enough to fill your pages many times over, month after month. I hope that you will look upon this early application with favor.
First allow me to introduce myself. I am Hiram Washbone, journalist. At the age of 16 I picked up a pencil and dog-eared notebook, ran away from my tender mother's home, and made a life for myself on the road, writing and rambling. I am not the principle character of my stories, however. I shall not bother readers with recitations of my own small part in my recent and continuing misadventures. These stories center upon a more vibrant and intriguing character. It is him that I wish to tell of, not myself, and thus will remain only a happy raconteur, taking no part in his epic journeys and harrowing battles except to relate them to a willing audience. I am aided by my aforementioned agent and editor, Dorin Weatherby, who remains outside the scope of my tales entirely. (Editor's note - Much to the reader's sorrow.)
The man whose life I have decided to put down in ink - and who hopefully you gentlemen will see fit to make the latest addition to your publication - is far more curious than both of us, an interesting and beguiling figure. In brief, he may be described thus:
Name: Saxby Corningham
Age: Between 73 and 76
Race: Caucasian
Hair Color: What remains, white
Eye Color: Green but obscured by thick spectacles
Height: 5 feet, 3 inches
Weight: Perhaps 8 stone
Occupation: Former conductor, instrumentalist, naturalist, botanist, phrenologist
Personality: Coringham is a shy man, although he becomes something of a rogue after one makes his acquaintance. He tells me he was something of a cad in his earlier days, a fact which I do not dispute but to which I cannot attest. Kindly and unsinister, he brings only the best feelings of humanity to those whom he meets. A perfect gentlemen to ladies and an avuncular jokester with children, many children remember him better as "Uncle Saxby" than "Mr. Coringham."
Appearance: I hesitate to describe him too well, for his appearance seems to change with his moods. When you initially meet him, he is hunched and quiet, his bald dome facing foreward, his wrinkled faced cast down. His body is frail but quivers with a repressed inner spirit. When one becomes convivial with him, however, he becomes far more animated, gesturing wildly during bursts of excited speech, jigging down the road with a spring in his boot heel, or whistling a merry tune as he stretches out his long, bumpy neck to search for animal shapes in the clouds. He is fond of dark suits, though accented by colored handkerchiefs.(I have enclosed a picture (http://www.christalk.org/chatters/images/geezer.jpg) for your reference - Ed.)
History: Of this I know little. He once described to me in the most general terms an upbringing in a utopian settlement known as the "Humming Quaker Village." A search of the encyclopedia reveals no such town, but I have faith that the place exists. He was married once - a tarnished wedding band attests to this - but he never speaks of a dead or estranged wife. Of his children I know nothing. Of his adult life I know little more. I can say, however, that he fled a distant country in fear of his life. He tells me it had something to do with "elven music schools," but says little else of it.
Skills: This is perhaps the most amusing aspect of Coringham, which perhaps will pique your literary interest. He is a sorcerer of sorts, but not one of the lower sorts that is normally encountered in saloons and peep shows. Rather, he is a musical musician. By playing instruments, he creates not only sound but also musical effects, the likes of which I cannot explain, but will take great pains to adequately describe. Of the following three instruments, he owns one of each, but refuses to carry more than one at a time. You will find, gentlemen, that in each story I write, he only uses one instrument throughout. In some episodes this has caused some serious problems for both of us, but no doubt it will not aversely affect the enjoyment of your readers.
The Violin: By playing the violin, Coringham not only creates beautiful music, but conjures into being silvery threads, up to three at a time, out of thin air. They are as mobile and light as willow-branches, but as strong as steel. Exuded from the tip of his bow after a few seconds of song, they float to the ground, where they coil much like serpents, nearly a man's height in length. One can snatch one end of them and use them as an especially hardy rope, which is difficult to cut but also refuses to be tied in knots.
The Pan-pipe: When he blows over the tubes of the pan-pipe, Coringham conjures up birds of the air of all sorts, that appear from mere ether, glowing yellow and purple, twittering their happy songs as a choir on Sunday morn. If he plays for long enough, an entire flock might appear, surrounding him with flapping wings and chattering beaks like a wall of hatched chicks. When touched they disappear with a loud "pop."
The Musical Saw: If Coringham has his musical saw about him, he can wobble its flimsy metal to make haunting, grim music. Although it seems to have no effect at first, once the fellow stops his music, he is momentarily given the power to jump like a hare. The longer he plays, the higher or father his eventual jump. He can leap nearly as high and long as a barn after a minute or two of playing, but this seems to be the extent of his ability.
Were only that he could carry more than one of these instruments at once! Then he would truly be a wonder comparable to any circus. As it is, however, he is but a man, and can only manage one at a time. Perhaps one day he shall find a way to carry two or all three. Even more promising, he may one day acquire even more instruments, giving him even more strange and mysterious abilities. Perhaps, dear sirs, that will be fodder for a later episode for your journal!
I hope that you shall find this glimpse of Coringham tantalizing and worthy of your investment. I shall await your response with a most hopeful countenance.
Your servant,
HIRAM WASHBONE
Dear Sirs:
I have been directed to your publication by my literary agent and editor, with directions to submit to you a proposition for a future publication contract. Although my submission is perhaps an exotic one for your storied periodical, I have no doubt that you will find it enchanting, and perhaps worthy of reproduction among your other contracted writers' work. It is a serial, with numerous episodes: Enough to fill your pages many times over, month after month. I hope that you will look upon this early application with favor.
First allow me to introduce myself. I am Hiram Washbone, journalist. At the age of 16 I picked up a pencil and dog-eared notebook, ran away from my tender mother's home, and made a life for myself on the road, writing and rambling. I am not the principle character of my stories, however. I shall not bother readers with recitations of my own small part in my recent and continuing misadventures. These stories center upon a more vibrant and intriguing character. It is him that I wish to tell of, not myself, and thus will remain only a happy raconteur, taking no part in his epic journeys and harrowing battles except to relate them to a willing audience. I am aided by my aforementioned agent and editor, Dorin Weatherby, who remains outside the scope of my tales entirely. (Editor's note - Much to the reader's sorrow.)
The man whose life I have decided to put down in ink - and who hopefully you gentlemen will see fit to make the latest addition to your publication - is far more curious than both of us, an interesting and beguiling figure. In brief, he may be described thus:
Name: Saxby Corningham
Age: Between 73 and 76
Race: Caucasian
Hair Color: What remains, white
Eye Color: Green but obscured by thick spectacles
Height: 5 feet, 3 inches
Weight: Perhaps 8 stone
Occupation: Former conductor, instrumentalist, naturalist, botanist, phrenologist
Personality: Coringham is a shy man, although he becomes something of a rogue after one makes his acquaintance. He tells me he was something of a cad in his earlier days, a fact which I do not dispute but to which I cannot attest. Kindly and unsinister, he brings only the best feelings of humanity to those whom he meets. A perfect gentlemen to ladies and an avuncular jokester with children, many children remember him better as "Uncle Saxby" than "Mr. Coringham."
Appearance: I hesitate to describe him too well, for his appearance seems to change with his moods. When you initially meet him, he is hunched and quiet, his bald dome facing foreward, his wrinkled faced cast down. His body is frail but quivers with a repressed inner spirit. When one becomes convivial with him, however, he becomes far more animated, gesturing wildly during bursts of excited speech, jigging down the road with a spring in his boot heel, or whistling a merry tune as he stretches out his long, bumpy neck to search for animal shapes in the clouds. He is fond of dark suits, though accented by colored handkerchiefs.(I have enclosed a picture (http://www.christalk.org/chatters/images/geezer.jpg) for your reference - Ed.)
History: Of this I know little. He once described to me in the most general terms an upbringing in a utopian settlement known as the "Humming Quaker Village." A search of the encyclopedia reveals no such town, but I have faith that the place exists. He was married once - a tarnished wedding band attests to this - but he never speaks of a dead or estranged wife. Of his children I know nothing. Of his adult life I know little more. I can say, however, that he fled a distant country in fear of his life. He tells me it had something to do with "elven music schools," but says little else of it.
Skills: This is perhaps the most amusing aspect of Coringham, which perhaps will pique your literary interest. He is a sorcerer of sorts, but not one of the lower sorts that is normally encountered in saloons and peep shows. Rather, he is a musical musician. By playing instruments, he creates not only sound but also musical effects, the likes of which I cannot explain, but will take great pains to adequately describe. Of the following three instruments, he owns one of each, but refuses to carry more than one at a time. You will find, gentlemen, that in each story I write, he only uses one instrument throughout. In some episodes this has caused some serious problems for both of us, but no doubt it will not aversely affect the enjoyment of your readers.
The Violin: By playing the violin, Coringham not only creates beautiful music, but conjures into being silvery threads, up to three at a time, out of thin air. They are as mobile and light as willow-branches, but as strong as steel. Exuded from the tip of his bow after a few seconds of song, they float to the ground, where they coil much like serpents, nearly a man's height in length. One can snatch one end of them and use them as an especially hardy rope, which is difficult to cut but also refuses to be tied in knots.
The Pan-pipe: When he blows over the tubes of the pan-pipe, Coringham conjures up birds of the air of all sorts, that appear from mere ether, glowing yellow and purple, twittering their happy songs as a choir on Sunday morn. If he plays for long enough, an entire flock might appear, surrounding him with flapping wings and chattering beaks like a wall of hatched chicks. When touched they disappear with a loud "pop."
The Musical Saw: If Coringham has his musical saw about him, he can wobble its flimsy metal to make haunting, grim music. Although it seems to have no effect at first, once the fellow stops his music, he is momentarily given the power to jump like a hare. The longer he plays, the higher or father his eventual jump. He can leap nearly as high and long as a barn after a minute or two of playing, but this seems to be the extent of his ability.
Were only that he could carry more than one of these instruments at once! Then he would truly be a wonder comparable to any circus. As it is, however, he is but a man, and can only manage one at a time. Perhaps one day he shall find a way to carry two or all three. Even more promising, he may one day acquire even more instruments, giving him even more strange and mysterious abilities. Perhaps, dear sirs, that will be fodder for a later episode for your journal!
I hope that you shall find this glimpse of Coringham tantalizing and worthy of your investment. I shall await your response with a most hopeful countenance.
Your servant,
HIRAM WASHBONE