A FUNNY THING HAPPENED - Part 1

A FUNNY THING HAPPENED
(On the Way to Emerald City)

Part 1

Harry Buschman

Every writer wants to get to Emerald City. That is their ultimate goal. The trouble is, the only way to get there is by going through the woods.

Little Dorothy Scrivener was on her way to Emerald City because she had just written a book and that's where the publishers were. But first she had to go through the woods. She gripped her manuscript tightly to her chest and took her first step.

There was no yellow brick road to guide her, and she didn't have anyone for company, no tin man, no scarecrow, not even a white rabbit. She was alone in a dark wood of words. Words were printed on every leaf of every tree; strange words, words like "disingenuous," "specificity." How was she to know which of these words to use or when to use them, or whether to use them at all?

She stumbled over a sign with an arrow on it. Someone had knocked the sign over so she didn't know which way it was supposed to point. It read, "This way to the Quagmire of Cliche." "What was a cliche, and furthermore, what was a quagmire?" she wondered.

On a tree in front of her, someone had nailed a "No Hunting" warning. It said:

Protected Area
$200 Fine for Shooting Oxymorons

"I wonder if a quagmire is anything like an oxymoron," she thought. Then, somewhat nervously, she said, "I'll be glad when I get to Emerald City."

"But you've just arrived, my dear!" The voice came from behind a tree and almost frightened Dorothy out of her wits.

"Pardon me, sir ... I must have spoken aloud," she tried to explain.

A pear-shaped man emerged from behind the tree, he was wearing a velvet suit with a high starched and somewhat yellowed collar that had seen better days. He wore large bottle bottom glasses and carried books under each arm.

"It will not do to be hasty, young lady. I don't mean to question your credentials, but you appear to be, perhaps, fourteen or fifteen years of age. The publishers in Emerald City are insensitive in the extreme and you will find yourself disgraced and back here in no time at all if you're not properly prepared." He seated himself on a fallen log and peered over his glasses at Dorothy.

Dorothy was worldly wise for her age. She was well acquainted with the story of Little Red Riding Hood, and the honeyed words of wolves in general. This elderly, rather professorial looking gentleman didn't look like a wolf ... but a girl can't be too careful, especially of men wearing velvet suits.

"My name is Virgule, young lady. Professor Virgule. It is an assumed name, let me assure you. It is assumed because my father chose to name me James Joyce ... a name I knew I would never live up to despite his optimism. Do you know what a "Virgule" is, my child?"

"I'm sorry, no, I don't ... is it one of the muses?"

"Dear me no ... what do the public schools teach the young these days? A virgule is the slash between the and/or ... I invented it. Now that you know all about me, don't you think you should tell me your name?"

"I am Dorothy Scrivener, Professor. Can you show me the way to Emerald City?"

Virgule removed his glasses and slowly shook his head. "Dear little Dorothy Scrivener," he began ... "why do you think this forest exists? Thousands of years ago the publishers of Emerald City planted these trees and named the leaves ... each one differently. Then they created the Quagmire of Cliche and many more wonders. There are worlds of words you have yet to see."

Dorothy stamped her foot in exasperation, "I am not interested in wonders, or words either for that matter," she shouted petulantly, "I want to be published. NOW!"

"You are not ready, NOW," Professor Virgule explained. "Repeat for me the rule of capitalization of titles ... I dare you."

"Why should I," Dorothy bristled.

"Suppose I was a publisher and I asked you to recite the rules for capitalization of titles ... would you recite them?

"Well, I ... er, I guess," Dorothy stumbled.

"You don't know them, do you?" Professor Virgule smiled knowingly. "I'll tell you ... the rule is as follows: all words are capitalized except articles, prepositions and conjunctions, therefore an example might be Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." Virgule emphasized each capital letter by drawing them in the air as he spoke.

"There," he peered closely at Dorothy, "you've learned something already. The publishers will ask you things like that. Can you repeat the exceptions?"

"Oracles, propositions and conjectures," Dorothy mumbled reluctantly.

"You have a long way to go, my Dear," sighed Professor Virgule. "Follow the sign, it will show you the way."

"There is no sign," complained Dorothy.

"Good God you're an impatient child, aren't you! I haven't put it up yet. When I put it up it will show you the way." He produced a sign from behind the tree and pounded it in the ground with his stack of books.

WITCHES
THIS WAY

Dorothy stamped her foot again, "Well ... which is this way? This sign doesn't tell me a thing ... " Her voice trailed off when she discovered Professor Virgule had disappeared. Indeed, he had his fill of Dorothy Scrivener, and as he plodded through the woods angrily kicking the leaves aside he could be heard to grumble, "fresh young whippersnapper." He paused a moment to look up "whippersnapper' in his Funk and Wagnalls. "Hummph," he muttered, "a cracker of whips -- how strange."