Can things get any stranger than this? I am sitting across from the author who is responsible for penning The Hunger Games and 50 Shades of Grey. Until now we believed these two best-selling trilogies were written by two different women. It has now been revealed that one author is responsible for both. How can this be?
With me to record the interview is Bruce Watson the investigator who first uncovered this huge publishing scam.
[During the entire interview, the author kept moving between one of three iMacs. She was rushing to meet her deadline on the first books in two new trilogies.]
LU: Do you mind if we record you?
Woman: Not at all. [Respondent inserts a new ink cartridge in her printer.}
LU: Please tell us your name.
Woman: Charles Dickens.
LU: I mean your real name.
Author: That is my real name. I had it legally changed about five years ago. But my friends call me Charlotte.
LU: So Charlotte, you freely admit you published your work under the name of Suzanne Collins and ML James?
LU; And that you wrote every single word of The Hunger Games and 50 Shades of Grey?
LU: Then let me ask you why?
CD: Why does anyone write anything? Why? Why? Why?
[At this point Dickens seemed to become agitated and began speaking in two different alternating voices.]
"Put down that plaited leather riding crop, Christian."
"Look what a beautiful pelt."
"Please don't spank me. Not here. Not now."
"Happy Hunger Games to you!"
"I'm tethered. Let me go."
"May the odds be with you."
"I wake with a jolt."
"I just can't wait for the whole thing to be over."
"Oh -- what have I done?"
"Gale, hand me another arrow, quick!"
"Where are my panties?"
Clearly, working on these two wildly dissimilar trilogies had taken its toll on the poor woman. My heart went out to her. She continued to speak in different voices as she frantically typed away on three different keyboards.
"Maybe you should slap her," suggested Watson, who was still manning the tape recorder.
"I don't want to startle or hurt her," I said.
"Might do her good. Might even add a little spice to her various plots," he offered.
I shook her by the shoulders. "Charlotte, snap out of it."
"Get up," Haymitch. It's tour day," she said. I had no choice at that point. I slapped her face gently. Once, twice, thrice. That did the trick. She finally seemed to be herself, whoever that was.
"I'm sorry. This happens to me all the time. I hope I didn't say anything untoward."
Whoever she was or whatever she had done, I could forgive her just for using this word. Untoward. Who talks like that? How much better place the world would be if we all did.
"Charlotte, this can't have been your idea alone. You must tell us, who put you up to this enormous deception? And why? Why? Why?"
It happened again. The use of repetition, which is normally an effective literary device, sent her into another fit.
Would we ever find out the truth about who was behind this great publishing scam?
[To be continued]
Editor's note: This blog post is satirical.
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