Pasted and made agent, once again, I earned the title of Chancroid of Elfador. I understood public relations and quickly assembled a fleet to sail to Festicularis. Never had so many sumptuous furs been made execrable by laying upon them and evacuating our bowels upon them. The Chancellor of Quas made an appearance by summons of habeas crapus. In our midst he exhibited a prowess for combat with crabs and lice, in a manner so expert, that we allowed him to search and clean our bodies. This was a satisfied accomplishment — maybe even an occasion for pity. We were all destined for history in the outcast country. We would certainly overtake the heathen and Papist alike. We had the flinders of the saints. We had them by the short hairs.
“The most important thing is you can’t write what you wouldn’t read for pleasure… You need to write what you would read if you expect anybody else to read it.”
— Nora Roberts