TRANSVESTITE RABBIT WRITES A NOVEL
The tenth and final
chapter of the world’s shortest novel
Disconsolate, I wandered down the no longer dark hallway and
through the swinging door to the now brightly lit dining room. The immense windows, (with drapes open)
revealed a magnificent sunset over the mountains. The tables were labeled with placards
representing blog rings, just like the numerous areas in the Main
Ballroom. Xangans gathered, hunting
among the tables for the blog ring they most wanted to hang with.
I plopped myself down in an empty chair. The placard on the table read
NaNoWriMo2005. I looked around at the
people already sitting there, wondering if perhaps I ought to strike up a
conversation, but they all looked deep in thought.
“Um, hi guys,” I said.
“I’m Jodi, or rather, Transvestite Rabbit.”
“Hi Transvestite Rabbit!” they all chanted in unison.
“Is this a 12-step novel-writing group?” I joked.
“Oh, there are more than 12 steps,” a woman replied. “At least there are in MY book.”
“Hm, you’re probably right,” I said. “Which one are you?”
She turned her back so I could read the sticker on her
“Oh! Hi,” I
said. “How’s your book coming?”
“Oh, you know, it’s just, really. Yes.”
I stared. Writers can
be surprisingly hard to understand.
“How about you?” she asked.
“Well, I’m about to finish it,” I said.
“No way! You got to
50,000 words already?” Shah’s eyes opened wide.
“Oh no, I didn’t say that.
Less than 8,000, last time I checked.”
“Then how can you be done?”
She poured the red wine the waiter had just deposited on the table into
I took a sip. “I
don’t think I have anything else to say.”
Walking by on her way to somewhere, Carey stopped at my
table. “Anything ELSE to say? You haven’t said anything YET.” And off she went.
I sighed. “Maybe I
never had anything to say.”
Borderline_Traits walked by from the other direction. “What I hear you saying is, you haven’t
anything to say.”
“Look,” I told him, “I don’t dig Carl Rogers. It’s B.F. Skinner or nobody.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Change your behavior and you’ll change your consequences, dig?” He
moved to the next table.
“Yeah, I dig,” I said.
Outside it began to snow.
And snow. And snow.
I ate a delicious meal of the sort that they serve at such soirees. I drank a large quantity of
wine. In doing so I discovered I had
quite a lot to say, though I’m not sure any of it made sense to anyone
else. When dinner was over, Carey
climbed up on a table.
“She sure does that a lot,” I muttered.
“Attention please,” she called. “I have an announcement to make. Due to heavy snow and more on the way, the
airport has shut down. Those of you who
thought you were going to skedaddle out of here this evening because some
existential anguish is making you uncomfortable can just forget it.”
“Swell,” I said.
The other Xangans made their way back to the Ballroom, ready
to boogie the night away. I returned to
the condo Mrs. Jetset kindly lent us. My
husband and children were there, drinking room service cocoa by the fire. They looked red-cheeked, tired, and happy.
“Hi,” my husband said.
“Want some cocoa?”
“No thanks,” I said.
“A package came for you.”
He held out a small parcel.
I took it and turned it over. In crude black marker the label read:
To Transvestite Rabbit
From The Scary Clown
I took it into the bedroom.
In a chair by the window, looking out over the snow-filled night, I tore
the paper off. Tears streamed down my
face as I read the title. Bubble & Squeak.
I opened the book and read the inscription inside the front
Thanks for coming; it was grand to meet you, but I’ve got to go
back. Get busy on yours. We none of us have as much time as we think.
P.S. Go back to non-fiction; you obviously have no talent for
My husband came in and handed me a tissue. “Since we can’t get out of town, the girls
and I are going to ski again tomorrow.
What are you going to do?”
“I guess I’m going to write,” I said. “Hopefully something better than this trite,
“Cool,” he said.