No particular reasons why I’m revisiting this specific writing today. I happened to be re-reading some of my past daily writing exercises, specifically from February, went “Hey, that’s a good one. Hey, February 9, that’s today!”
And, well, I figured, why not? I’d never pass up an opportunity to talk about the J.B. Norman of Porthaven.
In her younger years, Eleonora Strahlend was an accomplished adventurer. Since retiring, the adventure stories she has written inspired by her career have become some of the most popular works of fiction in Porthaven.
Her writing career has been sponsored by several wealthy patrons and has brought in more money and fame then her actual adventures ever did.
Pela has often wondered how her mother feels about this. As an adventurer herself, it seems like a bit of a step backwards. But Eleonora seems perfectly content with it. It allows her to make a comfortable living, provide for her husband and her daughter, all without any imminent danger of being eaten alive.
Pela has attended a few of her mother’s book signings. Thanks to the support of her mother’s wealthy patrons, they’re always surprising lavish affairs that draw big crowds of eager readers. It seems like an awful lot of trouble for a few books.
On the plus side, Pela managed to find the Lyte Brigade some work by offering to help set up for the signing. And, since Pela doesn’t exactly need her own mother’s autograph, that leaves them with more time to spend at the snack table.
Pela glances over at the table where her mother is set up and the long line of adoring fans stretching across the length of the room.
“I’m your biggest fan, ma’am,” a particularly excited member of the Musketeer Guard is telling her. “I’ve got all your books. I’ve even got the translations of all your books. Even the infamous first edition of the Hrimfaxi translation of The Treasure of the Crypt King! It’s one of only fifty surviving copies. If I may, ma’am, I think it belongs in a museum.”
Eleonora regards the Musketeer gravely from behind her glasses. “It belongs in the trash,” she mutters.
The translation in question is legendary among fans of Elenora’s books, but for all the wrong reasons. For one thing, the translator’s grasp of the Gardian language was tenuous at best — and non-existent at worse. Subsequently, Eleonora, her sponsors, and her publishers have done everything in their power to see it stricken from the face of Terrace.
A second Hrimfaxi translation was made with only Eleonora’s explicit choice of translator and was much better received.
“Still,” Eleonora says. “It’s always nice to meet such a passionate fan.”
The Musketeer expectantly places his copy of Eleonora’s latest book on the table in front of her. “If you could make this one out to Cornelius,” he says.
“Of course,” Eleonora says, dipping her pen into the inkpot. “To Cornelius,” she says as she writes the words, “thank you for being a fan. I hope you love this latest adventure. Eleonora.”
“And,” the Musketeer says as he places a stack of several more copies on the table, “if you could make these ones out to my aunt, my uncle, my sister, my brother, my father, my mother, my stepmother, and my dog. They’re, uh, they’re all also named Cornelius…”
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