It began as a mishearing.
Mordor. More doors.
A place of foreboding acquired an unexpectedly promising floor plan.
This is one of the things I enjoy about working with language: a small shift can give a thought somewhere else to go. Sometimes the joke arrives before I understand why I needed it.
In Mikoopolis, that is sufficient cause to investigate.
The Department has objected to the proliferation of entrances. It had only just finished explaining why there were no exits.
A goose has entered through a window.
“That isn’t a door,” said the Custodian.
The goose considered this an architectural suggestion.
These dispatches are somewhere for the world, the work, and the conversations behind it to keep unfolding. Stories, discoveries, linguistic accidents. Occasionally, something becomes a book.
See what has turned up lately →
The spelling department requests a quiet afternoon.
Leave a Reply