End of the Tale
I once wrote a book designed to help young writers with their compositions. Well, that is not exactly what happened. What happened was I told a large group of people that I had written a book to help young writers with their compositions. Neither of these statements were correct. Both were bald-faced lies. And that is how I got into trouble with a friend.
It is a little painful, even today, to tell, but I must finely be honest. I was asked by a group to favor them with an after dinner entertaining speech. I thought it would be a lark to kind of pull their collective legs to fabricate this imagined book that was entitled, “The End of the Tail.” I stated that writing a book is easy to start. One just describes the setting of the world the imagined characters live in. Then you get them into some trouble and worry them around the countryside for a while. Now this is where the young writer gets into trouble. How do you end the story? Never fear, my neat little book comes to the rescue. The book is chuck full of endings of stories. Nothing else. Just story endings. For instance, “John leaned down from his faithful horse, Painter, kissed Rose lightly on the cheek and road off into the sunset.” (Westerns, Love. Pg. 167). You see how easy, and useful this could be? One just looks for an ending that fits the story you have written, tack on the handy, “End of the Tail,” and bingo, you have a prize winning book. The endings are entered in the book both by alphabetical, and by subject. Easy to find, easy to use, and solves a great dilemma in book writing I told them.
I guess I did a better selling job than I thought I was capable of. And that is where I got into trouble. My friend Ruth was in the audience, and she bought the whole story as the truth. She never thought her friend would lead her down the primrose path of fabrication. Ruth hurried home and sent her husband, Fred, out to buy a copy of my, soon to be, best seller. Fred drove to every bookseller in Austin, but could not find a copy of my book. They must have flown off the shelves, he thought. He tried to order a copy, but none could find where to order the famous book. Fred came home empty handed, which did not set well with Ruth. She called me. I confessed. “With a candle lit steak dinner, and a bottle of expensive wine at Hill’s Restaurant I was finely able to regain their friendship.” (Friends, Lying to. Pg. 290)