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1-775 - SkipFron
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1-775 [Frook 1, chapter 7.7, brick 5]

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A published novelist, a promoted starship Leutenant and a very happy bot orb entered the office of the insane theoretical physicist who'd saved the known universe more times than he could remember lying about.
 "Ah, Skip! Skiff! Fluto! What an unusual trio to visit me before closing, as I was expecting a flock of drunk checkered seaguls and a dead horse.## Though I suppose you mot or mot not have known that, given the fact that you mot or mot not have skills of temporal perception it would be impossible to speak of currently given the proximity of the end of your book in just a few minutes."
 " 'Mots.' "
 "Mots, whatever."
 "Anyway, you have to beat a horse to death before you can beat a dead horse at checkers."
 "Well said!"
 "Dr. .Xipf, there are a few lingering unresolved questions I have regarding--"
 "Nuh! Stop! After all you've been through today, you must realize that revealing any details about your story to date would spoil a backwards reading permutation any freer thought to confuse themselves with! Nevermind that I just reminded you a moment ago!"
 "You simpply supposed so, you did not actually suggest anything, and given I'm a free friter and a freer to boot, I decided to push my luck splitting hairs."
 "Dr. .Xipf, who would read a frwoa backwards anyway?"
 "I don't know, a dyslexic freer? An Exedrin-addicted masochist who just saw Memento and wanted to further their confusion? You shouldn't too much sanity about your freers, Skip, as you take the cake for insane literary involvement."
 Skip cringed a little in mention of the cliche "take the cake" and the borderlined Fair Use allusion to an frwoa too similar to his own for his tastes.
/./ Tell me, Skip, what was your book about?
 Skip shrugged.
 Skiff frowned.
 Fluto wavered with a 1.3% chance of short-circuiting in an electrical seizure.
 "Well--well... it was, you know, the big book I was supposed to write, and did. The first book of the greatest fractal nonlinear Flutonian frwoa ever fritten."
 "And the salvation of the K.S.S. Delbrient which would surely have perished if it weren't for the virtual coma the Urgg induced during his capture to study the human creative process."
 "Zlifm. And a decent nucleus for the borb artistry network."
 "And now that it's all over, what on Fluton does it matter if I remember what it was about?"
 "But if you can't remember, how will you write the others?"
 Skip shrugged.

 Risking a quick infringement, Skiff tapped his multi-siff communication device and looked up toward the ceiling for an operator in the stray chance that Bix had misprogrammed his simulation and landed him in the Matrix. He of course kept silent as actually calling for one would severely worsen the effect of Unfair Use frwoa laws in the area.
 Fluto wavered again with a 2.7% chance now of short-circuiting into an electrical seizure, and beeped up.
 "Zlifm. Zlifm. Well, his whole inspiration for the zwoa came from his confusing amnesia of not knowing who or where he was or what or how to write. So how would he write anything else without losing his mind again?"

 Skip looked nervous. Very nervous, and the bot orb might have looked like it felt regret for having spoken up if it'd decided it could feel anything at all. Yet he failed to admit he'd simply come all this way just to repeat the same crisis. "Also, in all the reading permutations of my book, I'd imagine confusing oneself by reading it backwards would be a pretty popular one, so how could I speak now of things that have come before without spoiling the beginning for everyone?"
 "Or the middle. Zlifm."
 "Not to mention the Prologue."
 "There was a prologue??"
 /../
 Skip could barely even think back to the start of the hour when the crisis of furthering his great frwoa had been thrust upon him. After all this, he'd determined life must go on after your first manuscript, yet in all the fretting hadn't been the slightest bit curious about what his frwoa was actually about. It didn't seem to matter much when it seemed his publishing career--and practically that of the known universe someone had once named Okuaka--would cease to exist at 7:77, nor did it seem to matter in the middle of the crisis for reasons only a lingering deja vu of the time told him made any sort of sense, but now that the end of the day was just mots away, he found himself at the greatest crisis he could ever even vauguely remember facing.
 "But... But... it was the book! The ultimate book; the themes that answered the great questions of life and the ku and the--" He stopped and stared dead ahead at Dr. .Xipf's blank whiteboard as he realized that his closest Hitchhiker's infringement ever doomed his defense itself to total invalidity.
 "Exactly. Your creativity is out the airlock, as it was at 1:11 when you couldn't remember how to be creative at all. You haven't just prepped for discovering a new source of inspiration for your story, you've also lost your ability to actually write anything creative."
 "Again."

 Skip could remember the feel of the start of the day clearly now, sans the details. He hadn't been able to write creatively as he had no experience with Flutonia, and could mostly only reference copyrighted material from 188th billennia Earth for some bizarre reason. He'd only begun to be creative once he'd infringed enough to learn how to disguise it by enough mixing enough scattered pieces together as to make a reference to any one of them nearly undetectable. He'd defended himself by figuring that's all any writer ever does, but facing the upcoming horrors of turning to a blatant thief again, he was beginning to question that he ever was anything but one to begin with. That he might have to repeat the same proccess forever--or until the end of his writing career, which it was now highly questionable would be a very long one--was something he was not prepared to tolerate.
 Skiff and Fluto now looked half-concerned for Skip and their own problems that related to his skills, but mostly /seemed to be/ wondering what the hell they were doing in the scene /ROFL/ as the climatic epiphany of a young writer's life didn't seem to necesitate any non sequitur particular occurences of character camio. Perhaps his publisher should have been here, or his agent, or god or something./LOL Or maybe a television show of This Was Your Short Life As a Flutonian Frwoa Friter Somewhere Between Do We Really Have To Go Through This Cliche for Even One More Sentence?! Or some type of Truman Show ending where he has a talk with a
 Fluto zleeped.
 Skiff considered pulling out his zleep device to play Tetris.
 Skip glanced at the clock and came to a sudden and total epiphany. One more clear and real than any thought he could ever, ever, ever remember having. A pondering so great that words describing just how undescribable and unspeakable it was especially overly beyond out of the question. Perhaps what would be a great greatest example of its greatness if any could be given at all would be that a vast, great frwoa static phenomenon of a size many in Okuaka had never even heard of, any most physicist would say is impossible unless they experienced it for themselves, one of a magnitude grazing the general ballpark of indescribability of Skip's epiphany but that wasn't quite there because it was an offshoot like a copy of a copy and too big to be that important anyway. The anomaly grew and grew, to the point no friter anywhere could have gone on with the scene without ending it abruptly in just a moment, harboring them all from the guilt of contrived cut-short endings for all eternity. Skip had an epiphany, and it was great and vast and mighty, and it was his.
 ...But no freer in the universe ever found out what it was.

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