Zoë has been writing a book (she's always writing, that cute little thing). First she made the front cover:
Her story is called Cat Vs. Dog, which you might think would have a whole lot to do with dogs and cats. Instead we ended up with this word-search, chain-of-thought, the-first-sentence-you-see-is-what-your-truth-will-be-in-2020, that kind of story:
"Zoë's book fer you and me and you."
"Dad you are better at doing things."
"Zoë was happy."
"That can work."
When I pointed out to her that this was a marvelous mess of words (I did not actually use the word "mess" when lauding her word menagerie) but that she neglected to tell her readers anything about the promised cat and/or dog in her title she sat down and scrawled this:
"The cat did not do INEETHING. This is the end."
So, the cat didn't do anything and that, dear readers, is the end of the story.
And I love it so much because that is a very Zoë-style story to tell.
In other news...I think the book proposal I sent out yesterday was accepted (mostly because I got an email back saying, "Let's do this!") and I'm kind of dying of a mixture of excitement and anxiety and don't really know what to do about it. Obviously I have to finish the darn thing now. Perhaps I'll take a page out of Zoë's (literal) book and finish it up with "the story is there is no story. This is the end."