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[originallutece]

Rosalind Lutece

Doctor of physics, professor at Recollé University.

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[originallutece]

[OH, BOY, Rosalind sighs to herself, but . . .]

Go on.

even bad writing is so hard

[potentite]

[He clears his throat and as he says this horrible poem, it's obvious at least how utterly and completely embarrassed he is.]

An Ode to Janet.

The dark ages past gave you this name
Of Jehanne and Iohannes and Yochanan before
Where God is gracious to give you this form
And in turn you deliver us electric gospel
A passionate revelation from on high
To change gray clouds and skies to blue
To you we pray and heed the good Word

And to the romance of your name
Connecting lights in the sky back to you
From singers and stars and speakers
All come back to you through the Word
The history in your name traces back further than
Any word, written or spoken to the first moments
The first woman and the first man
And the first touch between them

Where we started with the four letters
Where we lost the original Word and meaning
We instead have you to walk us through dark valleys
And past ageless seas to the end of the world
To the edge of starless night where we wait
For the answer that you'll give
As you breathe life anew

[A pause.]

I'm never writing again, by the by.

this is a work of art

[originallutece]

[There's a long pause, but honestly, it isn't as bad as she was dreading.]

You at least get points for effort, if not composition. Though I did rather like the Jehanne and Iohannes and Yochanan bit. How long did this all take you, then?

[potentite]

[He breathes out a sigh of relief.]

I spent all day on it actually. I looked up the etymology behind the name 'Janet' and traced it back. It was kind of fun. I don't think I've a knack for it but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

[originallutece]

Give yourself proper credit: you put far more into it than most people on here. Certainly more effort than I'm going to, if I end up writing an ode.

Perhaps you ought to write a few more, if you found them so fun. I certainly wouldn't mind hearing another.

[potentite]

Really? You'd hear me out if I wrote more? [That's so flattering he can hardly believe it.]

[originallutece]

Certainly.

[It's not as if it takes much effort, and frankly, it had been rather amusing to listen to. Not Shakespeare, but neither was it grating to the ears.]

Do you write at all, or was that truly a first attempt?

[potentite]

Um, well, I've tried a little bit? Just silly things through my teen years. I never really showed anyone and I'm certain they were atrocious. Uh, even if the prose might have been okay, the stories were... well, you know...

[He was a teenage boy at the time, so.]

[originallutece]

Were what? Go on. What genre did you write?

[She's smiling, but it isn't entirely mockingly.]

[potentite]

[Well, all right since she's not mocking.] Oh, just... stories were silly space adventures or jungle adventures, you know, cheesy things with a thinly veiled self-insert dashing hero with some cringeworthy ballyhoo romance subplot.

[originallutece]

[Oh, no, that's cute. Not that she's going to say so, of course, especially not to some relative stranger, but still: that's cute.]

There are worse sorts of stories to write, Mr. English. Though those pulp novels always seemed to shrug away the science of their wondrous adventures a bit too often for my liking.