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. S. Gilbert to write his librettos; Wagner
was a terrible writer.
But his preposterous plots were just right for the true confessions
trade... toned down a little, not quite so hard core- and, of course, different
names and locales. I didn't steal them. Or not quite. They are all in the public
domain today, copyrights expired, and besides, Wagner stole those plots in the
first place.
I could have made a soft living on nothing but Wagnerian plots. But I got
bored with it. When Fingerhut retired and bought a turkey ranch, I quit the
confession business and started writing war stories. This was more difficult-for
a time I almost starved-because military matters I do know something about, and
that (as Fingerhut had pointed out) is a handicap.
After a while I learned to suppress what I knew, not let it get in the way
of the story. But I never had that trouble with confession stories as neither
Fingerhut, nor I, nor Wagner, knew anything at all about women.
Especially about Gwen. Somewhere I had acquired the conviction that women
need at least seven pack mules to travel. Or their equivalent in big suitcases.
And of course women are by nature disorganized. So I believed.
Gwen moved out of her compartment with just one large case of clothes,
smaller than my duffel bag, with every garment neatly folded, and one smaller
case of-well, non-clothes
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