“It’s so cold out there,” said Anna. “I would say I hope he freezes, but I know that the liquid brimstone that surely flows through his veins will keep him warm.” Pam put a mink stole around Anna’s shoulders. “We’ll all look for the cat,” she creaked. “But first we have to feed our ponies.” “Okay,” said Anna. Pam went to the barn to get her pair of balances. When she returned, she leapt on Acorn’s back, and lo, Anna beheld the black horse and its rider. “Come and see,” Pawnee told Anna. “A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Anna. Acorn ran around the paddock once and then stopped. Anna was surprised that Acorn didn’t run with his friends. But the white, red, and pale horses and their riders were nowhere to be found. Acorn just stood at the fence and stared into the woods. He’s looking for the cat, thought Anna. Even the company of a devil must be preferable to being alone. After they ate breakfast, the girls packed thermoses of You know what, the liquor joke is too obvious here. This time, I’m going to make the thermoses full of healthy soup. You’ve got to give your characters a break once in a while. You’re responsible for them, after all. And not in some shitty pseudo-clever, magniloquent, metafictional way; don’t worry, I’m not going to get all Six-Characters-In-Search-Of-y here. That would just be self-indulgent. I mean, I’m obviously going to inevitably write myself into the story later, and it’s going to be incredibly fucking self-indulgent. I’m going to be handing out indulgences like a sixteenth-century Catholic clergyman. Except I’ll be handing them all to myself. Indulging myself all over the damn place. Martin Luther’s going to have to come over here himself and bust my popish ass for it. I guess what I’m saying, Jane, is that I’m directly responsible for the Protestant Reformation. I conceived of this book as a dumb gag birthday present for you, but it somehow turned into a Faustian (perilously close to fustian) saga about good and evil. At least, that’s what I think it’s become about. I honestly still don’t know at this point. Ergo aforementioned responsibility. I always get carried away with my projects, you know that. But here’s the rub: when I started inserting all that grandiloquent prose, it was ironic and intentionally turgid and purple as shit. But I’m really not sure if that’s still what I’m doing, or if I’m #DetectivePony