And it was going to flower . . .
Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler, or C.M.O.T. as he liked to be called, sat up in bed and stared at the darkness.
In his head a city was on fire.
He fumbled hurriedly beside his bed for the matches, managed to light the candle, and eventually located a pen.
There was no paper. He specifically told everyone there ought to be some paper by his bed, in case he woke up with an idea. That's when you got the best ideas, when you were asleep.
At least there was a pen and ink . . .
Images sleeted past his eyes. Catch them now, or let them go forever . . .
He snatched up the pen and started to scribble on the bedsheets.
A Man and A Woman Aflame With Passione in A Citie Riven by Sivil War!
The pen scritched and spluttered its way across the coarse linen.
Yes! Yes! This was it!
He'd show 'em, with their silly plaster pyramids and penny-and-dime palaces. This was the one they'd have to look up to! When the history of Holy Wood was written this was the one they'd point to and say: That was the Moving Picture to End all Moving Pictures!
Trolls! Battles! Romance! People with thin moustaches! Soldiers of fortune! And one woman's fight to keep the - Dibbler hesitated - something-or-other she loves, we'll think about this later, in a world gone mad!
The pen jerked and tore and raced onwards.
Brother against brother! Women in crinoline dresses slapping people's faces! A mighty dynasty brought low!
A great city aflame! Not with passione, he made a note in the margin, but with flame.
Possibly even
He bit his lip.
Yeah. He'd been waiting for this! Yeah!
A thousand elephants!
(Later Soll Dibbler said, 'Look, Uncle, the Ankh-Morpork civil war - great idea. No problem with that. Famous historical occurrence, no problem. It's just that none of the historians mentioned seeing any elephants.'
'It was a big war,' said Dibbler defensively. 'You're bound to miss things.'
'Not a thousand elephants, I think.'
'Who's running this studio?'
'It's just that-'
'Listen,' said Dibbler. 'Maybe they didn't have a thousand elephants, but we're going to have a thousand elephants, 'cos a thousand elephants is more real, OK?')
The sheet gradually filled up with Dibbler's excited scrawl. He reached the bottom and continued over the woodwork of the bed.
By the gods, this was the real stuff! No fiddly little battles here. They'd need just about every handleman in Holy Wood!
He sat back, panting with exhilarated exhaustion.
He could see it now. It was as good as made.