Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns The Lord of the Rings. Peter Jackson owns
the movies. But I successfully haggled with Elijah for the rights to
Frodo. Yes indeed, sexual favors were involved.
Intro: The ring is destroyed. Frodo goes off in a boat. Then he comes back because he's so pissed that fan fiction writers collectively think he is not as pretty as Legolas. He decides to stay in the Shire, living in Bag End with Sam and Rosie and lots of hobbit babies until he can find someone to fall in love with who doesn't have a penis. If you, my reader, think Frodo needs another boy in his life to be happy, then this is quite possibly not the story for you, as it pairs Frodo off with a girl. That's all I have to say..except that reading is good but reviewing is better.tra la la.
*** The Diary of Emma Boffin ***
Day One:
I have just now returned from Mr. Baggins' birthday party, and this beautiful empty book was his gift to me. I had asked him a few weeks ago over tea about what sorts of things he had done during his time in the Undying Lands, and he replied that he had spent a great deal of time writing a book about his adventures and the War and all that. I told him that I hoped someday that my life would be worth writing about, but that I didn't expect it ever would be. I'm so dull and homely and far too cowardly to attempt great things. I didn't tell him that last sentence though because it wouldn't do to complain about my life when I had everything in the world I could possibly want, and Mr. Baggins had risked his own life many times over to make mine and those of so many others worth living.
I didn't expect Mr. Baggins to remember that conversation though, and in fact, I didn't remember it myself until I opened the book he handed me and saw the inscription he had written in his small, neat handwriting: For Miss Emma Boffin, whose life is already worth writing about. From your friend, Frodo Baggins.
Well, I don't know why he should think my life worth writing about, but I shall write something because I certainly don't feel like sleeping at the moment although it is very late. Through the small half-round window of my bedroom, I can just see stars winking and blinking through the tree branches.
Oh, the party was so marvelous. I danced three entire dances with Nat Gillenwater and one, yes one, with Judd Bracegirdle (who even told me I looked nice!). It will be rather interesting, I think, in three weeks time when I finally turn thirty-three.Well, I don't know. Nat might start courting me, and I'll be wishing he was Judd. I had three slices of cake tonight, which was not terribly bad, considering how much I usually eat.
Day Two:
Well, it is morning now. I woke up quite late, as did Lucy, and we were so excited to discuss the party that we didn't even change out of our night-dresses to eat breakfast. Now, we have successfully exhausted all details concerning how awful Hyacinth Chubb looked in that pink dress, and how Judd must have danced with her only to be polite (I hope), and how Gus Drury followed Lucy around everywhere she went, and how she allowed him to accompany us home only to humor him.
So now, we are quite cozy before the fire, each of us in our chairs, with our legs tucked up under us. Lucy is reading a book that Mr. Baggins gave her. He seems to be very literate. Once again, I don't know what I should write. Well, I shall write about myself, since that was Mr. Baggins' intended use for his gift.
I am Emma Boffin, daughter of Walter Boffin and Celia Brandybuck. Lucy is my elder sister by five years, but she is unmarried still. Our parents died of a fever when I was just eighteen years and Lucy twenty- three, so the Brandybucks took us in and we lived at Brandy Hall until Lucy came of age and we moved back to Hobbiton. I am now nearly thirty-three years old myself, and Lucy and I earn our livings by running a small flower shop in front of our hole, which is right in the middle of Hobbiton. I have brown hair and blue eyes, and I am a bit shorter and plumper than I should like to be. I like books and animals and singing very much. Also bracelets. And sponge cake.I am immoderately fond of sponge cake, in fact. What else? There really isn't anything else. Oh yes, my best friends are Ruthie Hornblower, and although I suspect he likes me as more than a friend, Nathaniel Gillenwater. Pendleton Proudfoot is alright as well, I suppose.
That really is all that there is to say. My life is indeed vastly less interesting than that of Mr. Baggins, so I feel rather silly going through all that. Ah well, I must get dressed and get to work with Lucy.
Day Three:
Late September is a splendid month in the Shire. I have spent most of this afternoon down by the lake, selling flowers to passersby on their way into town. Mr. Baggins strolled by a few minutes ago and bought several flowers. I was sitting right near the reeds fringing the lake's shores, with my legs stretched out in front of me on the grass, and my book open in my lap, reading over what I have written the last two days, so didn't see him until he was a few yards away, examining my basket of nasturtians.
"Afternoon, Emma," he said when I looked up at last.
"Look, Mr. Baggins," I said, holding up my book.
"Yes, I see you found something to write about after all," he said with a smile.
"Not really," I answered. "I don't think anyone else would find my writing interesting."
"Why's that?" he asked, selecting a few flowers.
I smirked. "Actually, I'm sure my book is far more interesting than anything you've ever written, Mr. Ringbearer. Who wants to read about wizards and elves and saving Middle Earth from doom when one can revel in the thrills of sponge cake and boys and selling flowers?"
He laughed. "Who indeed?" as he pressed a few coins into my open palm and sauntered off with a bouquet of nasturtians.
Intro: The ring is destroyed. Frodo goes off in a boat. Then he comes back because he's so pissed that fan fiction writers collectively think he is not as pretty as Legolas. He decides to stay in the Shire, living in Bag End with Sam and Rosie and lots of hobbit babies until he can find someone to fall in love with who doesn't have a penis. If you, my reader, think Frodo needs another boy in his life to be happy, then this is quite possibly not the story for you, as it pairs Frodo off with a girl. That's all I have to say..except that reading is good but reviewing is better.tra la la.
*** The Diary of Emma Boffin ***
Day One:
I have just now returned from Mr. Baggins' birthday party, and this beautiful empty book was his gift to me. I had asked him a few weeks ago over tea about what sorts of things he had done during his time in the Undying Lands, and he replied that he had spent a great deal of time writing a book about his adventures and the War and all that. I told him that I hoped someday that my life would be worth writing about, but that I didn't expect it ever would be. I'm so dull and homely and far too cowardly to attempt great things. I didn't tell him that last sentence though because it wouldn't do to complain about my life when I had everything in the world I could possibly want, and Mr. Baggins had risked his own life many times over to make mine and those of so many others worth living.
I didn't expect Mr. Baggins to remember that conversation though, and in fact, I didn't remember it myself until I opened the book he handed me and saw the inscription he had written in his small, neat handwriting: For Miss Emma Boffin, whose life is already worth writing about. From your friend, Frodo Baggins.
Well, I don't know why he should think my life worth writing about, but I shall write something because I certainly don't feel like sleeping at the moment although it is very late. Through the small half-round window of my bedroom, I can just see stars winking and blinking through the tree branches.
Oh, the party was so marvelous. I danced three entire dances with Nat Gillenwater and one, yes one, with Judd Bracegirdle (who even told me I looked nice!). It will be rather interesting, I think, in three weeks time when I finally turn thirty-three.Well, I don't know. Nat might start courting me, and I'll be wishing he was Judd. I had three slices of cake tonight, which was not terribly bad, considering how much I usually eat.
Day Two:
Well, it is morning now. I woke up quite late, as did Lucy, and we were so excited to discuss the party that we didn't even change out of our night-dresses to eat breakfast. Now, we have successfully exhausted all details concerning how awful Hyacinth Chubb looked in that pink dress, and how Judd must have danced with her only to be polite (I hope), and how Gus Drury followed Lucy around everywhere she went, and how she allowed him to accompany us home only to humor him.
So now, we are quite cozy before the fire, each of us in our chairs, with our legs tucked up under us. Lucy is reading a book that Mr. Baggins gave her. He seems to be very literate. Once again, I don't know what I should write. Well, I shall write about myself, since that was Mr. Baggins' intended use for his gift.
I am Emma Boffin, daughter of Walter Boffin and Celia Brandybuck. Lucy is my elder sister by five years, but she is unmarried still. Our parents died of a fever when I was just eighteen years and Lucy twenty- three, so the Brandybucks took us in and we lived at Brandy Hall until Lucy came of age and we moved back to Hobbiton. I am now nearly thirty-three years old myself, and Lucy and I earn our livings by running a small flower shop in front of our hole, which is right in the middle of Hobbiton. I have brown hair and blue eyes, and I am a bit shorter and plumper than I should like to be. I like books and animals and singing very much. Also bracelets. And sponge cake.I am immoderately fond of sponge cake, in fact. What else? There really isn't anything else. Oh yes, my best friends are Ruthie Hornblower, and although I suspect he likes me as more than a friend, Nathaniel Gillenwater. Pendleton Proudfoot is alright as well, I suppose.
That really is all that there is to say. My life is indeed vastly less interesting than that of Mr. Baggins, so I feel rather silly going through all that. Ah well, I must get dressed and get to work with Lucy.
Day Three:
Late September is a splendid month in the Shire. I have spent most of this afternoon down by the lake, selling flowers to passersby on their way into town. Mr. Baggins strolled by a few minutes ago and bought several flowers. I was sitting right near the reeds fringing the lake's shores, with my legs stretched out in front of me on the grass, and my book open in my lap, reading over what I have written the last two days, so didn't see him until he was a few yards away, examining my basket of nasturtians.
"Afternoon, Emma," he said when I looked up at last.
"Look, Mr. Baggins," I said, holding up my book.
"Yes, I see you found something to write about after all," he said with a smile.
"Not really," I answered. "I don't think anyone else would find my writing interesting."
"Why's that?" he asked, selecting a few flowers.
I smirked. "Actually, I'm sure my book is far more interesting than anything you've ever written, Mr. Ringbearer. Who wants to read about wizards and elves and saving Middle Earth from doom when one can revel in the thrills of sponge cake and boys and selling flowers?"
He laughed. "Who indeed?" as he pressed a few coins into my open palm and sauntered off with a bouquet of nasturtians.