You, sir, are evil. Evil, evil, evil. So cunningly and skillfully evil I cannot even resent you for it. Only mutter with grudging admiration that you are evil.
So said His Felinity in response to The Author's story responding to a comic His Felinity had written about library fines.
The Author just smiled; perhaps this time he got one over the artist. I do my best,
replied The Author, smiling. Truth be told, he did enjoy making His Felinity squirm from time to time. If you'll excuse me, I've got a young Catlow to corrupt.
It was one of the things that The Author liked about Their Felinities—the artists might be well-known, but they were willing to talk with an obscure, unpublished author whose greatest claim to fame was a much-rewritten fanfic.
For his part, despite the occaisional tease, The Author did do his best to write in a way that would bring honour to Their Felinities' work.
And despite how he had sounded in his last entry, The Author wasn't bitter that Their Felinities were part of artistic circles that The Author was not. He admired such friendships, merely wishing he could have something like that of his own.
Besides, when he had to admit it, The Author was hardly alone himself. He counted amongst his friends The Flappymouse, The Pumabro, and The Jackass Otter. And, yes, The Author wrote such nicknames deliberately, knowing that while they might obscure to those who knew The Author not, his friends would recognize themselves at once.
Actually, The Flappymouse did have good advice, forging such a group of his own. The Author knew one or two artists he'd include.
Now all he had to do was write more frequently.