A fictional novel in blog form

Keith Abbott’s important notebooks and manuscripts have gone missing. But so is Keith because he died years ago. This doesn’t stop the ghost of the Zen monk from wandering around Longmont Colorado looking for his stuff while busy solving crimes with his zany buddies. Of course he has the help of three teenage rebels. Meanwhile the city is in the grips of formidable conspiracy theory and oddball religious zealots, a few in the shape of Tirzah Pyrestone, El-Don Mast, Gator Matcha, Teary Filisteinsdatter Mast, Rabbi Dianne T. Lakein and many more!

https://routineapparitions.blogspot.com

Rhino Ritz, An American Mystery Novel is a work of fiction by Keith Kumasen Abbott. Drawing on her father’s storyline in Rhino Ritz, Persephone Abbott pursues her father’s missing archival material in Routine Apparitions. 

Persephone talks about the novel while reading Rhino Ritz on YouTube.

Reviews of Rhino RItz:

“A satirical novel that manages to combine both mystery and sci-fi genres….Action aplenty …and fast dialogue.” — L.A. Times Book Review, Dec. 30, 1979

“Keith Abbott is a brilliant, virtuoso writer….He fascinates. He creates and maintains a climate of everyday perfection, and does it by destroying consistency. — Die Zeit, March 11, 1994 “This is a very funny, loose, episodic book, held together by the various conventions of popular genres. It could have been pretentious but it’s not….The plot is merely the excuse for the meetings in this novel of inventiveness, daring and great humor.” — Contemporary Fiction, Volume I

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Excerpt from Routine Apparitions:

Gertrude Stein cleared her throat. “I will now call this meeting to order,” she said. “We have received many applications beseeching our help.” She looked sternly at F. Scott Fitzgerard. “But we cannot assist all those in need. We must choose.” 

“Fish,” Ernest Hemingway said. “I like the one about fish.” 

“I don’t feel that that one was specifically about trout.” Sherwood Anderson said.

“It was succinct,” Gertrude said. “Unlike the others.” 

They were sitting at Enrico’s in San Francisco on rue de la Paix.

“Nestor Marzipan,” F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “he knows the fellow.” 

“Who doesn’t Nestor Marzipan know?” Ernie asked.

“The point is,” Gertrude said, “this Abbott knows Nestor Marzipan.”

“Point taken, Gertrude,” Sherwood said, “not everyone knows Nestor Marzipan.” 

“It’s a pity,” F. Scott Fitzgerald said, gazing into his glass of absinthe, “‘Lie Down Oakland, I think I Love You’ is a poetic masterpiece.”

“What about Abbott? Is he any good?” Sherwood asked.

“We’ll have to find his manuscripts to answer that question.” Ernie said.

“Then it is settled,” Gertrude said.