Here's how this freelance writer thing works:
1 - I write.
2 - I send what I wrote to an editor I think might appreciate it.
3 - An average of about five times out of six, the editor doesn't.
4 - I become extremely depressed, then repeat step 2 until I sell the damn thing.
If, after a reasonable number of attempts at selling it result in continued depression, I move on to step 5. I pull the piece from circulation and to hell with it. However, if I still believe it has value, I will sometimes publish it here.
The following is one of those pieces. It was returned to me just moments ago accompanied by a rejection slip. I still think it's good, but I'm not going to send it to any more editors. I hope you enjoy it.
It is called...
- “Wow! I still have pretty good reflexes!”
- “Ouch! Not good enough!”
- “It's a glass coffee pot, so why haven't I heard it br... *CRASH* Ah, that's better.”
- “Ow! My tuchus!”
- “Geez, I'm glad that wasn't some other part of my anatomy!”
- “@$#*! It can sit there all night as far as I'm concerned!”
- “There's coffee all over my arm, too? I better get out of these clothes and survey the damage.”
- “I hope I don't get a blister. A blister on my tuchus would be a pain in the ass.”
- “Hah! That's pretty good!”
- “Shoot... Now I don't have any coffee...”
- “Hmmmmm. I wonder if I can get 500 words out of this?”
Obviously, the part about "if you're reading this" was meant for a newspaper audience. This has remained a sow's ear. Well, I thank God, anyway. With all due respect to my various editors - and with absolute thanks for the checks they have delivered - you are my first love.
Soon, with more better stuff. I'm going to go have a mug of coffee and hope history doesn't repeat.