Wednesday, October 7, 2009


I'm having an internal argument with myself. The question; Should I go out to the bus stop with the kids in the driving rain in my revolting, 900-year-old menswear that I now call pajamas? Clearly I should not, at least, that's what my selfish gut tells me. It was mildly pathetic watching their little silhouettes slouched against the giant drops, but they have raincoats, boots, an umbrella and YOUTH on their side. They don't know any better, and I envy this in children. When I discover it in myself, it usually is in a career-ending ignorance that sets me back for months. Take yesterday for instance. Oh yesterday....
I am trying VERY HARD to get some more freelance work. I'm editing now, two manuscripts, one is a book of very sad, very sexy poetry. The other is, well, I'm not sure what it is yet, that's where I come in, but I think it has something to do with racism in Alabama (we definitely need to work on chapter titles for this one). So, I'm piecing work together, trying to make ends say "hi" to eachother, let's face it, they aren't going to meet right now, so I'll be happy with them having a good wave, maybe blowing eachother a kiss...whatever.
So, this prestigious magazine in our area linked one of my stories to their website. I WAS DELIGHTED!!! Granted, it was a story about lingerie, but who gives a fuck, it was my story, and I've been trying to see what my angle could be with this magazine. So, I sent out a tentative email to the editor, "hey, saw you linked my story, really like your magazine, need any freelancers" blah, blah. He says he'd be interested in some pitches if I had any.
This is where you are supposed to envision a giant pile of feces being chucked at the propellor of a plane.
I'd been on the phone with an old high school friend for about an hour, I'm supposed to be interviewing him for a play review, but instead, we are being totally ridiculous, practicing for our big break into HBO comedy. The conversation actually ended with us comtemplating how we could send to Israel for all of the missing foreskins of American men, who now want them back. We determined that this was an impossible request because the Israeli government had already sewn a giant fish tapestry with all of the "missing pieces", each one representing a scale....
You can see where this is going, I hope...
So after this conversation, I got an ice pack for my face and stomach (from the laughing), and here's where the ERRONEOUS ERROR comes in, I checked my email one last time. I sent out a note to the editor of said cool magazine offering to do a play review. I'd been noticing that their website has always included reviews.
Then, I got a reply. "Our magazine has never done play reviews. Maybe you should review the publication, get an idea as to what stories we do and come up with some thoughtful pitches."
Yup, thoughtful pitches. The translation of this email is: You dumb bitch, you're playing with the big boys now, how old are you, like 5, read the fucking magazine and maybe, just maybe, I'll do you the service of rejecting your idea. Lucky you."
Thoughtful pitches......right. Got it.
Not a good feeling, of course, I was laughing hysterically when I went to bed. There may have been a tear or two. I'm visiting the magazine rack today.
Oh, and dinner, two slices of pizza wolfed down while sitting at my folks' computer trying to print out yet another application for Ghetto services to offset my growing hole of a bank account.

No comments:

Post a Comment