I GOT IT

Well, I'm in, and over the past few days, I've been working hard at a certain New York book publisher! Yeah! I won't give specific details to make sure I can continue to speak completely freely over here; although after you read what I have to say next, you'll see why that actually won't be an issue.

I have some unfortunate news. I won't be blogging anymore. I haven't been posting with regularity, and that's because this blog was never a priority for me. In addition, Athena and I got 3 or 4 critique submissions during our 4-month run, so this blog's primary purpose never came to frutition.

I'm actually starting to enjoy NaNoing, and I want to devote my full attention to both it and my new editing job. That is why I am sadly abandoning this blog. Athena didn't post much anyway, so Critiques is essentially dead.

It's NaNoWriMo, everyone!

National Novel Writing Month has been under way for the past six days, and for the first time, I'm taking the challenge. My MS is unfortunately stalled at a few thousand words; how do you writers ever FINISH anything? I prefer editing, I must say.

On the job-hunting front, I'm going to learn whether or not I got the job tomorrow ...

Happy Halloween!

Here's a spooky story for you:

Adam was a middle-aged man with a quickly receding hairline. He didn't have enough money to go out and hire a prostitute, and he wasn't in a relationship, so he decided that the only way he was ever going to satisfy his sexual desires would be to type out a smutty story. Or masturbate. In this case, he did both.

He finished his story and mailed it off to several magazines. A brilliant editor named Onsmi Welcol was working at one of them. Onsmi received the story and promptly burnt his eyes out, as it was hackneyed and full of such brilliant phrases as "her pulsing clitoral maw."

The end.

I have no idea

Um ... words alone cannot do this justice:

Diary of a Nigerian Con Artist
Dear Diary,
I have been captured in Nigeria. The American Devils refuse to send me their PIN numbers, so I have $10 million and no idea what to do with it. I have tried using it for toilet paper and as toupees. I am a princess.

Dear Diary,
Things are getting worse here. I have sent out 500 million emails to Americans all over the world. No takers. Have they cracked the con?

Dear Diary,
I just hung myself.

No dates for the diary entries, first of all. Nitpicky, but a flaw. Second of all ... well, this whole thing is just plain odd. Hilarious, but still demented.

Sorry about that

I know I've been gone for a while. I've been occupied with going to job interviews and such, and I think I may have clicked with one of today's. I'd say more, but I don't want to until I have something concrete.

I'm very excited, though, because I think this is going to work out!

Penii?

Dear Mister Welcol:

I have written a manuscript called Vengeance of Penii [sic], a story about a Sex Ed class gone horribly wrong. I draw heavily on my own experience in a fifth grade Sexuality Education class ten years ago. Now, I am ready to tell my story.

Josh Rivi is your average sixth grader. He goes to school, does homework, and hates school. So when sex ed rolls around, he laughbs [sic] like all the other boys. However, little does he know that sex ed is about to be a nightmare.

"Hey Susy!" he calls to his girlfnied. [sic]

"Hey Josh!" she giggles back. "We have FLE, Family Life Education, also known as Sex Ed, today!"

"I know!"

So they go to separate classrooms. Then --

If you want the rest of the story, please email me at Amateur@Writer.com

Sincerely,
I Am An Idiot

Oookay. Let's start at the beginning of this ... disaster. First of all, Mister Welcol is a little weird; Mr. Welcol is more standard, but that doesn't much matter. The first "This Guy's A Moron" alarm bell went off in my head when I read the title. Is "penii" supposed to be the plural for "penis"? I believe that penises is a perfectly acceptable word; yes, Dictionary.com confirmes that. Penes would also have worked.

Next up, we have the fact that this masterwork is rife with typos, and the fact that this amateur has put the cover letter and actual story into a blender, leaving him with a reeking mess. You don't really need a cover letter for a short story, but if you want to include one, keep it separate from the actual story.

In addition, there's the fact that the ending to this cover letter makes me think that he might really be in fifth grade (or is it sixth? Notice the inconsistency in the letter) himself. "Read the book to find out?" Reminds me of an elementary school book report gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Let's not forget the fact tht story itself is hilariously stupid. If he'd included more, I actually would have read on. However, that's only because:

1. I'm not employed at the moment, so I don't have to rush through manuscript after manuscript, searching for material.
2. I'd read on because of the So Bad It's Funny factor, but I would never even think of accepting this bilge.

No good news on the job-hunting front, by the way.

Tart-tastic!

"They're here."
"Who?"
"The apes ..."

Dear Editor:

The above is an excerpt from my manuscript, Brutality of the Apes. In it, gorillas evolve into an extremely intelligent super-race that tyrranizes [sic] human beings and takes over the world.

I have published three poems with the International Library of Poetry. My manuscript is 68,000 words long and would make a good addition to your publisher.

Thank you for this opportunity. I have enclosed a SASE for your convenience.

{Name Omitted}

This one makes me kind of sad. Poetry.com, aka International/National Library of Poetry, is a scam artist, but I guess this guy fell for their lies like thousands of others. He did at least some of his homework -- he included a SASE, after all -- but this whole letter is just pitiful.

I stole some slush

As I walked out the door of the Meridian building yesterday, I grabbed a massive handful of slush off my desk and ran for it. Thus, I have enough Tartometer material to last for quite some time. Today, I took a story at random from within the pile, and this is what I found ...

Dying
I am all alone.
Isolated.
Solitary.
I am all alone.

I am bleeding to death.
And possibly suffocating.
With pain.
Oh, the pain.

Please, cherubs, save me from this fate!
Oh, I will worship you with my fists of rage balled into clutching
grasps!
I love you!!!
Please, please, please don't leave me all alone!!

As I drive in my red sportscar, I am sad.

This one had me rolling on the floor laughing. I do hope that it's not for real, but ... well, I have an awful suspicion that it's genuine. My guess is that a middle-aged man is going through a midlife crisis because his spouse is leaving him (the sportscar kinda gave it away).

This one's a keeper -- in my folder labeled "Loony Bin."

The Editor Gets Rejected!

Well, sort of. You may have read the Office Politics post preceding this one; if not, get to it so you'll understand this one. The Wicked Witch was up to her antics again, and they started shortly after I walked in the door ...

Witch: We're going to print that story "Willow" in the November issue.

Onsmi: What?! Really? Which story are we cutting?

Witch: Oh, you don't need to worry about that; just look at this as your going away present. I was against it myself, but the Managing Editor insisted.

Onsmi: Excuse me?

Witch: The Managing Editor wants to see you in her office, by the way.
(the Witch walks off)

I walked into the Managing Editor's office. Meridian is small enough that she doesn't have a secretary, so I just head right in. She looks up from her papers.

Managing Editor: Onsmi, I hate to do this, but we're letting you go.

Onsmi: I see.

Managing Editor: We feel that you've been causing too much conflict on the staff, and that you're not what we're looking for in an Acquisitions Editor.

Onsmi: (for once, speechless. They stole that almost verbatim from one of my rejection letter templates! How classy ...)

I suppose it's only fitting that the Managing Editor used a slightly modified version of one of my own rejection letters to fire me. That letter is one of five that I keep on hand. I send it out when the story has some promise, but isn't good enough for publication due to a lack of conflict.

Thanks for submitting your story to Meridian. Unfortunately, I'm going to pass on your story. There wasn't enough conflict, and it's not what I'm looking for in a story for the magazine.

Coincidence? Intentional cruelty by the Managing Editor? Or just karmic retribution? Whatever the reason, I'm now jobless, and with only enough cash saved to pay for four months of living. So I'm going to send a resume to all the magazines in my area -- maybe book publishers, too. I live in New York, so finding publishing jobs to ask about won't be a problem.

Office Politics

Sorry about the three-week hiatus. I'm back now. Really!

There's this absolute hag who works on the Meridian staff -- let's call her The Wicked Witch. She's stubborn and rude, and I have no idea how she ever got onto the staff in the first place -- let alone up to the position of power she's in now. Here's what happened on Friday that ellicited great anger from me:

Onsmi: I think this submission is fantastic; do we have room for it in the next issue? It's "Willow" -- the one I brought up in the staff meeting.

Witch: No, we're already full for this issue. I handpicked the twelve stories myself.

Onsmi: Yes, but that one by Beverly A. Dante was only fair, in my opinion.
(Realizes too late that Beverly is one of the Witch's best friends)

Witch: Well, I disagree. We're printing the stories I picked out.

Onsmi: I'm supposed to be the Acquisitions Editor, but you haven't printed more than a handful of the stories I've recommended during the entire time I've been here.

Witch: I think I know a bit more about this business than you do.

Onsmi: Oh? Then why are you printing a bunch of half-rate stories from your untalented friends? I'm bringing the Managing Editor in on this.

I'm not exactly popular with the Witch now, but any "editor" moronic enough to put friendship over quality has no right to be on the magazine staff. The managing editor was just as intractable. I can't quit, though; this job is my sole source of income, and I don't have any other prospects lined up ... yet. I'm going to start looking, and hopefully I'll find my way onto the staff of a decent magazine this time.

By the way: If you haven't seen my oh-so-clever wordplay yet, Beverly A. Dante is not a real name, of course.