Easter Magic: A Bird in the Hand

Ah, spring!  When I was a child, Easter morning meant a basket of fake grass, eggs, and delicious candy, along with adorable little pipe-cleaner men playing on the sides of the basket, courtesy of an impressively creative mother. It was magic.

I had some magic yesterday, too, holding this dove chick in my hands, feeling its seven-day-old just-fed I'm-a-dove contentment. Nothing says spring like new, happy life.

The Rejection Saga: My Serve

Dear Dr. Emmons:

It is likewise always a pleasure to nearly hit my target.  I dare say I'm getting quite good at it.

Please find (below; really, it's not that hard to find) my rewrite as per your thoughtful and insightful rewrite suggestions.  As is so often the case, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your feedback.

YOS, etc.

The Story: Once upon a time there was a fishmonger named Mollie. Some stuff with fish happened. It was intense. It's over now. The end.

The Rejection Saga: Another Volley

Dear Sonia,

Thank you for submitting another story.  It is always a delight to hear from you, and see the multisplendent amalgams of words you arrange.  This submission was no different.  But we did find a problem with it.  It is too descriptive.  Our readership doesn't have time for all the details, and other aids to imagination that you have included.  Please do a rewrite that lacks any adjectives and adverbs, and avoids long words.  And we'd like to see a fishmonger named Mollie in the story.

Best regards,
Caleb

The Art of Flirting

I'm facilitating two workshops at NorWesCon, Flirting 101 (Fri 4/22, 7pm) and Advanced Flirting (Sat 4/23 10pm).  If you're going to the con, do join us.

For the first time ever, I'll be giving out a Certificate of Flirting Competence to those who attend both workshops and perform competently at the assigned tasks. (Yes, there will assigned tasks: workshop exercises and homework between the sessions. You'll earn your cert.)

If you've never been to one of my flirting workshops, give it a try. My conceptual frame is that flirting is for more than romance, it's an approach to connecting with people around any area of shared interest.  It's a way to approach social interaction that is playful, respectful, and lowers the risks to both parties.

We'll discuss flirting theory, practice approaches, examine rebuffs, and explore the frightening world of rejection and acceptance.

I really enjoy these workshops. They can be full of lively banter, playful and (yes) flirtatious exchanges, outrageous humor, and risk-taking made fun.

Join us if you can.

Rejection Saga: Left Wanting, I Take Action

Dear Dr. Emmons:

I have been so disconsolate since your last letter I have barely known how to reply. We differ, you and I, on the subtlest of tenuous post-modern deconstructionist arguments. Thus I am forced to ask: have I earned this rejection?  No, I must answer; I have not!

So hard and long have I worked for this rejection only to find now it tastes no more of success than failure. It is to me as a glass of water that has sat beside a wine bottle for five minutes is to an alcoholic. How can I show my face to my fellow writers who receive handfuls of rejections a month, all pure and unsullied by questions of reality and "quotes"?  (I have just now spoken that word, so this is correct usage.)

Simply put: I cannot!

While you may understand your rejection to be true and right, good sir, I am left wanting.

And so, please find attached another story submission which I send in the hopes that this time, perhaps, I will have truly earned the rejection I crave. I trust you will give it all the consideration I have by now surely earned.

YOS, etc.,

Sonia Lyris

P.S. Here is my story. It is called "A Story." I have quoted it because that's what I call it.

Once upon a time there was someone who innocently acted with the best of intentions, or perhaps out of ignorance, we can't be sure, and things went wrong. He or she tried to fix this but it only got worse. With a mighty struggle, help from an unexpected source, and attendant personal growth, he or she finally managed to fix the problem in a delightful way that leaves us feeling good.  The end.

Rejection Saga: A Deconstructionist Disagreement

In this chapter of the The Rejection Saga, Dr. Emmons disagrees with me about the nature of punctuation:

 I have faced these fancy deconstructionist (or whatever) arguments from others.  If it is in quotes it is dialog.  Except in the case of those crazy fishmongers that put "FRESH" on their signs (with the quotation marks!--we don't buy fish there), or similar circumstances of which your talking monkey is not one.

I did not bother to ask my wife about this, but I'm sure she agrees.

Best regards,
Caleb

Stay tuned for my fervent reply.

Jam Tomorrow

There's this great quote from Terry Pratchett's Hogfather:

Jam, Today

"It's the hope that's important. Big part of belief, hope. Give people jam today and they'll just sit and eat it. Jam tomorrow, now -- that'll keep them going forever."

Like so much Pratchett, this makes me smile, because it's funny and it's funny because it tastes true. The idea of jam (or whatever you crave) in the future has a particular draw that having the jam in hand (or mouth) doesn't. It would seem like having it today would be clearly better, since tomorrow never really arrives, but no.

Somewhere in understanding this twisted truth that going-to-have-it-later is more shiny than having-it-now, is, I suspect, the key to something Very Important.

So what is there about jam tomorrow that makes it a more powerful incentive than jam today?

Rejection Saga: I Must Decline

Yesterday I posted Dr. Emmons' most recent letter to me in The Rejection Saga. Here is my reply:

Dear Dr. Emmons:

I have a confession to make. I trust that, given the length and intimacy of our friendship, you'll carefully consider my words before passing judgment.

I knew you would bring up the monkey. Given your extensive education, uncommon insight, and position as the editor of the most prestigious arts and science journal in the world, it was inevitable.

Assuming, that is, that you had read the story. We writers are a delicate and insecure lot, never certain that our darling creations will get the attention they deserve. I am deeply gratified to discover that you have, indeed, read all the way through. Yes, the quotes were a deliberate ploy. I trust you understand.

Now, as to the rejection. Yes, of course you need give no reason, but, alas, you have. As I have sought this rejection most ardently, I am loathe to explain your error, but integrity demands I do so.

The monkey is not in our world, but in a virtual reality, and thus not speaking at all. Indeed, the illusion of monkey-speak in this story is a postmodernist reflection on the collective cultural delineation of "speech" in contrast to the abstract notion of "silence" highlighted by appearing within artificial quotes in a story with no true dialog. It is a literary device representing man's struggle to be heard.

From a scientific viewpoint, the monkey's actions move no air molecules and thus fail to change the physical world in any fashion whatsoever. The monkey is, for all intents and purposes, both literarily and literally, mute.

I trust you see the profound symbolism here.

I must therefore with great disappointment reject your rejection as standing on no solid ground. While I long for the rejection I have worked so hard to obtain, I cannot, alas, accept it under false pretenses.

YOS, etc.,

Sonia Lyris

P.S. Thank you, but Mr. Landis is a better writer than I am, so that's hardly a fair comparison.

P.P.S. Should these subtleties be unclear in any way, you may wish to consult your wife, as she has shown uncommon good judgment on these matters in the past.

Will Dr. Emmons disagree? Issue another coveted rejection? Or...? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of the The Rejection Saga.

Rejection Saga: Dr. Emmons Finally Delivers

Dr. Emmons' most recent letter to me would appear to bring The Rejection Saga to a close, but stay tuned for my reply before you consider the matter concluded.

Dear Sonia,

Please excuse my yet again tardy reply. You will surely understand that we are busy here, and these decisions take time.

We have decided to reject your submission. Although we don't need a reason, here is one. Although you claimed your story had no dialog, clearly on page 37 of your ms appears:
"Carry on," the monkey said to Alan, with a smile and a rose.

Frankly you can only give us the run-around on this issue so many times. We have demanded more landscape descriptions, and no dialog, and yet you continue to have your characters jibber-jabber throughout the entire story (or at the very least on the last page.) I hope you in general submit to editors with more patience than I.

Thanks for playing.

Best regards,
Caleb

p.s. You needn't have worried about our fear of rejecting fiction writers. For example, we rejected Geoffrey Landis on the first go.

I'll let him know what I think of this shortly.

Internet Holiday!

You've heard that the Internet is a of sub culture and if you're one of my many geek friends you're like UHM YEAH but for everyone else who is kind of foggy on the whole culture part of the Internet, may I introduce you to...

April First?

This is the day when we Internet geeks (and other creatives) make up stuff that sounds plausible and see how many non-geeks (definitions of geek are conveniently flexible today) fall for them.

It's kind of an Internet Christmas. A day of prezzies of humor for minds. A day to enjoy the fruits of those who have clearly spent way too much time creating amusing stories for our entertainment.

For example...


Google is usually good for a chuckle, and today is no exception. It's not just a good idea, it's the future, but here the big G plays it out for humor with dry delight.

I like EFF's offering which includes earning a degree in facebook privacy settings (*snicker*) and addressing internet porn, but I'm disappointed that they felt the need to tell me it was all for April Fool's. Come on, guys -- even Google doesn't do that.

If you've got favs today, toss 'em at me.

Can't Get No Rejection

By now I am beginning to suspect that my sought-after rejection from Journal of Universal Rejection will not be so easy to come by:

We were very pleased to read your updated story. So much so that we shared it with our wife, who was also very approving. The landscape descriptions are fantastic.

That said, however, there is still too much dialog. Our readership doesn't read dialog. Perhaps a story that is solely about the hills around Derbyshire? Or a travelogue (sans dialog) of popular vacation spots for hit men? Ideally it would be a story with 6 characters and no dialog.

Sincerely,
Caleb
--
Caleb Emmons, PhD
Editor-in-Chief
Journal of Universal Rejection

My reply, which follows, attached a story called: "Landscape, No Dialog, Six Characters":

Dear Dr. Emmons:

I lament my inability to express my pleasure at receiving your non-rejection. You are right: there is too much dialog in the story. I see how your audience could not possibly read such a thing.

I wish I could express to you my gratitude for your willingness to work with me on this issue.

Please find attached my complete rewrite with no dialog whatsoever. I hope it will be more to your and (perhaps more importantly) your wife's liking.

P.S. It occurs to me that despite your fearless reputation in academia, you might be withholding a rejection out of misplaced concern for my emotional well-being. Be assured that I have been rejected before many, many times, though rarely with quite this much work.

P.P.S. Grateful regards to your wife. Does she publish a journal, by any chance?

What will Dr. Emmons do next? Dont miss the next exciting installment in the Rejection Saga!

Rejection Fail

I figured I'd heard the last from the Journal of Universal Rejection when Dr. Caleb Emmons sent me a form letter saying he'd get to my story one of these days. I lamented the lack of a bonafide rejection but in my usual classy way was able to shrug it off and move on with my life.

Then he wrote me again. I've been invited to resubmit my dialog-only story, which he has even, clearly, read:

Thank you for your submission to the Journal of Universal Rejection.

Our readership prefers stories with lots of landscape description.
Clearly as your story stands we cannot accept it for publication.
Should you add something about (e.g.) the hills around Derbyshire into
your story, we would give the story another look.  We also accept
bribes, and are almost as trustworthy as the characters in your story;
small bills only please.

Best regards,
Caleb

My letter back to him:

Dear Dr. Emmons:

It is beyond me to put into words how delighted I was to receive your encouraging note vis-à-vis my story "Done" rather than the swift bona-fide rejection promised me in your Instructions for Authors.

As a writer little could please me more than an invitation to rewrite a story with the possibility dangled before me of being corrected again prior to my pending rejection. Despair and glee war within; never has lack of rejection left me feeling so conflicted.

But I am helpless in the face of editorial whim. Thus please find attached a new version of "Done" which includes a good number of what I hope you will find tasteful and appropriate references to landscape.

I look forward to your reply. Thank you for your kind attention.

P.S. I will, of course, blog about this. You'll be famous. Possibly.

P.P.S. Send PayPal link.

Stay tuned.

I Grieve with You

I bought a lovely card with a photo of flower on the front so I could write something in the way of condolences.

Not those the "Sympathy" cards you see in the store with their canned, insipid sentiments that attempt to save you the trouble of figuring out what to say. Loss of this magnitude is intense, personal, wrenching. Those cards never say the right thing.

But there is no right thing. As I struggle for an hour to find the right words, the ones that say "I'm sorry" and "he was a fine man" but don't tell her how to feel and don't pretend that it's all right, I find myself wishing for the pre-worded card to save me this agony.

Finally I finish. More like I run out of ways to say "condolences". Com -- "with" and "dolere "to grieve."  "I grieve with you."

At the post office I hold an envelope containing carefully handwritten and heartfelt words, oh so inadequate. The envelope feels too light and insubstantial to carry this message.

There is no way to carry this message. I could send a ton of flowers, and I could cry for a week, and it would still be just as inadequate.

As I drop the envelope in the box, I am struck by a sense of futility, frustration, and sadness. The life of a man cannot be summed up, not by a book, not by a movie, and certainly not by a sympathy card.

There is no summation.  There is only goodbye.

Goodbye, Dear Sir

Today a man I admire, respect and care for lies in the hospital dying.

I never heard him complain over the years. Not once. I was always impressed with that. Not when they took out his spinal fluid to irradiate it and put it back, not during chemo, surgery, and not when his heart stopped working, not when his brain stumbled. Each time he'd just - come back, step by step, as if it were something anyone could do. He'd shrug as he described his trials, as if the surgery or chemo were a small thing.  An inconvenience. A minor detour.

He was easy to admire, and it was easy to think he'd keeping beating Death.

This time, it seems not.

Across the years, when I'd see him, he would hug me with a sort of fierceness and a smile, as if to say, "Yes, yes, I am a scientist, but also I believe in you."

The tears of grief are for we who remain in life, not for them, the dead. Where do the dead go, that I can wish this man well?  That I can send something, some final appreciation, some bit of love?

Goodnight to you, dear sir. I hope there is something on the other side, something good and wonderful, because imaging you gone forever is almost more than I can bear.

Coffee Art

You know it's art because it moves you, right?

And when the dark, delicious brew was happily ensconced in tummy, we could still see the image.  Twisted and distorted, but recognizable.

Mmmm, art.