For some reason Charlie had always imagined he’d be a successful novelist. Such a dream was surely about to come true. His first novel had been accepted by a major publishing company. For over a year the manuscript had been edited, honed, changed, amended, corrected, revised, rewritten, modified, improved, refined, sharpened, perfected, enhanced, polished, altered, transformed, adjusted, brushed up, gone over, read aloud, examined microscopically, and had removed from its pages all possible accusations of racism, sexism, and xenophobia. In fact, Charles reckoned he could hardly recognize the original.
He didn’t like the finished product much. It had had the stuffing knocked out of it.
On his final visit to the publisher Charlie was told that the novel lacked panache and it was no longer going to be published. It simply wouldn’t sell. Charlie told them to shove it. He went home and wrote a poem.
Very astute. It’s a fine line. Always time for poetry though.
Just cos you’re a published author… !!!
Ha! I do like poetry. I used to write a lot but haven’t done any in about a year so I do miss it.
Where is the poem, please?
Now there’s a thought!
Ain’t this the truth. I heard a story of an author who was told by her publisher to change the titel of her book to something with the word GARDEN
Sorry, the poltergeists of my computer cut me off. There was no garden in her book so she had to write one in. Sorry for the misspell also – those wee small bas….ds create such trouble for me!
Thanks for the comment(s) Noelle. I thought of you revising your writing when I wrote this! Yes, the poltergeists often meddle too much!
“In order to be able to think, you have to risk being offensive.”
― Jordan B. Peterson
f**kin’ oath…