Such was the case yesterday when I sent an essay for consideration in an upcoming anthology about writing, which is ironic, since I happened to have an essay about the many changes that writers have had to endure over the past five years. I hope the editor likes my thoughts on the matter.
As a general rule, I don't receive many invitations. I have few friends (even fewer who want to admit they know me) and when most people have parties, bashes, and festivities they rarely think of me as being the life of the party. I'd just bring a 2-liter of Pepsi and a bag of Ring-Dings and most people could not endure the embarrassment . . . especially my wife.
"We have to bring something nice to the party," is what my wife usually says. "Pepsi doesn't cut it."
"I bought a bag of chips, too," I point out.
"The expiration date was two weeks ago," she says.
"They probably won't open the bag anyway," I tell her. "That's why we should have brought the Ring-Dings. Everybody likes Ring-Dings, or Pork-Rinds, and they never go bad. A year old Ring-Ding is no different than a fresh one."
Editors are like party hosts. They invite writers to a party and later they decide which submissions they are going to open and enjoy. But I'm not sending these people caviar in silver tins. I'm sending them half-eaten bags of stale Ring-Dings.
Hopefully, this editor is the type who doesn't have an aversion to eating an M & M off a hotel room floor. It's a high traffic area, but chocolate is still chocolate. What doesn't kill you just makes you stronger.
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