So, this is what the publishing industry is looking for now? Gaga? Okay, so the next time I submit I'll make sure my manuscript is wrapped in meat. That, or I'll wrap the package in black electrical tape and I'll send along an author photograph of myself tied up in cellophane. I'll get to gaga one way or another.
In my cover letter to editors, I'll try to describe all of the ways my wife is gaga for me. I'll make sure they know I can be a gaga kind of guy. For example:
My wife knows I make a great cup of coffee. Give me a half pound of Starbucks Cafe Verona and eight cups of scummy pond water and I can turn out a decent pot.
Or, I could tell editors how my wife raves about my ability to re-arrange furniture. Some of these pieces--like small sofas and arm chairs and coffee tables--I can lift clean up over my head! I mean, I can lift 'em way up there!! I don't drop 'em either. I re-arrange these furnishings per my wife's instructions and I don't bitch about it one bit. She's gaga for that kind of strength of body and character and gives me high marks for treating our twenty-five-year-old Goodwill furnishings as if they were mint condition. I don't scratch 'em. I just dust off the cat puke and move the pieces around the room like they don't weigh scratch.
Or, I could inform these editors that my wife is gaga over my wardrobe . . . most of which has not changed in twenty years, including the underwear. No one wears polyester better than I do . . . and God-a-mighty, you should see me in Dacron. I can't even describe how gaga my wife becomes when I go 100% cotton. Can't keep her hands off me. She's an animal. That's why I stopped wearing white T-shirts fresh out of the package. She couldn't handle it. I had to take them back to Wal-Mart and exchange them for electrical tape.
Now that I know these editors are looking for gaga, I'll be ready. I won't make the same mistake twice.
As the politicians say: "I'll give 'em what they want."
No comments:
Post a Comment