| Humor Non-Fiction posted February 6, 2017 |
  |
A NYC publisher sent me a gift--writing tips.
Short Lived Part 1
by Mary Wakeford
**Brunhilda is my snarky inner voice. She often inserts herself into my writing.
~oO0o~
"It" arrived last week. My three-year-old grandson brought it to me as I was putting the finishing touches on a story. My husband followed in close pursuit asking what I ordered, and how much it cost.
The white cardboard mailing tube was handed off as my grandson and online auditor awaited the unveiling.
The Priority mailing label affixed to the front of the tube correctly revealed my name and address. I was confused while wondering if I had an out of body experience and ordered some new age-defying makeup, or that magic pillow manufactured in Minnesota promising a sleeping experience nearly as good as death itself.
The mailing cylinder seemed too large for makeup and too small for a nocturnal cloud of bliss.
Brunhilda chimed in the only pillow that could deliver us a good night's sleep is one that came with a certified anesthesiologist with a needle inducing a temporary coma state to stifle my husband's full-press snoring. As for magical makeup--I was not going to get Bruni started on the black hole of one-time used makeup jars filling my bathroom cabinet.
Perplexed and terribly curious, I carefully opened the cylinder mailed with a priority sticker from a company in Fremont, California.
I unloaded the roll of paper. It was secured with a cover letter affixed to the top by masking tape, and listed bulleted 12 point unpacking instructions as to not mar the contents within. It was rolled up tight like a savored Cuban cigar, minus the humidor.
"Thank you for ordering from ePingo, we hope you enjoy your print! ... To ensure your print is as flawless as the moment it left ePingo, handle with care! ..."
~ ePINGO we print big
Heeding the instructions, I escorted the four dogs from my office, and began unrolling with precision to reveal a very long poster sporting 22 RULES of PHENOMENAL STORYTELLING. It was presented in an eye-catching, colorful print. It measured 47" L x 12" W. The top of the poster declared in bold white lettering:
BROUGHT TO YOU BY:
PBJPublishing.com
My head was spinning. Brunhilda complained she was going to puke if the spinning continued much longer. She reminded me of the 'purge' following the tea cup ride at Disneyland for the exclamation point to her bitching. Purge my arse---it was more like Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
My oldest daughter came to mind. I suspected it was something she came across while perusing educational posters for her classroom, and sent it as a surprise gift. I fired off a quick text:
ME: Hey, did you order something for me?
K: Like what?
ME: A poster with writing tips?
K: Nope.
Then I texted my other three kids out of courtesy. No, No and No responded, likewise...Nope, nope, and nope.
Brunhilda offered the lame writing club I belong to may have sent it as a booby prize for coming in as the #11 writer for 2016, missing the top-ten list in short works by a few hundred points, or at least fifteen promotional certificates bought with fake moolah. I reminded the little bitch I had ascended from the 41st spot when I joined FanStory last February. With that retort, Bruni threw up a 'Loser' sign with my thumb and index finger centered across my forehead. It was obvious she was in bitch-mode for the second time that hour.
All things considered, I thought Bruni might have been on to something. I logged on to FanStory, clicked on the forum, then profile thoughts to read if anyone else mentioned receiving a poster as a consolation prize. If they had, no one was posting or boasting about it. Apparently, no one wants to brag about being a loser.
The following afternoon, I stole away to my writing cave. I Google'd ePINGO and found a phone number for the company. Pen and paper in hand, I dialed the number...
BREEEEENG - BREEEEEEENG - BREEEEEEEENG.
E: "Hello, you've reached EPingo, how can I help you?"
M: "Hi there, I received a package from you yesterday. It is a lovely writing tip poster, but I have no idea who sent it it me. I would like to send a thank you note. Can you help me identify the sender, or direct me to someone who can?"
E: "Are you sure you didn't order it?"
M: "No, I promise you I didn't." (Brunhilda snickered before rolling both eyes).
E: "Okay, let's see. Can you give me the numbers hand-written at one end of the tube in black marker."
M: "Yes, hold on...(digging through trash) the number is 967458."
E: "Ok, let's see. Let me type this into my computer. Okay. Got it. That was sent to you by Jessica Fogarty.
M: "Jessica Fogarty? I have no idea who she is. I've never heard of her. This must be a mistake."
E: "Jessica is with PNS Publishing in New York City."
M: Brunhilda was drowning out my thought process with her repeated WTF's. "How in the world would Jessica Fogarty have gotten my home address?"
E: "Are you a writer?"
M: "Kind of, sort of, um... I'm not published or even actively pursuing a publisher."
E: "Well, she must have read something you've written, and decided to send you the poster. Good for you."
M: "I wouldn't suggest a publisher sending me a poster with writing tips is a good thing..."
E: "I disagree, she obviously liked what you wrote and sent that to help you get even better."
M: "Tell me, does Jessica send these posters often to struggling writers?"
E: "Yes, she has a standing account with us. I wouldn't say a lot of writers, but she definitely has an active account.
M: "Well, I'm going to have to find a frame for it and hang it up in my writing den, that could be challenging considering the size."
E: "I wouldn't go to the trouble. Just slap it up on the wall with a few thumb tacks next to where you write, and you are good to go. Would you like Jessica's contact information in NYC? Did I mention she's affiliated with NBC News?"
Brunhilda fainted as I quickly scribbled down the nine digit number with a 610 prefix, and thanked the gentleman before ending the call.
Then I sat and stared at the number. What would I say to her? What does one say to a publisher? How much will you pay me to write? Does your offer come with a good SPAG editor? I was still stuck on where she could have read my work. Geez, I must be a decent writer--I can write short stories, but an actual book? Maybe a Novella...
Brunhilda started to come to after her fainting spell--she suggested I check FanStory to see if Jessica is a member--maybe that's where she read my work. So I did. Nope, not under Jessica Fogarty anyway, but then again, few writers use their real names on FanStory. Go figure.
I proceeded to check her out on Google and Facebook simultaneously using split screens. Jessica appeared to be legit. Perhaps my Facebook writing Page caught her attention? Nah. Even my own family and friend circles have ignored invitations to 'Like' my Page. Ireland and England showed more interest in my page than my own peeps.
It was after 5:00 in NYC. I decided my thank you call could wait another day. With that, Brunhilda began cackling like a range-free chicken. "Bwwwaaaaaaaaakkkkk, bwaaack bwaaack bwaaack."
Was it possible I had been freaking D.I.S.C.O.V.E.R.E.D? How would I find time to write for a publisher with two new grandbabies due in a few months? I'll be providing daycare for a toddler and two newborns. Diapers and burping will definitely impact my writing. Brunhilda fainted again.
I retreated from my bat cave and returned to the kitchen where my husband, both daughters and our son-in-law were discussing the best ways to potty train a puppy. My daughter immediately noticed the shit-eating grin Brunhilda sent to each corner of my mouth.
"What's up, Mom?"
I followed my S.E.G. grin with "Anyone want to take a gander on who sent me the writing tips poster?"
You could have heard a pin drop in the pile of smoldering golden retriever puppy caca in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Brunhilda cut me off with, "Don't get overly excited or you'll jinx it." Brunhilda's inherited sense of Irish cautionary reserve was shining through, as usual.
~ To Be Continued
**Brunhilda is my snarky inner voice. She often inserts herself into my writing.
"It" arrived last week. My three-year-old grandson brought it to me as I was putting the finishing touches on a story. My husband followed in close pursuit asking what I ordered, and how much it cost.
The white cardboard mailing tube was handed off as my grandson and online auditor awaited the unveiling.
The Priority mailing label affixed to the front of the tube correctly revealed my name and address. I was confused while wondering if I had an out of body experience and ordered some new age-defying makeup, or that magic pillow manufactured in Minnesota promising a sleeping experience nearly as good as death itself.
The mailing cylinder seemed too large for makeup and too small for a nocturnal cloud of bliss.
Brunhilda chimed in the only pillow that could deliver us a good night's sleep is one that came with a certified anesthesiologist with a needle inducing a temporary coma state to stifle my husband's full-press snoring. As for magical makeup--I was not going to get Bruni started on the black hole of one-time used makeup jars filling my bathroom cabinet.
Perplexed and terribly curious, I carefully opened the cylinder mailed with a priority sticker from a company in Fremont, California.
I unloaded the roll of paper. It was secured with a cover letter affixed to the top by masking tape, and listed bulleted 12 point unpacking instructions as to not mar the contents within. It was rolled up tight like a savored Cuban cigar, minus the humidor.
Heeding the instructions, I escorted the four dogs from my office, and began unrolling with precision to reveal a very long poster sporting 22 RULES of PHENOMENAL STORYTELLING. It was presented in an eye-catching, colorful print. It measured 47" L x 12" W. The top of the poster declared in bold white lettering:
~oO0o~
"It" arrived last week. My three-year-old grandson brought it to me as I was putting the finishing touches on a story. My husband followed in close pursuit asking what I ordered, and how much it cost.
The white cardboard mailing tube was handed off as my grandson and online auditor awaited the unveiling.
The Priority mailing label affixed to the front of the tube correctly revealed my name and address. I was confused while wondering if I had an out of body experience and ordered some new age-defying makeup, or that magic pillow manufactured in Minnesota promising a sleeping experience nearly as good as death itself.
The mailing cylinder seemed too large for makeup and too small for a nocturnal cloud of bliss.
Brunhilda chimed in the only pillow that could deliver us a good night's sleep is one that came with a certified anesthesiologist with a needle inducing a temporary coma state to stifle my husband's full-press snoring. As for magical makeup--I was not going to get Bruni started on the black hole of one-time used makeup jars filling my bathroom cabinet.
Perplexed and terribly curious, I carefully opened the cylinder mailed with a priority sticker from a company in Fremont, California.
I unloaded the roll of paper. It was secured with a cover letter affixed to the top by masking tape, and listed bulleted 12 point unpacking instructions as to not mar the contents within. It was rolled up tight like a savored Cuban cigar, minus the humidor.
"Thank you for ordering from ePingo, we hope you enjoy your print! ... To ensure your print is as flawless as the moment it left ePingo, handle with care! ..."
~ ePINGO we print big
~ ePINGO we print big
Heeding the instructions, I escorted the four dogs from my office, and began unrolling with precision to reveal a very long poster sporting 22 RULES of PHENOMENAL STORYTELLING. It was presented in an eye-catching, colorful print. It measured 47" L x 12" W. The top of the poster declared in bold white lettering:
BROUGHT TO YOU BY:
PBJPublishing.com
PBJPublishing.com
My head was spinning. Brunhilda complained she was going to puke if the spinning continued much longer. She reminded me of the 'purge' following the tea cup ride at Disneyland for the exclamation point to her bitching. Purge my arse---it was more like Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
My oldest daughter came to mind. I suspected it was something she came across while perusing educational posters for her classroom, and sent it as a surprise gift. I fired off a quick text:
ME: Hey, did you order something for me?
K: Like what?
ME: A poster with writing tips?
K: Nope.
Then I texted my other three kids out of courtesy. No, No and No responded, likewise...Nope, nope, and nope.
Brunhilda offered the lame writing club I belong to may have sent it as a booby prize for coming in as the #11 writer for 2016, missing the top-ten list in short works by a few hundred points, or at least fifteen promotional certificates bought with fake moolah. I reminded the little bitch I had ascended from the 41st spot when I joined FanStory last February. With that retort, Bruni threw up a 'Loser' sign with my thumb and index finger centered across my forehead. It was obvious she was in bitch-mode for the second time that hour.
All things considered, I thought Bruni might have been on to something. I logged on to FanStory, clicked on the forum, then profile thoughts to read if anyone else mentioned receiving a poster as a consolation prize. If they had, no one was posting or boasting about it. Apparently, no one wants to brag about being a loser.
The following afternoon, I stole away to my writing cave. I Google'd ePINGO and found a phone number for the company. Pen and paper in hand, I dialed the number...
BREEEEENG - BREEEEEEENG - BREEEEEEEENG.
E: "Hello, you've reached EPingo, how can I help you?"
M: "Hi there, I received a package from you yesterday. It is a lovely writing tip poster, but I have no idea who sent it it me. I would like to send a thank you note. Can you help me identify the sender, or direct me to someone who can?"
E: "Are you sure you didn't order it?"
M: "No, I promise you I didn't." (Brunhilda snickered before rolling both eyes).
E: "Okay, let's see. Can you give me the numbers hand-written at one end of the tube in black marker."
M: "Yes, hold on...(digging through trash) the number is 967458."
E: "Ok, let's see. Let me type this into my computer. Okay. Got it. That was sent to you by Jessica Fogarty.
M: "Jessica Fogarty? I have no idea who she is. I've never heard of her. This must be a mistake."
E: "Jessica is with PNS Publishing in New York City."
M: Brunhilda was drowning out my thought process with her repeated WTF's. "How in the world would Jessica Fogarty have gotten my home address?"
E: "Are you a writer?"
M: "Kind of, sort of, um... I'm not published or even actively pursuing a publisher."
E: "Well, she must have read something you've written, and decided to send you the poster. Good for you."
M: "I wouldn't suggest a publisher sending me a poster with writing tips is a good thing..."
E: "I disagree, she obviously liked what you wrote and sent that to help you get even better."
M: "Tell me, does Jessica send these posters often to struggling writers?"
E: "Yes, she has a standing account with us. I wouldn't say a lot of writers, but she definitely has an active account.
M: "Well, I'm going to have to find a frame for it and hang it up in my writing den, that could be challenging considering the size."
E: "I wouldn't go to the trouble. Just slap it up on the wall with a few thumb tacks next to where you write, and you are good to go. Would you like Jessica's contact information in NYC? Did I mention she's affiliated with NBC News?"
Brunhilda fainted as I quickly scribbled down the nine digit number with a 610 prefix, and thanked the gentleman before ending the call.
Then I sat and stared at the number. What would I say to her? What does one say to a publisher? How much will you pay me to write? Does your offer come with a good SPAG editor? I was still stuck on where she could have read my work. Geez, I must be a decent writer--I can write short stories, but an actual book? Maybe a Novella...
Brunhilda started to come to after her fainting spell--she suggested I check FanStory to see if Jessica is a member--maybe that's where she read my work. So I did. Nope, not under Jessica Fogarty anyway, but then again, few writers use their real names on FanStory. Go figure.
I proceeded to check her out on Google and Facebook simultaneously using split screens. Jessica appeared to be legit. Perhaps my Facebook writing Page caught her attention? Nah. Even my own family and friend circles have ignored invitations to 'Like' my Page. Ireland and England showed more interest in my page than my own peeps.
It was after 5:00 in NYC. I decided my thank you call could wait another day. With that, Brunhilda began cackling like a range-free chicken. "Bwwwaaaaaaaaakkkkk, bwaaack bwaaack bwaaack."
Was it possible I had been freaking D.I.S.C.O.V.E.R.E.D? How would I find time to write for a publisher with two new grandbabies due in a few months? I'll be providing daycare for a toddler and two newborns. Diapers and burping will definitely impact my writing. Brunhilda fainted again.
I retreated from my bat cave and returned to the kitchen where my husband, both daughters and our son-in-law were discussing the best ways to potty train a puppy. My daughter immediately noticed the shit-eating grin Brunhilda sent to each corner of my mouth.
"What's up, Mom?"
I followed my S.E.G. grin with "Anyone want to take a gander on who sent me the writing tips poster?"
You could have heard a pin drop in the pile of smoldering golden retriever puppy caca in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Brunhilda cut me off with, "Don't get overly excited or you'll jinx it." Brunhilda's inherited sense of Irish cautionary reserve was shining through, as usual.
~ To Be Continued
My oldest daughter came to mind. I suspected it was something she came across while perusing educational posters for her classroom, and sent it as a surprise gift. I fired off a quick text:
ME: Hey, did you order something for me?
K: Like what?
ME: A poster with writing tips?
K: Nope.
Then I texted my other three kids out of courtesy. No, No and No responded, likewise...Nope, nope, and nope.
Brunhilda offered the lame writing club I belong to may have sent it as a booby prize for coming in as the #11 writer for 2016, missing the top-ten list in short works by a few hundred points, or at least fifteen promotional certificates bought with fake moolah. I reminded the little bitch I had ascended from the 41st spot when I joined FanStory last February. With that retort, Bruni threw up a 'Loser' sign with my thumb and index finger centered across my forehead. It was obvious she was in bitch-mode for the second time that hour.
All things considered, I thought Bruni might have been on to something. I logged on to FanStory, clicked on the forum, then profile thoughts to read if anyone else mentioned receiving a poster as a consolation prize. If they had, no one was posting or boasting about it. Apparently, no one wants to brag about being a loser.
The following afternoon, I stole away to my writing cave. I Google'd ePINGO and found a phone number for the company. Pen and paper in hand, I dialed the number...
BREEEEENG - BREEEEEEENG - BREEEEEEEENG.
E: "Hello, you've reached EPingo, how can I help you?"
M: "Hi there, I received a package from you yesterday. It is a lovely writing tip poster, but I have no idea who sent it it me. I would like to send a thank you note. Can you help me identify the sender, or direct me to someone who can?"
E: "Are you sure you didn't order it?"
M: "No, I promise you I didn't." (Brunhilda snickered before rolling both eyes).
E: "Okay, let's see. Can you give me the numbers hand-written at one end of the tube in black marker."
M: "Yes, hold on...(digging through trash) the number is 967458."
E: "Ok, let's see. Let me type this into my computer. Okay. Got it. That was sent to you by Jessica Fogarty.
M: "Jessica Fogarty? I have no idea who she is. I've never heard of her. This must be a mistake."
E: "Jessica is with PNS Publishing in New York City."
M: Brunhilda was drowning out my thought process with her repeated WTF's. "How in the world would Jessica Fogarty have gotten my home address?"
E: "Are you a writer?"
M: "Kind of, sort of, um... I'm not published or even actively pursuing a publisher."
E: "Well, she must have read something you've written, and decided to send you the poster. Good for you."
M: "I wouldn't suggest a publisher sending me a poster with writing tips is a good thing..."
E: "I disagree, she obviously liked what you wrote and sent that to help you get even better."
M: "Tell me, does Jessica send these posters often to struggling writers?"
E: "Yes, she has a standing account with us. I wouldn't say a lot of writers, but she definitely has an active account.
M: "Well, I'm going to have to find a frame for it and hang it up in my writing den, that could be challenging considering the size."
E: "I wouldn't go to the trouble. Just slap it up on the wall with a few thumb tacks next to where you write, and you are good to go. Would you like Jessica's contact information in NYC? Did I mention she's affiliated with NBC News?"
Brunhilda fainted as I quickly scribbled down the nine digit number with a 610 prefix, and thanked the gentleman before ending the call.
Then I sat and stared at the number. What would I say to her? What does one say to a publisher? How much will you pay me to write? Does your offer come with a good SPAG editor? I was still stuck on where she could have read my work. Geez, I must be a decent writer--I can write short stories, but an actual book? Maybe a Novella...
Brunhilda started to come to after her fainting spell--she suggested I check FanStory to see if Jessica is a member--maybe that's where she read my work. So I did. Nope, not under Jessica Fogarty anyway, but then again, few writers use their real names on FanStory. Go figure.
I proceeded to check her out on Google and Facebook simultaneously using split screens. Jessica appeared to be legit. Perhaps my Facebook writing Page caught her attention? Nah. Even my own family and friend circles have ignored invitations to 'Like' my Page. Ireland and England showed more interest in my page than my own peeps.
It was after 5:00 in NYC. I decided my thank you call could wait another day. With that, Brunhilda began cackling like a range-free chicken. "Bwwwaaaaaaaaakkkkk, bwaaack bwaaack bwaaack."
Was it possible I had been freaking D.I.S.C.O.V.E.R.E.D? How would I find time to write for a publisher with two new grandbabies due in a few months? I'll be providing daycare for a toddler and two newborns. Diapers and burping will definitely impact my writing. Brunhilda fainted again.
I retreated from my bat cave and returned to the kitchen where my husband, both daughters and our son-in-law were discussing the best ways to potty train a puppy. My daughter immediately noticed the shit-eating grin Brunhilda sent to each corner of my mouth.
"What's up, Mom?"
I followed my S.E.G. grin with "Anyone want to take a gander on who sent me the writing tips poster?"
You could have heard a pin drop in the pile of smoldering golden retriever puppy caca in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Brunhilda cut me off with, "Don't get overly excited or you'll jinx it." Brunhilda's inherited sense of Irish cautionary reserve was shining through, as usual.
~ To Be Continued
 Recognized |
Brunhilda is my snarky inner voice, also affectionately referred to as Bruni for short. She often inserts herself in my writing. She is a bit of a hag, but always has my back.
Booby prize (noun) a prize given as a joke to the last-place finisher in a race or competition.
I have changed the name of the publishing agent for privacy purposes.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Booby prize (noun) a prize given as a joke to the last-place finisher in a race or competition.
I have changed the name of the publishing agent for privacy purposes.
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