Too Weird to Print
Port Jefferson, NY
January 17, 2008
I sent my story titled "Beach Bum" to a few publications
including Dan's Papers. Dan’s Papers bills itself as the
voice of the Hamptons and Manhattan, but its pages are
filled with real estate ads, recipes, this and that, and blah
blah blah.
They respond that they really like the originality of "Beach
Bum," but it's a "little too weird" for the magazine. They
said they would publish it on their blog in the artist section,
and then said that the artist section is unpaid but would get
my story exposure.
I'm no genius, but I'm no idiot, either. I figured that what he
was really telling me is that I've got an original piece but it
might turn off the real estate agents advertising the
multimillion dollar Hamptons homes in our paper, so they
were going to put it in this place where I wouldn’t scare
anybody. My friend told me that 20 years ago they begged
him to place ads in their paper which, at the time, contained
all sorts of weird stories. They got started being weird, but I
read in the New York Times that Dan’s sold their paper for
18 million dollars to a large publishing company six months
ago.
You see, I don't want to get into the business of writing just
to I end up helping to sell real estate or wellness and spa
treatments. I'd rather write short stories on toilet paper and
then watch them burn into oblivion.
So, I was on this fishing boat in Florida last week and the
best fisher was a woman. On the way back to the dock we
had a nice talk. Her husband gave the occasional
obligatory glance our way as I told her about my writing
and bumming around Florida fishing and swimming in the
ocean. She caught the most fish, the biggest fish, and the
best eating fish, and her job was selling cosmetics at Macy’
s. We joked about a new fragrance called Eau de Grouper,
and we both laughed out loud.
Then she asked, “Have you gotten your head straightened
out down here?" At first I was stunned as I wondered how
she could know that about me. To her, I was just a stranger
on a fishing boat. There was a silence. She looked me in
the eye, and, once I recovered, I said, "Yes, as matter of
fact, I have gotten my head straightened out here in
Florida."
“Good,” she nodded, and then I walked away towards the
back of the boat to sun my face.
Anybody can print my story, or burn my story, or even put
it in the weird art section, and I won't really care. You see,
after I write my story or poem or essay, I've done my job,
and I get to smile before I go to bed.
© 2008 by Michael Domino