The Dog River Review
43 Main Street, Suite 7
San Francisco, CA 94102
February 12, 2015
Dear Editor,
Attached you will find a 3,000 word fiction manuscript entitled “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” Thank you for considering this piece for publication. I think that you will find that it has a refreshingly light touch and, despite touching on the eternal questions of life, avoids heavy handedness and self-pity (unlike so much fiction today). I believe it is in the style of Tchaikovsky, expressing great sadness but not at the expense of melody.
Your webpage asks for a short biography. Should this be in the third-person or the first? I would feel awkward writing in the third-person about my own life so I will proceed in the first.
I grew up in Indiana but moved to Vermont in my mid-twenties, just after getting married. We’ve been here twenty years now and my wife and I just love the mountains and the countryside. Have you ever been apple picking? I hadn’t before I moved to the Green Mountain State. Nevertheless, it is ever so much fun. My wife and I will go to a sweet and gentle orchard in a town called Shoreham, and then we wander amongst the apple trees, picking the plumpest, crispest apples and putting them in our ½-bushel bags. When the sun is shining the crisp autumn air is fragrant with the smell of apples and leaves, and I must confess, this has become one of my life’s great pleasures. When we have picked (and, I must confess, eaten) our fill, we go to yonder open-sided barn to pay—and we always pick up a bag of fresh cider donuts to munch on during the drive home. I think you will see that these experiences have greatly influenced my fiction.
When it comes to my career, I am not a stranger to success. I currently work as the chief financial officer of a small accounting firm. Regardless, I have always wanted to be a writer. I remember when I was just a little boy my mother would brag to her friends about the pieces I wrote in school. While I was away at university I worked like a busy little bee (if not—dare I say—an ant in a hill) and when I began my career I had little time for writing. Nevertheless, just the other day I had some hours to kill and I thought what the heck? So I picked up my pen and in a flurry of inspiration, I jotted down “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” I hope that you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Michael Saint-Amore
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February 25, 2015
Dear Michael Saint-Amore,
Thank you for sending us “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” While we weren’t able to accept your work for publication at this time, we hope that you will consider submitting your work to us in the future.
Don’t forget: From Mar. 1 to Mar. 31, we will be accepting entries for our Prizes in fiction, nonfiction, & poetry. The winners in each genre will receive $2,000 & publication. This year, Justin Tyler will judge fiction, Kira Henley will judge nonfiction, & Eva Merrill will judge poetry. For more information, please visit our website.
Wishing you the best with your writing,
The Eds.
Dog River Review
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Tri-Town Review
123 Green Street, #4
St. Paul, Minnesota 55104
May 30, 2015
Dear Editor James,
Attached you will find a 3,000 word piece of fiction entitled “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” I hope you enjoy the reading and will consider it for publication in your review.
As for a short bio, well, I was born in a small town in Indiana. When I was aged but 29, I moved to Vermont with my saccharine wife. We have no children and, honestly, I begin to fear that bell is rung: I just turned 49 last week, there is no un-ringing it. The dreams of yesteryear are the reverberating tones—hark! Do you hear them as they dissipate? Now they are nothing.
I have been a successful man of business and it just so happens that I am currently the CFO of a large accounting firm. Nonetheless, I have always dreamed of being a writer and, whether it was a midlife crisis or my destiny knocking, I recently picked up my pen and began to write again after a hiatus of three decades. Now the creativity is just flowing and I am very pleased with the results. I hope you will be also.
Sincerely,
Michael Saint-Amore
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June 13, 2015
Dear Michael,
Thank you for sending us “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” Unfortunately, your piece does not meet our needs at this time.
Sincerely,
The Editors
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The Fishbone Diary
83 Melrose Street
Gadsden, AL 35901
August 2, 2015
Dear Editor Mofot,
Attached is a short piece (3,000 words) called “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” I hope you will consider it for publication.
Michael Saint-Amore was born in Indiana but moved to Vermont with his wife when he was in his twenties. Since then he has separated from his wife, but is amazingly successful—he is an international man of business. His wife did not care so much about Michael’s success; she thought he was cold and went off to live in carnal lust with a sensitive pastry baker named John. But this is fine, because it leaves Michael with more time for writing, which, despite his career, he has always considered his true calling.
Sincerely,
Michael Saint-Amore
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Dear Michael,
Thank you for your interest in The Fishbone Diary. Every year we get a great many quality manuscripts from both established and emerging writers. It is always a tremendous privilege to read the work of the many, many talented writers who send in their work.
At The Fishbone Diary, countless great writers have made their debut, and the Americana Short Story Collection has published numerous authors who got their start in our journal. As a bi-annual publication, however, it is inevitable that we must turn away more stories than we accept, and we will not be able to accept “The Sorrows of the Pelican” at this time. With that in mind, we thank you for your interest in The Fishbone Review, and hope you will consider subscribing. If you purchase an annual subscription today, you will get 10 dollars off. But hurry, the deal ends at midnight. Thanks!
Editor Mofot
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Dear Editor Mofot,
Please shorten your vile rejection letters. They are too long and I do not have the time. Moreover, they are cruel. Put yourself in my shoes for a minute: imagine you met your true love—a beautiful woman you were fated to be with—and imagine the life the two of you had: marriage, candlelight dinners, autumn afternoons spent laughing and picking apples in a rural orchard. And what if, one night, your beloved cooked an exquisite dinner for you—a filet mignon, a delectable pinot noir, garden kale sautéed in extra virgin olive oil—and the two of you sit down to eat, gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes. Now, an hour later, at the end of all this loveliness, your beloved demands a divorce, she wants none of you—though she is glad to shack up with some dog-eyed violet from the local bakery! This is how you treat me; you lead me on just to break my heart. Shorten your rejections!!!
Sincerely,
Michael Saint-Amore
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Dear Mr. Saint-Amore,
We understand that being a writer involves rejection, and we try to make those rejections as painless as possible. Considering the scorn you clearly feel for our magazine, we suggest you do not submit to us in the future. This will save you from our tedious rejection letters.
Thank you very much,
Peter Mofot
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Dear Mr. Mofot,
I will gladly spare you my submissions—you only hurt yourself by rejecting them. Think of the producer who rejected The Beatles, think of the publisher who rejected Proust—you bring shame upon your putrid progeny. Adieu!
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Timeshares Journal of the Arts
853 West Hampshire Street, #13
Boston, MA 02215
November 12, 2015
Dear Editor Steckel,
Please find attached a 3,000-word manuscript entitled “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” Please don’t be put off by the lack of capitalization and paragraph breaks—this was done on purpose, not because of ineptitude. I feel my writing should be considered a form of music, flowing in endless melody. Have you heard Parsifal, have you heard the sweet and lugubrious Tristan? I am Wagner in words, read me like music, please! One must learn to swim to appreciate the many touches of beauty contained in this vast ocean of disguised themes and delicate variations. I hope you are up to the challenge. Enjoy!
Below you will find the brief bio that you need:
Michael Saint-Amore lives in a small Vermont town. He had a successful career as the CFO of an international accounting firm (one of the big four), but has taken an early retirement in order to focus on his art. He is a modern Gauguin, one of those rare artists who is willing to throw away all comfort in the pursuit of new forms.
Every morning Michael wakes up at five AM and spends a good chunk of time working on his stories before breakfast. He lives alone because his unfaithful wife fled town with an ugly-faced baker. But Michael has a cat called Myshkin who is ever faithful. A cat might be arrogant, but animals are always more worthy of trust than humans. They are also more trusting. My beloved wife believed that I was crazy because I suspected she was making eyes at the local baker (subsequent events proved how sane I was!). My wife said she couldn’t trust me not to make scenes and she refused to go out in public with me for the last six months that we were together. Contrast this with the behavior of my cat; she lies on her back, cradled in my arms, and purrs while I waltz around the empty house. My cat doesn’t fear that I will suddenly “make a scene” and throw up my arms and drop her! No, my cat is trusting, and, unlike my wife, she is not a vile harlot. This should be a profound lesson to us all.
Michelangelo Saint-Amore
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Dear Mr. Michelangelo Saint-Amore,
Thanks for your submission. We’re going to say “no thanks” at this time.
Jane Steckel
Fiction Editor
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Ms. Steckel,
“No thanks”? And not a sentence more? You are cruel. You mistreat me. I send you everything I have, the fruit of my blood and toil—I ask you to judge my very destiny—and you throw me off with “no thanks”? Not a sentence more? Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine a man descended into the fiery abyss of perdition: he crawls to the bottom, then toils back to earth and the starry sky, climbing up the devil’s mane; he struggles through purgatory, no one lights his way, he walks purified through Lethe—hark! There stands paradise! Bliss! He stands before St. Peter’s mercy! But the gatekeeper says “no thanks” with a shrug and a shove, sending him tumbling back to the bottom of the pit. Cruelty! How I hate you! Words cannot express how I hate you!!!
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The Fishbone Diary
83 Melrose Street
Gadsden, AL 35901
February 11, 2016
Dear Editor Mofot,
Please find attached a short (3,000-word) manuscript called “The Sorrows of the Pelican.” Please consider it carefully—I really think it’s good, maybe even a masterpiece. It won’t hurt you to accept it, I’ve seen what stuff the journals publish instead of “The Sorrows of the Pelican”; you reject me just to publish some idiotic, sensitive stuff that a common pastry baker could write. “The Sorrows of the Pelican” won’t hurt you, but another rejection will hurt me terribly!
I was born in Indiana and raised by a single mother. My mother instilled in me a sense of my own value. She always told me I would make a fabulous writer. Nevertheless, I decided to chase the bitch goddess Greed, becoming the Chief Financial Officer of a number-crunching firm. My poor mother was a poet; she cared nothing for finance (though she was always careful to pretend that she was impressed by my success). She died alone in an Indiana hospital last year. I was too busy to get there in time and this is my life’s guilt, what inspired me to strive for publication. I thought, “maybe it is not too late to chase that dream my mother weaved for me; maybe, just maybe, I can make her immortal spirit proud.”
Michelangelo Saint-Amore
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February 20, 2016
Dear Mr. Saint-Amore,
I believe we have been down this road before. We have no room for a “Pelican’s Sorrow” at The Fishbone Diary.
Editor Mofot
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February 21, 2016
Dear Mr. Mofot,
I beg your pardon, I forgot that I had sent this to you already. But I have attached a revised copy that can almost be passed off as a brand new “Pelican’s Sorrow.” Please, take a look.
A brief warning concerning form: I have a daring new style. I consider myself a modern blend of Proust, Sartre, and Faulkner. Keep in mind that the seamlessness of my style is a purposeful innovation and, though challenging, will reward the reader’s attention with dividends.
Michelangelo Saint-Amore
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February 29, 2016
Mr. Saint-Amore,
You had harsh words for our editors a while ago, and we wish that you would stop contacting us.
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March 13, 2016
Dear Mofot,
I am sorry. I forgot. It was a moment of poor judgement. But put yourself in my shoes. How am I to face this eternal rejection with equanimity? When I’m rejected, it’s like my life’s being thrown into a pit; it means: you are nothing, your mother’s hopes were vain. I must see my name in print, I need people to read my words and cry out “Bravo!”
But if not, what am I? If not, I only have what I have—and I have nothing. I can get by without a wife or family or job, I can get by with my cat, in my beautiful house—just give me some success. Withhold it and I am nothing!
P.S.—I was visiting a friend near Gadsden last week and I dropped off some flowers at your house, in way of apology. Not home, dark windows. I left them by your door. Did they wither and die?
Your gentle Michelangelo
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March 22, 2016
Mr. Saint-Amore,
I have notified the police of your harassment. Do not, I repeat, do not come near my home again. We at The Fishbone Diary have no need of your writing and we want nothing to do with you. Your writing is a bunch of crap. You just blabber all sorts of boring nonsense. A lack of proper grammar and punctuation does not make a boring story profound. I suggest you get your “amazingly successful” career back on track and stop trying to be writer.
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March 23, 2016
Mr. Mofot,
I cannot believe you would misunderstand me so badly! Weren’t you paying any attention to my words? You took it all the wrong way. Why did you call the police? I just wanted to apologize. How can you be so misunderstanding? You need to read my writing as if it were music—didn’t you try that? It is brilliant—if only you would give it a chance! I swear I will go down in history. And you could too! You could go down in history as the editor who discovered Michelangelo.
Why don’t you understand me? Probably because I am sending you my deepest thoughts via email and you are reading them without hearing the tone of my voice and the look in my eyes. I will be visiting a friend near Gadsden next week. I really think we should meet in person. I don’t needn’t come to your house—we can get coffee at the Flip Side. I don’t know why you hate me so much. You misunderstand me.
Your friend,
Michelangelo Buonarroti
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April 1, 2016
Sir,
I feel it is necessary for me to stress this: if you come to my house you will be arrested. I have no interest in meeting with you. Get this into your head, sir: you are not wanted. It will be good for you to come to terms with this: your writing is not even remotely interesting and, though tastes vary, in your case I doubt that anyone will be able to find anything remotely worthwhile in your tedious scribblings. Your characters are empty, your descriptions are clichés, there is no plot, no development, you try to touch the reader by describing what you probably imagine as tear-jerking scenes of tremendous pathos, but these depictions are trite and sentimental rubbish.
I tell you this for your own good (and because I really don’t want to have to deal with you anymore). Change your ways. You can get your job back, or a new job. You can get a new wife (though I pity her), and you can frolic around with your cat as much as you like. But you will not be a writer. Okay? It’s out. Get over it. You are no genius.
You clown! You are no Proust! I told you not to come to Gadsden, and I hope to God that this car with Vermont plates that just pulled into my driveway is not you! Oh, I see it must be you—it’s some idiot with a bouquet—who else could it be? I’m coming down, fool, and I have a gun adsrgfdgbfdbh—
Matthew Harder lives in Vermont where he works as an accountant and spends his free time writing and reading old books.