Issue #184 : Unappreciated Glory
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“I don’t know why you have so much trouble seeing my value as an author,” Bruno sputtered. He looked around the reception area, as if waiting for someone to speak in his favor. “You read my pedigree, yes? Award winning author? Surely you can sell that to your book peddlers.”
Richard frowned as he looked over the single sheet of paper Bruno had handed him. “I see you won a writing contest here but it looks like it was a writing contest for kids. And…” He paused as he leaned in closer, sure he had misread something. “Did you write the date down correctly? It says this was just a year ago.”
“Indeed,” Bruno said, incredulously. “You can be sure they will have modified the wording of the contest guidelines since my masterstroke.”
“Okay, but when you hear the words, ‘award winning’, I think most people assume something…I don’t know…more impressive?”
“Then the pages I sent you!” Bruno blurted out. “You had to have been impressed with the prose. I realize you might not be sure how to fully disassemble such lofty prose, but—”
“Frankly, it was a bit on the eccentric side for what I usually represent.”
Bruno paused mid-sentence, as if he had never considered the way the word tasted in his mouth. “Eccentric? Eccentric? The writing was too eccentric for you? What precisely do you mean by that? Surely we aren’t dragging our readers down to the lowest common denominator? Has modern art really fallen so low as this?”
“Look Bruno, you are clearly very invested in your work and I applaud you for that. I really do. But I don’t think it’s quite ready for publication. And more importantly, from what I have seen of you and the type of writing I generally represent, I don’t think I would be the right fit for your—”
“Oh. I see. Well, this was clearly my error. I was under the assumption that you represented books that were of a quality. I assumed that you were looking for written word that was actually worth the effort of the ink soaked into the paper. I assumed you realized that the art of creating is about heart and vision!”
“Bruno…” Richard paused as he looked over the pages. “From the best I can tell, your story here is about a mushroom. And it’s four hundred pages. That’s not particularly compelling and I can’t see the average reader getting—”
“Oh! The average reader? I forgot about them. We are seeking out the dregs of our once great society, now. At least now I know what language we are speaking. Gutter gobble! Toys and baubles! Pre-chewed food. And as for the story itself, I will have you know that this book is a stunning examination of the search for self-understanding. It’s something you could stand learning as well.”
“Okay, well I think that maybe we should just—”
“Maybe I should write a book about a lesbian ninja who strives to be the first to circumnavigate the globe blindfolded? I could give her a talking sousaphone for a friend, the whole time eating tacos? Only to find the answer was inside of her the whole time.”
“Come on, now you’re being—”
“Ridiculous? I knew you were going to say that.”
Richard paused for a moment, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what that means.”
“No, I suppose you don’t, do you?”
“Okay look, we have work we have to get done here today so I’m really going to need you to move on. If you’re as good as you say you are, I’m sure you will have no trouble finding an agent who will help you. This just isn’t the right match for me and if I’m not personally invested in your work, neither one of us are doing each other any good.”
“What would be right for you? Are my words too long? I could try and arrange for some pictures to go along with it if that will make things easier.”
Richard put up his hands, having long since grown tired of the argument. At first he had been worried about other clients getting a bad impression of how he dealt with people. But they all seemed to have silently taken his side, looking with scorn upon this intruder.
“I am a literary force to be reckoned with!” Bruno yelled, looking around the room again, as if someone should recognize him. “You are no more than the animal leavings I step over on my way from here to there.”
And to think he had considered calling in sick that day. “Okay, then. Thank you for stopping by so I could meet you.”
Bruno lifted a hand and opened his mouth to speak before pausing. After several seconds, he shook his head. “Philistine.” He turned and headed for the door, running into it at full tilt before realizing that he needed to pull. As the door closed, Richard could see Bruno turning as he approached the curb to scream back at him. “When I put all of your creatively challenged children to shame, you will rue this day. And did you hear that device, by the way? ALLITERATION! That’s what a real writer does with the magic of his—”
Richard jumped back as a bus flew around the corner, taking Bruno off his feet in the process. He saw what was left of Bruno, thrown at least a hundred feet before rolling to a stop in front of a bus shelter. Richard ran to the window to look out, his clients crowding up alongside.
And so it came to pass that the world famous author got to star in his final scene.
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