AC Rejects Me Again

Beware of Bob or Bobby Sue They Will Reject You and Your Work

AC has rejected another of my pieces. Yes it was my opinion an Editorial if you will. Yes it was well written in my usual folksy style. Yes I ran spell check twice and I know the format as well as I know my fanny. I think the special culprit is that crazy editor Boob oops I meant Bob or is it Bobby Sue.

I met Bob by chance in an antique filled coffee shoppe on the banks of the Olentangy River. I'm still not sure of the gender of this person so I'll refer to him in the male perspective. His hair was disheveled but clean. He had a far away look in his eyes. It was as if he lived squintin' at a computer screen, eatin' only stale donuts, drinkin' stale too strong coffee, and certainly not gittin' enough time off.

I waited patiently while he finished the piece on his lap top. He gleefully marked another piece "We don't pay fer prose pieces, please resubmit as prose or delete." Wait, wait he proclaimed I need one more before I take a break. Quickly he typed the same comment on the upcommin' submission without readin' it. He order from across the room, "another double espresso and hurry it up!"

My chat with this person was informative but brief. He told me that this week he needed to reject 40% of the submissions just to keep his averages up. He claimed he has been inspired by the words of the feetball coach named Woody. "All ya need is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. You writers should heed his advice too."

He mumbled to me as he swallowed the burnin' hot coffee in one gulp. "You writers are all the same you think only in words. Y'all gotta be more passionate about your topic." I offered to buy him lunch and he replied... "Young man I can't be bought fer a few morsels of food. You bring me a piece that's worthy of publication and I'll have it published fer ya no bribes needed. Y'all gotta be passionate about what you write so git to it."

Bob closed his lap top with a snap. Gotta additional double espresso in a big cup, topped with Columbian coffee and added a double shot of Tabasco then ambled out the door. I watched him stow his lap in a saddle bag and mount his Cushman scooter. He waved and gave me a toothless smile as he sped away.