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…And Then Things Got Weird….

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Misfortune

The Tragic Death and Death of Igorrina

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“I’m bored,” said young Mina, who sat with her face in her hands.

“Me too. Can we go now?” asked the whiny, childish Jonathan while plunking on his dreadfully-out-of-tune guitar.

“Oh, children. I thought that you were enjoying our picnic,” said the very adult and reprehensi… I mean, responsible Countess Elizabeth. 

“There’s hardly anything left of Nic to pick on,” moaned Mina.

“You kids these days,” Elizabeth continued. “Let me tell you a story about patience. There was once a lonely little girl named Igorrina who lived just down the road in the haunted forest.”

“Is there any other kind of forest?” asked Mina.

“No. Now listen, my children of the night. Igorinna, who couldn’t even find a friend to play Toe Tag with, was convinced that there was nothing in her future. So, not giving a damn,  she always took her futen time doing things. She was never in a big hurry to go…anywhere. 

One day, Igorinna decided that she’d had enough of this world. She tied the end of a rope around the neck that connected her useless head to her body and the other end of the rope to a young spruce tree, determined to stay there until either death took her away or her dream-boy Prince Charmin’ arrived on his white steed to rescue her from her misery. Even the local wolves, lynx, and bears found Igorinna uninteresting and unappetizing. Poor Igorrina spent most of her life tied to that spruce tree in Hoia-Baciu Forest, watching the bats and ghosts fly by in the evening, while protected only by vicious badgers who lived in the dens that circled her. 

Why did they protect her? The badgers didn’t care for Igorrina, but were curious to see what might happen to her in the end. They kept her minimally fed with worms, grubs, and insects. Over time, Igorrina had begun to grow old and ugly while tied to the same branch of that same tree for forty-five years until …”

“Until what, Countess?” asked Jonathan. “A handsome woodsman came along?”

“Fah!” said Uncle Vlad.

“A knight in shining armor?” asked Mina.

“Fat futin’ chance!” said Elizabeth. “You children can be so gruesome.”

“Of course! The handsome prince!” said Granny Lupta Axe.

“No vay,” said Vlad. “Prince Charmin’, the ass vipe, never showed up.”

Elizabeth continued. “So, sad Igorrina sat, leaning against the tree trunk until, you know, one lovely grey day the spruce finally grew tall enough…tall enough to slowly pull Igorrina up by her neck and hang her.”

“No guano! That is so cool,” said Jonathan.

“Talk about patience!” said Mina.

“You kids should see her,” said Vlad. “Igorrina can vear a choker, a string of pearls, a locket, and ten necklaces…at vonce!”

Vlad’s eyes seemed to catch fire. His mustache bristled. “Fute patience!” He pounded the table. “I vant all of the Wisitors and tourists out of my castle! Now!”

:-( My Rejection Letter :-(


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A publisher that I’d met at a party once asked me,

“Would you like my honest opinion on your work?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“It’s worthless,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “Please, tell me anyways.”

#########

Mr. ———,

So that you never send us another manuscript, let me offer you a free list of reasons why we’ve rejected your so-called book, ‘Buried Alive.’

Let us begin with the book’s cover:

Buried Alive is an apt title, prophetic even, as it will surely come to pass. Unfortunately, ‘Buried Alive’ has also been used over 20,000 times. Try something more original like ‘Some Jerk Cut Down a Tree for This?

Regarding the cover art: I’d rather look at dirt being shoveled on my face from the bottom of a lonely, cold, dank grave.

Your author photo: Our office staff sincerely hopes that the image on the sleeve wasn’t your face. But, thanks for the laughs. I’d hate to see what the bus that hit you looks like.

Regarding your intro: It should have been the outro.

Your plot (?): was weighed down by inane ramblings. I was surprised the book had a spine strong enough to hold all Four-hundred and fifty pages.

Only the table of contents made sense. No, it didn’t.

The phrase ‘The End,’ though unoriginal, was a welcome touch.

Your story: I’m amazed that the package didn’t set off ‘the Stupid Alarm’ at the Post Office, and made it past quarantine. Next time, mail your novel in a self-addressed, stamped, travel and motion sickness bag.

Somehow, your manuscript ended up in the litter box. Miss Kitty ‘went’ in my shoes instead. I’m curious about one thing, when you were a kid and your dog ate your homework, did it die afterward?

Your main character’s coma-inducing story arc flat-lined seven chapters before his demise, I assume, from boredom. I wanted to scream, “Get a death!”

Your characters: Non-dimensional — perhaps as shallow as your gene pool.

The appendix: should be removed — without anesthesia — using a plastic Taco Bell spork.

About you, the Author and your message: I’ve met more interesting manikins at Macy’s when I was drunk.

Overall quality: Your tale works better than Ipecac syrup. In fact, I’d say it was a three-bag story.

 I think my puke just puked.

Sincerely,

Name withheld by request

Final Chance Publishing

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