A big writer is coming to town, and Emily and Derek are waiting. You know those deer hunters who climb a tree with a bow? That’s Emily and Derek.
They’re not in the same tree. If they were there might be a little early morning hanky panky, and they’d miss that buck altogether. But then I’m just speculating. Anyway, the reason they aren’t in the same tree is because Emily writes fiction and Derek poetry. However, the goal is the same:
Publication.
Their MFA program brings in the big deer. I mean writers, and let’s end the analogy right now. Celeb writers are hired to speak about art, all very serious and academic, but everyone knows what’s up. The students are looking for a back door.
A recommendation, a nudge, a kiss.
This week’s visiting author, an aging man rumored to have a nose for sweet young things, might also be looking for the same thing. A recommendation, a nudge, a kiss. But let’s not get vulgar.
And it’s only a rumor. Rumor or not, Emily is disgusted. She’s that kind of woman. “You should see how these authors act. You know there’s something going on.”
My mind is elsewhere. “Do you think I can get in on that lecture?”
“We had one guy who only wanted to talk about sex.”
“How would they know I’m not a student?”
“Then he invited us all to the bar. All the girls.”
“Maybe I could slip in later, for the Q and A.”
Emily looked at me. “What are you talking about?”
Your author, I said. I want to get in and talk to him, and see if he’ll recommend me to his agent. Emily considered this. That’s not how it works. You want to impress them, ask the right questions and all. But then you go through the professors. They get you the introduction.
“What’s in it for them?” I asked stupidly.
“It makes the program look good. ‘So-and-so got her agent through our school, and maybe you can, too.’ That’s how the whole thing works. Capiche?”
Yeah, I capiche. And if I had to go through the instructors, I was in trouble. They are well-aware of me, and outsiders don’t impress them. Another door closed, and locked tight.
What the heck. I’m not real comfortable with back doors anyway. I like my work to do the speaking.
In that case, I can hear the industry say, the front door’s right over there. Write so well you can’t be ignored, and query query query!
Yeah, right.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com