Beg but Poetically
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Having finished the draft and its polishing, now I undertake the most daunting task of describing my project. I consider it so, because:
1) My project consists of twenty-two short stories—a genre that suffers from persecution even harsher than the ones meted to Indian untouchables of yester centuries;
2) I am a fresher in the field who deserve the highest courtesy of a preformatted auto-reply in electronic format;
3) I have to articulate in unfamiliar jargons that can sound more than they speak.
Despite all these, I’ve to move on, reach out to the far-flung corners where talent hunters wait for their day’s kill. I know they are a strange lot who thrive on others discards, who create wealth from waste, and who tackle things that intimidate others. Suddenly they find short stories cannot be the substance of hatred; they are the objects of intellectual adoration. My intuitional optimism so goading me, I’m sure I shall find one before it is too late; and that is why I’m here with my ware. I beg to quote from my own poem:
I am a dream merchant
In search of a customer affluent
For affording a fair bargain.
So Soon? Yes before late.
(‘The Ultimate Chance’—In Harness, March-2004)
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And blah…blah…and blah.
Then what was the result? Oh, it was interesting. Read on.
Dear Nada (name misspelt!),
We have received your submission. Currently you should receive word on your submission in no more than 120 days.
Thank you very much for your submission.
CEO, Mundania Press
And 120 days came and passed just like that. Precisely, it is two years since that Sanders gentleman had sent this encouraging mail. But where is his response? Nothing till date. No reminder from my end could make anybody there move to the keyboard.
So I concluded: my impassioned e-missive deserved only that much—a 120-day wait for something hopeful that was not to come.