Sunday, December 25, 2011

EVIL EDITOR CLASSICS


To celebrate the season, here are a couple of EE's old writing exercises, one about a Christmas ghost, and the other about trying to park at the mall during the Christmas season.


The Ghost of Christmas Future Visits EE


What the-- How'd you get in here?

I am the ghost of Christmas future.

That so? You look like John Malkovich.

I get that a lot. I was expecting you to be asleep.

Nah, I do the slush in the wee hours. It's less addictive than sleeping pills. Hey, you wanna help?

I'm not--

An editor? Don't worry about it. Just read the first paragraph of each manuscript. If it sounds like it was written by a lobotomized Lithuanian lumberjack, toss it onto that mountain of paper in the corner. Otherwise put it in the pile on my desk.

I don't see a pile on your desk.

Exactly.

I'll give it a try. Hmm, the first paragraph of this one is only one word.

Is it dialogue?

Yes.

Is it the F bomb followed by an exclamation point?

How'd you know?

Toss it.

You know, this is pretty easy. Wanna trade jobs?

Hmm. What's your job like?

It's nothin. I show some jerk the errors of his ways. He's supposed to learn his lesson, but they never do. The best part is I work one day a year.

Whattaya do the rest of the time?

Surf the web.


Space Quest


Got a craving for a cinnamon bun. Got a craving for a cinnamon bun. Hey, that's pretty catchy. I shoulda gone into advertising. I mean, what's more satisfying: editing some piece-of-crap book from the slush pile so some incompetent author can take credit for all my work while 10,000 people read it; or writing a jingle that'll get stuck in 20 million people's heads until they want to scream?

Got a craving for a cinnamon bun . . .


WTF? There's no parking spaces? What if I had an emergency? What if I needed some medicine for my baby? What if I . . . got a craving for a cinnamon bun?

I'm gonna run out of gas looking for a space. It's not right that people who shop here once a year take up the whole lot while regulars like me can't get in. Hell they got special spaces for the handicapped, why can't they have special spaces for people who just wanna run in and grab a cinnamon bun? Got a craving for a cinnamon bun . . .

Shit, now I can't get that jingle out of my head. Which proves it's effective. Maybe I'll auction it off to the cinnamon bun makers. It's gotta be worth millions.

Why am I wasting my time? I've never enjoyed an entire cinnamon bun. They make 'em too sweet, you get gooey icing all over your hands . . . The first bite's okay. The second and you're thinking, I paid three bucks for this hunk of sugardough? You toss the rest on the floor of the car to keep the one you bought last year company.


I'm outta here. I need gas. I'll stop at a gas station with a grocery that even with it's ripoff prices still only charges a buck and a half for a packaged honey bun that's been on the shelf six months. Got a craving for a cinnamon bun. Got a . . .

1 comment:

ril said...

Merry Christmas!