Story:Finally! Ten days later I finally ask you what the story is. Picture yourself on an elevator. The editor-in-chief from Random House steps onto the trolly car (see, I can talk British!) and pushes the 23rd floor button. Your palms get sweaty, your voice shakes, you find yourself inexplicably standing on your toes. You know you have exactly one minute (or 500 words) to tell her what your novel is about in the hope you can convince her to look at it. Go!
Enough Already
"Leave me alone you stupid little fairy," the woman told the obnoxious little girl who'd suddenly materialized in her life and wouldn't go away, but ...
Better Speck
If you could be just a little bit better, what would you have to do? What is the smallest thing that matters to you?
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The Better Speck by Wolfgang Glinka
He runs across the gymnasium, a double somersault, a cartwheel ending in the splits.
He is an athlete for sure.
He is young but even so he is remarkable.
His muscles of course are toned, perfectly defined, full of springing energy.
His heart rate amazes the scientists.
His looks amaze everyone.
He has the proportions of Leonardo's Vesuvian Man,
Standing perfectly within his circle.
His is the beauty of Michelangelo's David,
Glorious in his youthful prime.
His fingers pluck the strings with liquid grace.
His song breaks every heart.
As does that languid distant look.
Those eyes so near to tears.
That smile so almost a sigh.
The angel of beauty crossed his path.
What can I give you oh perfect youth?
How can I add to your perfection?
There was no reply.
Just a sigh.
The angel knew what to do.
What gift to give the wondrous boy.
He took his heart, his pain, his love.
The youth stood still.
No smile.
No blink.
No tear.
No breath.
The angel flew off.
The boy was no more.
Wolfgang Glinka
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