Mr. Malt-O-Meal
When people make fun of me for buying cereal in a bag, I say, “All cereal comes in a bag. Mine just doesn’t have a box. I’m saving trees. What the fuck have you done lately?”
Cereal is a serious matter.
An interchange like this typically marks the first and last time a girl will be in my 300 sq. ft. studio apartment. I haven’t had much luck since moving here.
But last night, you were different.
You saw the Cheerios that aren’t called Cheerios in a bag on my one by two counter and you didn’t smirk or say anything snide. You sat on my not-old-enough-to-be-saggy-but-still-is Big Lots futon before I did and asked me to sit down next to you and that made me smile, especially when you patted the cushion, a handmade invitation. When I came out of the bathroom knowing you just heard me peeing through the papery walls, you didn’t look disgusted: you just looked happy I was back. When you asked what I watched on TV and I said I can’t afford cable but I do have internet so I watch a lot of Netflix using a friend’s account and Hulu you said Hulu is how you watch New Girl and a few moments after that we made out.
I walked you to your car (about twenty feet, front door and back, but I still had to be sure you made it) and I gave you kiss on the cheek and in my ear you said, “I’ll come back tomorrow, same bat-time, same bat-channel.”
It’s tomorrow. I’m here.
Knock, knock.
So are you.
** This vignette was published in issue #7 of Vine Leaves Literary Journal, a very cool journal that specializes in super-short fiction and poetry. What might be even better than the story above is the story about how it got published.
A ways back, I sent a few poems to Vine Leaves and they were rejected. It happens. Some time after that, however, I went to submit a short story to them about squirrels and reading Hemingway in a park. Here's the cover letter I sent them when I submitted for a second time:
Dear Vine Leaves Editors,
It appears I am back to haunt your inbox again. I recently sent you some poems that you may have liked, but did not love: I am cool with that. Why don't we give each other another shot, go out on that second date to see if some chemistry exists after all? I'm down if you are! Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read and consider my story for publication. I hope you enjoy my work.
- Leonard Owens
A few weeks later they got back to me:
Dear Lenny,
While
there is so much to admire about your prose, I'm sorry to say that I
don't feel this vignette is quite right for us at this time. However,
please do submit other work in the future. And stay positive!
Our next submission period begins April 1, 2013.
~ Dawn
Okay. So they liked what I sent, but it didn't fit in with what they were trying to do. This happens more often than you would think. Many editors try for a cohesive vision with each issue. I get it.
But I made her smile and she told me when the next submission period was. Well, I took that as a sign that she really did want more. So, I cooked up a little short (the one above) and sent it to them, along with this cover letter, which, in terms of awkwardness and ballsyness, puts the last to shame quite easily:
Hello, Vine Leafy Ladies!
That’s right. Leonard Owens III is back again. (Are you going to demote brownie points because I went all third person right there?) This is the third time, our third date. The first two weren’t total disasters -- I smiled, wrote some sappy poetry, you giggled, you liked my squirrel tales -- but neither time ended in acceptance. But I am not a man to quit so easily on what could blossom into a good thing. I have made up my mind. I will approach this the same way a pimply sixteen year old boy approaches countless rejections from the girl of his dreams, even when she stops saying It’s not you, it’s me and starts saying Yes, it’s really you. That boy don’t stop. No way. He keeps on saying I love you to that girl in a voice as confident as one sheet of single ply toilet paper when greeted with spilled grape juice. He keeps hoping, even when the phone number she gives him turns out to be the local taxi company. Of course, I don’t know about any of this from personal experience. I’m just making an estimated guess.
Joking aside for maybe one or two lines, I wrote a shorty a week or two back and have finally stopped studying for finals and decided to send it your way. If you accept it: groovy! If not: it’s still cool. I just hope you get a kick out of it and my cover letter. After all, what good are words if they can’t make someone crease a cheek (on their face)?
- Leonard Owens III
Yep. I am not making this up. It really happened and I did really make a booty cheeks joke in that last line. I sent these letters to an editor and it really worked. Or, maybe, they just accepted my work so there would be no fourth date. You think that's why? Maybe I should send in something else. That'd really surprise 'em!
Cereal is a serious matter.
An interchange like this typically marks the first and last time a girl will be in my 300 sq. ft. studio apartment. I haven’t had much luck since moving here.
But last night, you were different.
You saw the Cheerios that aren’t called Cheerios in a bag on my one by two counter and you didn’t smirk or say anything snide. You sat on my not-old-enough-to-be-saggy-but-still-is Big Lots futon before I did and asked me to sit down next to you and that made me smile, especially when you patted the cushion, a handmade invitation. When I came out of the bathroom knowing you just heard me peeing through the papery walls, you didn’t look disgusted: you just looked happy I was back. When you asked what I watched on TV and I said I can’t afford cable but I do have internet so I watch a lot of Netflix using a friend’s account and Hulu you said Hulu is how you watch New Girl and a few moments after that we made out.
I walked you to your car (about twenty feet, front door and back, but I still had to be sure you made it) and I gave you kiss on the cheek and in my ear you said, “I’ll come back tomorrow, same bat-time, same bat-channel.”
It’s tomorrow. I’m here.
Knock, knock.
So are you.
** This vignette was published in issue #7 of Vine Leaves Literary Journal, a very cool journal that specializes in super-short fiction and poetry. What might be even better than the story above is the story about how it got published.
A ways back, I sent a few poems to Vine Leaves and they were rejected. It happens. Some time after that, however, I went to submit a short story to them about squirrels and reading Hemingway in a park. Here's the cover letter I sent them when I submitted for a second time:
Dear Vine Leaves Editors,
It appears I am back to haunt your inbox again. I recently sent you some poems that you may have liked, but did not love: I am cool with that. Why don't we give each other another shot, go out on that second date to see if some chemistry exists after all? I'm down if you are! Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read and consider my story for publication. I hope you enjoy my work.
- Leonard Owens
A few weeks later they got back to me:
Dear Lenny,
Thank you for submitting your work to Vine Leaves Literary Journal Issue #06 - and for making me smile. Your letter was fun.
Our next submission period begins April 1, 2013.
All the best,
~ Dawn
Okay. So they liked what I sent, but it didn't fit in with what they were trying to do. This happens more often than you would think. Many editors try for a cohesive vision with each issue. I get it.
But I made her smile and she told me when the next submission period was. Well, I took that as a sign that she really did want more. So, I cooked up a little short (the one above) and sent it to them, along with this cover letter, which, in terms of awkwardness and ballsyness, puts the last to shame quite easily:
Hello, Vine Leafy Ladies!
That’s right. Leonard Owens III is back again. (Are you going to demote brownie points because I went all third person right there?) This is the third time, our third date. The first two weren’t total disasters -- I smiled, wrote some sappy poetry, you giggled, you liked my squirrel tales -- but neither time ended in acceptance. But I am not a man to quit so easily on what could blossom into a good thing. I have made up my mind. I will approach this the same way a pimply sixteen year old boy approaches countless rejections from the girl of his dreams, even when she stops saying It’s not you, it’s me and starts saying Yes, it’s really you. That boy don’t stop. No way. He keeps on saying I love you to that girl in a voice as confident as one sheet of single ply toilet paper when greeted with spilled grape juice. He keeps hoping, even when the phone number she gives him turns out to be the local taxi company. Of course, I don’t know about any of this from personal experience. I’m just making an estimated guess.
Joking aside for maybe one or two lines, I wrote a shorty a week or two back and have finally stopped studying for finals and decided to send it your way. If you accept it: groovy! If not: it’s still cool. I just hope you get a kick out of it and my cover letter. After all, what good are words if they can’t make someone crease a cheek (on their face)?
- Leonard Owens III
Yep. I am not making this up. It really happened and I did really make a booty cheeks joke in that last line. I sent these letters to an editor and it really worked. Or, maybe, they just accepted my work so there would be no fourth date. You think that's why? Maybe I should send in something else. That'd really surprise 'em!
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