I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Here's Chapter Two of my Dr Who short story, "The Menagerie."

II: SURPRISE

The musical chime on the door sounded as the Doctor entered the shop. A hefty female in a crisp, flowing indigo and teal toga approached him, smiling pleasantly. She was of average height, and had an air of grace and dignity about her. “Good afternoon sir. How may I assist you today?” The Doctor returned her smile warily, remembering the model in the window. “Ummm--Forgive the odd question, but you’re not going remove any bits of clothing, are you?”

Today, the cat's seemed supremely happy, whether it's the new food I've been feeding them (all natural dry food with chicken and veggies), the fact that I'm home more, or the birds suddenly roosting in the eaves out the window--dunno'--but gosh, ain't they happy little campers: running around the apartment, chattering away, playing with their toys, the throw rugs, my foot bandage...the toilet paper roll, again. Much more of that, and it'll be like wiping myself with confettii. Happy New Year! No. I think not. Maybe I should buy and extra roll, just for them?

Flame kissed me today. First, we touched noses--then, she started licking me on the lips a wee bit. At first I thought, "Awww--isn't that sweet?" Then, my next thought was, "God, I hope she wasn't just drinking from the toilet."

So, tonight, coming back from the store--I needed a cheap haircut fast, and WalMart's is the only place I can afford to go--well, for a bad cheap haircut, anyway--but who's complaining, ey? At least now when I go to meet the mayor, he won't mistake me for a two-legged uncurried Fell pony.

So, coming in, I grabbed the mail--oh boy! A letter from a magazine publisher! I'd submitted an article to a small horse publication, back in early August of last year--and I figured, if it took this long to respond--well, what would you think?

I opened it with anticipation--they pay was a good 300 dollars, if published, which certainly would come in handy, most certainly.

It read:

"Dear Miss _________, Thank you for submitting your article on ____________. Unfortunately, our editor has decided that it is not suitable for our publication at this time. While the article was well written, and did fall within our guidelines, the subject matter, our editor felt, was handled a little too briefly to be of use to our readership. We do thank you for your submission. Sincerely, _______________."

Okay, I wrote it to the length required, followed all the guidelines submitted to me--the subject was "too brief?" What the heck does that mean? They only gave me X number of words to write, AND specificly asked that the article NOT be "too advanced" for their readership. So, what the hell do they mean by it was "too brief?" I don't get it.

I mean, I'd rather get criticized than have silence--but vague critiques are almost as bad as silence--oh, I hate that. It's the worst thing, silence. I hate it when either, I've read an essay out loud to the class, given a speech, performed an acting excercise, read a poem, whatever--I hate it when no one says anything! I mean, what you can imagine, sometimes, I think, is far worse than what anyone says to you. And I also feel sort of the same way about vague remarks--it leaves me in the dark--good or rather, constructive criticism, is helpful--it makes you aware of gaps in your knowledge, weaknesses in your performance, what-have-you. But when someone is too broad or too vague in their remarks--it's nearly the same--to me, anyway--as saying nothing at all. It's not helpful, at any rate.

So, while I am only (honest) a little disappointed in my rejection--I'm more upset about the vague reason behind the rejection.

I feel a bit like Bernard from "Black Books"---well, only a bit.