It’s a long story that doesn’t bear repeating here on my blog, but I dug out an old, OOOLLLLD piece of writing last week because I think I finally found the perfect person to share it with. So I took this collection of paper pages and retyped the whole thing into a Word document.
As I explained to the person who might appreciate it more than anyone else in my past or current life, this piece of writing is so old that I sent it to the New Yorker magazine via snail mail and received my rejection via snail mail on a slip of paper about the size of a toilet paper square. (The irony has always been lost on me until this very moment. Gah!)
Snail mail, though is a wonderful thing, even now. Because I would not even have the hard copy of “Bloomsbury Memories” if my Canadian friend (and fellow chat room wedding crasher) Sheriff Babey hadn’t sent me a large envelope full of print outs from 1999. I used to have the work on a floppy disk. But. Er.
Ugh. I’m so old.
To double-back on this post’s beginnings: I did not not want to send any unsolicited writing to a stranger, not even a stranger who might like it, not even a stranger who can neither reject it for a magazine (because I’m not submitting it to a magazine) nor retaliate by unfriending me on Facebook (because we aren’t Facebook friends).
So I decided to just post the piece on my website.
I’ve posted much, much dumber things. So.