Not working in publishing, I don't really get why some authors place their acknowledgements way in the front before even the table of contents, while others wedge it between the index and the pithy note on type. So I may be off-base here, but it sure seems like from my scenic vantage point that tell-alls could be improved if they were simply tell-somes. What’s “all” anyway? Bathroom breaks and meandering digressions on breakfast? Ums and hums, ahs and yahs, every breath and sigh - it's a bit much even for the completist in me.
The tell-all as a vehicle for fame is, like a nuclear fuel cell left to bake in the hot New Mexican sun, reaching the end of its half-life. Let’s say we shift to tell-somes right about now. Wonderful, but the fact remains, these authors have major demons in need of a viable outlet. They can’t stay repressed forever. There must be some kind of therapeutic purpose to dicing every rival and former colleague with the precision of a polished shrimp deveiner.
These people need to talk, and they need someone to talk to. And I have just the place.
Toll booths have seen better days, yet they are still covering most of the country as telltale signs of a different era. While almost done, they’re not gone yet. As more efficient forms of routine government pilfering seek to replace them, the plexiglass safe spaces endure. They are still here though, these sleek boxes in need of a nouveau reason to be.
Why not convert toll booths into confessional booths? That way, these resentful scribes have an outlet (and mind you, a lucrative one for the state). Tell most to their publisher and the rest to an employee of the the New Jersey Turnpike Authority. Like any good therapist knows, attentive listening is significantly boosted by the addition of a modest fee. Exact change arrives eventually.
No comments:
Post a Comment