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That story I sent into Analog got rejected.
The characters, dialog, premise, and plot, all rejected
The editor said that I must be a fool
To think I can write. But hey, man, it's cool
'Cause I've always wanted to go back to school. Rejected.
The essay I wrote for philosophy class? Rejected.
I think that they might throw me out on my ass. Rejected.
I slaved in the library day after day
Just trying to find something clever to say,
But my own philosophy got in the way. Rejected.
That novel I sent in to Harper and Row: rejected.
How can I revise the thing? Damned if I know. Rejected.
My agent thinks we should perhaps resubmit
The chapters in serial form, bit by bit,
But she and I both know I can't write for shit. Rejected.
The song I was peddling in Nashville was just rejected.
They burned up my lyrics and scattered the dust -- rejected.
I thought that their formula I had down pat:
The dog ran away and I strangled the cat.
But there must be more to a hit song than that. Rejected.
I've just gone to work in the publishing biz -- rejected.
They found me a job where I'm really a whiz. Rejected.
The editing office's shining new star,
I'm working where my skills are way above par,
And now I am writing to say that you are rejected.
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Copyright © H. Paul Shuch, Ph.D.; Maintained by Microcomm this page last updated 28 July 2008 |
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