Thursday, September 11, 2008

Every time a writer blogs, a literary agent cries

"NOOOOO," Agent XX screamed as her forehead banged into the tabletop. Hysterical weeping echoed into the livingroom to her running husband as he entered the kitchen to see what was wrong.

"Honey? Are you okay? What’s going on?" Mr. XY rubbed his wife’s shoulders trying to console her.

Agent XX lifted the daily newspaper up to her husband. Her finger tapped at the bold print of the front page headline:

Police officials are still baffled by a string of bizarre circumstances happening within the writing community. Their latest victim, whose name is being withheld until the family has been contacted, was found in his home Friday evening in a comatose state. The writer had white foam bubbling from his mouth and a glazed expression on his smiling face while sitting in his chair by the computer. Although the 54th victim this month, the police are still no closer in finding the cause or a suspect in all these cases. The only clue they have appears to rest on the victim’s computer monitor: a giant orange box with a white letter B at the center. If anyone has additional information, they are asked to contact their local authorities . . .

Mr. XY placed the newspaper down. "I’m sorry, dear. Was this writer a client? We could send some flowers?"

Sniffling, Agent XX raised her wet face off the table. "No, the writer wasn’t a client. But he could have been!" Suddenly Agent XX wrapped her arms around her body, her head whipping about suspiciously. "I have to put a stop to this. We can’t keep losing these writers. I won’t let THEM take anyone else."

"Them?" Mr. XY asked, confused.

Overexcited, Agent XX’s breathing sped up as her palms reached out and gripped the table edge tightly. "Yes! They are the evil taking away these aspiring authors’ minds. Neglected manuscripts are collecting dust on desks as these helpless people are wasting time making posts on their . . ." she trailed off and shuddered in dread.

"The evil? Um, honey, are you sure you’re okay? Maybe I need to take you on a long vacation to a sunny beach where we can be alone together."

"No, we will still find THEM hanging around in coffee shops and hotel rooms. Any place that has an internet connection; they will be lurking there. THE DAMN BLOGGER DEMONS," she shrieked and clutched the side of her head as if in pain.

Mr. XY tugged at one ear trying to get his hearing back. "Blogger demons? Do I have to go to the store and buy a can of Raid?"

"Bug spray won’t stop them. We need something more . . . electrifying. Maybe like a shock to the writer every time they are about to log into their Blogger accounts. Something to get them focused back on their work." A glimmer of an idea sparkled in Agent XX’s eyes. She rubbed hands together in eagerness. "Yes, that will work. You’re good at wiring. We could find some way to hook up an electrical generator so that it will send a burst of current into these writers’ keyboards whenever they are about to click on the ‘New Post’ button. About 500,000 volts should do the trick."

Mr. XY’s face winced. He stared at his wife with growing concern. "Honey. Even if I could hook up a powerful generator without frying every electrical circuit in the house, 500,000 volts would more than likely kill a person."

"Better a quick painful death than a slow mind-numbing one."

"Uh huh," Mr. XY murmured as he helped his wife up to her feet. "Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and take a long soothing bubble bath. It will make you feel better."

"Yes. A bath would feel nice . . . so nice." A serene grin rested on her lips as Agent XX strolled from the kitchen and up the stairs. "I could write up our alibis to the police when they question us about the strange power outages."

"You do that, dear. I’m just going to putter around the house for a little while," Mr. XY called up the staircase. He listened carefully for the sound of rushing water splashing into the bathroom tub, then he ran over to the computer. A click of the mouse banished away the screen saver as his eyes fastened on the glowing monitor. His head leaned in close while a stream of drool slid off the slight indent of his lower lip as it hung suspended over the keyboard. Reflected in the drop of warm liquid was the tiny image of an orange box and the white letter B.


  1. Ooooh death by blogger!

    Don't most published and hopeful published writers blog? All the best ones that I know do. ;)

  2. Yes, a lot of writers do blog, but its the time management issue that's the biggest concern - when we know that we should be writing but instead I'm checking my email every half hour.

  3. Dear Michelle:

    My patient, James "Suldog" Sullivan, was in the midst of replying to your post when he suddenly had his head explode and his brains go splattering against the wall of his office. While this might seem like a fatal injury, in his case it should have little effect upon his writing. In any case, while I was bandaging his head, he requested that I tell you how much he enjoyed your latest piece. He then started mumbling something about naked photographs, but I'm sure that had nothing to do with you.

    Yours Truly,

    Dr. Hugo Z. Quackenbush

  4. Brilliant, Michelle...beginning with the "XX" and "XY" appellations, all the way to the very end!

    I'm thinking of giving up the orange box/white B combo. For some strange reason that I can neither fathom nor find a cause for Blogger has decided it doesn't ant me to write in Word and cut 'n' paste my post into their "compose" screen without TOTALLY hosing my formatting up. It worked well for two and a half years and then suddenly went belly-up sometime about a week ago, totally p!ssing me off in the process. There may be a Wordpress blog in my immediate future!

  5. Michelle, whoaaaa... you can write, really write. Just when I think you can't top yourself, you do!

    Does this story mean you're spending too much time blogging? You know me always looking deep into your writing. :)

  6. cute with the xx and xy, michelle... story's good, too ;)

    as for 500,000 volts... while dangerous, just remember: CURRENT kills... and you don't need a lot, if i recall about 5 micro amps, for some folk

  7. Dear Dr. Hugo Quackenbush: While I am sorry to hear about your latest patient, James "Suldog" Sullivan, had his brains hit the wall, I am relieved that the lobotomy went per schedule. The pictures he mumbled about I believe have to do with your wife gallivanting with Mr. Sullivan during a recent rainstorm. I would check in on that if I were you. I am glad he enjoyed my latest post,

    Sincerely, Michelle Hickman

    Buck: Glad you liked the story.

    Personally, I don't use Word to cut/paste into blogger. I use wordpad and never had a problem except for formatting spaces and italics. Still, if you should leave the blogger flock, please still stop by and visit!

    Sandra: No hidden meaning this time. Just a story in celebration of my first love - writing.

    Laughingwolf: It's the current, not the volt? I didn't know that. I really need to do my research next time. :)

  8. all part of electricity, michelle: amperes, voltages, ohms, etc. but it's the current [amps] that kills, cuz that's the 'moving' part, ie. electrons along a conductor

    you see signs that read: danger, high voltage... and never: danger, high current... cuz to kill, it need not be 'high'

    also, it takes less direct current [dc]to kill than it does alternating current [ac]... that's what ac/dc means, even the rock band ;) lol

    so, how you put it is acceptable

  9. Still, if you should leave the blogger flock, please still stop by and visit!

    I'm not even thinking about quitting blogging... just Blogger. It may be a sorry-assed comment on my so-called life, but EIP is the best part of that life. At the moment.

  10. Hey Michelle... is everything okay?

  11. Laughingwolf: Whew! You had me worried I had created the biggest(second biggest) faux pas. :)

    Buck: It's not a sorry-assed comment. I'm glad EIP is on the Internet so I can have a peek at other people lives. Very entertaining and uplifting.

    Sandra: Everything is as it is . . .

    Chris: Glad you liked it!


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