So apparently my media star hasn't risen just yet.
It's been something near a month now since PopMatters first proposed I join their blogging staff, and... since then, I am forced to conclude, they have been resolutely ignoring my happy note of acceptance.
One month and four resends later -- two to my original contact, one to the general proposal box, one to the personal box of another editor I'd worked with in the past -- it is becoming more and more obvious that my real-world literary clout is not running parallel with my fantasies. Which, granted, involved me as a sort of post-millennial Dorothy Parker. Still though...
The really awkward thing about the total silence is that you just don't know. Not for sure and certain, anyway, which tends to be my default preference in matters of ego. There's still the possibility that I've just ended up in the spam filter... um, four times. Possible, right? I mean, yes, comedy team which ceased to be current around 1970, but the accolades were real enough.
Unless somebody took a relook at that column proposal I sent in awhile back...maybe I should pay closer attention to their Paris Hilton policy. Or is it hipper to refer to the Kardashians now? Did I even spell that right? This may be harder than I thought.
At any rate dear reader, if you are the editor who initially contacted me -- or any of those other people I've tried to contact since -- know that I remain appreciative of the thought however fleeting, and only wish now for a quick overview of the problem and best wishes for my future.
Or, alternatively, that I was appreciative, extremely so, and really have no idea how your filter came to mark me as a potential pusher of enlargement products, but if given another chance I do solemnly promise to behave. Also, learn who those people on the cover of US Magazine are.
Then again, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, because somebody appropriated your email to play random nasty pranks on people, well, hey, I have this column proposal you might want to look at...
One month and four resends later -- two to my original contact, one to the general proposal box, one to the personal box of another editor I'd worked with in the past -- it is becoming more and more obvious that my real-world literary clout is not running parallel with my fantasies. Which, granted, involved me as a sort of post-millennial Dorothy Parker. Still though...
The really awkward thing about the total silence is that you just don't know. Not for sure and certain, anyway, which tends to be my default preference in matters of ego. There's still the possibility that I've just ended up in the spam filter... um, four times. Possible, right? I mean, yes, comedy team which ceased to be current around 1970, but the accolades were real enough.
Unless somebody took a relook at that column proposal I sent in awhile back...maybe I should pay closer attention to their Paris Hilton policy. Or is it hipper to refer to the Kardashians now? Did I even spell that right? This may be harder than I thought.
At any rate dear reader, if you are the editor who initially contacted me -- or any of those other people I've tried to contact since -- know that I remain appreciative of the thought however fleeting, and only wish now for a quick overview of the problem and best wishes for my future.
Or, alternatively, that I was appreciative, extremely so, and really have no idea how your filter came to mark me as a potential pusher of enlargement products, but if given another chance I do solemnly promise to behave. Also, learn who those people on the cover of US Magazine are.
Then again, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, because somebody appropriated your email to play random nasty pranks on people, well, hey, I have this column proposal you might want to look at...