Warning: this is a
shameless name-drop. I'm fully aware that it's tactless and in bad
taste, but it's irresistible. I shall be telling my
children, my children's children and so on, that I sent an email to
Benjamin Law.
In
case an ignoramus slipped past security, let me toss a condescending
note their way. Benjamin Law is a writer, a writer for Frankie
Magazine and The Smith Journal, among other things. He has
also been “short-listed” (who cares what for). The only thing
I've ever been short-listed for is the Most Pretentious Public
Book-Reading Award (my entry: War and Peace).
So
there I am, an intern, expecting to shred paper and ask questions
like “do you take sugar?”. But that doesn't happen, instead I'm
handed real publishing house duties. In fact, I am called upon
as chief correspondent with Benjamin, the inside man, the messenger
who would never get shot because Benji would never do that.
My
email was a gushing mess of border-line inappropriate flattery, but
I don't care.
I
read the draft, people, the manuscript. I got to put a little
red dot on Benjamin's essay because there was an accidental comma
instead of a semi colon. That's right, I made a correction.
I
can't tell you what the essay was about, or the nitty-gritty of our
email correspondence, because that's strictly confidential, it's
between me and Benji Bumkins, so back off.
When the piece is ready for the public, I'll let you know.
When the piece is ready for the public, I'll let you know.
related posts.
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