A Prank?

Prolific romantic fiction writer exposed as a plagiarist

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Hello

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Wasn't the creature from the old b&w movie 'Harvey', a pooka? Or was it something else? I can't really remember.
 
I can see being that naive and confident at 22. I certainly was. Heh, I remember my first submission. Age 16, a poem to a literary contest. I was CONVINCED I'd written something spectacular. I was SURE the editors would fall all over themselves getting in touch with me to tell me I'd won. I was actually SHOCKED when I lost.

As I got older I saw how not just bad, but downright godawful and offensively bad that poem and about two hundred and fifty others I'd written were (not exaggerating--between the ages of 13 and 20 I wrote about 300 poems that I know of) and was mortified that I'd ever subjected anyone to them.
 
I can see being that naive and confident at 22. I certainly was. Heh, I remember my first submission. Age 16, a poem to a literary contest. I was CONVINCED I'd written something spectacular. I was SURE the editors would fall all over themselves getting in touch with me to tell me I'd won. I was actually SHOCKED when I lost.

As I got older I saw how not just bad, but downright godawful and offensively bad that poem and about two hundred and fifty others I'd written were (not exaggerating--between the ages of 13 and 20 I wrote about 300 poems that I know of) and was mortified that I'd ever subjected anyone to them.
And now you're an editor. I'll be the in-between is a really good story!
 
This is the busiest time of the year for me and I don’t have time to post this, but what the heck...

This guy phones me directly this morning. I’m already juggling tons of things, so only give partial attention, but this is how I roughly recall it...

HIM: I’m looking for an agent.

ME: Ok.

- Long Pause -

HIM: I’m 22.

ME: Ok.

HIM: I’ve written a book.

ME: Mmm.

HIM: It’s short.

ME: Ok.

HIM: Very short.

ME: Yep.

HIM: It doesn’t have any chapters.

ME: Right.

HIM: No chapters at all!

ME: (thinking I’m being pranked now...) Well who is it written for?

HIM: No-one in particular.

ME: Right.

There is a very long pause. He is clearly not going to say anything else.

ME: Hello?

HIM: Yes.

ME: Have you looked at our website?

HIM: No.

ME: Do you know tjhe address of our website?

HIM: No, but I’m quite capable of finding it.

ME: (I have to get on with my life now... and if I’m being pranked, I sure ain’t going to give YouTube more than I have already...) Just go to the website. Please. Goodbye!



Do let me know if you see/hear this somewhere...
To return to the OP, I am very surprised that the conversation went even that far - indeed happened at all. I hadn't realised phone pitches occurred or that one could dial directly through and speak to an agent him/herself rather than a minion. And having reached the agent, I'm surprised that there wasn't just a dial tone after about Line 2.
All very strange.
 
I can see being that naive and confident at 22. I certainly was. Heh, I remember my first submission. Age 16, a poem to a literary contest. I was CONVINCED I'd written something spectacular. I was SURE the editors would fall all over themselves getting in touch with me to tell me I'd won. I was actually SHOCKED when I lost.

As I got older I saw how not just bad, but downright godawful and offensively bad that poem and about two hundred and fifty others I'd written were (not exaggerating--between the ages of 13 and 20 I wrote about 300 poems that I know of) and was mortified that I'd ever subjected anyone to them.
Join the club, Meerkat. Let us now all hang our heads in our shared shame.
 
To return to the OP, I am very surprised that the conversation went even that far - indeed happened at all. I hadn't realised phone pitches occurred or that one could dial directly through and speak to an agent him/herself rather than a minion. And having reached the agent, I'm surprised that there wasn't just a dial tone after about Line 2.
All very strange.
I think @AgentPete has just opened the floodgates...[picking up phone and dialling]
 
It might carry me the wrong direction. Can't trust the pooka. It's mission is death, after all.
Stick with the brownies, any day. They're the good eggs.
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Prolific romantic fiction writer exposed as a plagiarist

G

Hello

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