Read My Story
by E. Daniel Boudreau
There was once a young man-- no. That's not right. Ahem: Once, there was a young man - that's much better-who wanted more than anything to be a famous writer. This young man was unfortunately not quite young enough to have any crummy little story he may write heralded as the work of a prodigy, nor was he old enough to really know how to write a decent story. This poor young man fell somewhere in between. If he was ever to come up with a story worthy of the masses, he would have to do it relying on his razor-sharp wit, his God-given abilities, and his uncanny sense of how to be putting words together to make good-sounding sentences. And so there he sat, cradled by his less-than-comfortable armless swivel-chair, as he struggled to harness the great wealth of ideas that swirled around in his giant-sized brain. Finally, he raised one frail, bony, girly arm and slowly extended an equally (if not more) frail, bony and girly index finger, and began to type. A smile crossed his lips as he proceeded to type the only two words that could accurately capture the mood of his story to that point:
…and that was it. Well, I added the quotation marks, but the underlining was all his idea. Pure genius. Grab the reader's attention and never let go. This boy knew what he was doing, and he knew full well that once he really got rolling, it would only be a matter of time before the publishing companies would come knocking. The fame, the fortune, the women, the little newsletters that would come in the mail advertising 2-for-1 pizza at the local fast food place. He wanted it all. "Ok," he thought to himself, "gotta keep writing…". And with that, he raised first his frail, bony arm and then his other, much larger, tennis-playing arm, and proceeded to keep on typing. The words flew like Alpha-bits in a tornado. Words soon became sentences. Sentences grew into run-on sentences, that eventually received proper editing and were reduced to a more reasonable length. But the paragraphs- oooh baby. What paragraphs they were. Like nothing the world has seen since that unpredictable twist at the end of the Bible. It was truly a thing of beauty. I mean wow. Seriously. Wow.
Anyways, as he was wrapping up his tale of intrigue and romance and
espionage and furry little talking animals something caught his
attention. Something that would forever lock this genius and all of the
magic he possessed from the world that needed him. This story, the very same story that had risen from the glowing embers of his brilliant mind, had been written entirely in a silly font called "Caslon Opnface BT", that was very difficult to read (the letters got all squished). Needless to say, the young man simply shut off his computer and refused to speak to anyone for 6 months. Of course, this could have all been avoided had he actually known how to change fonts in his word processor, but he was not very good with computers. Genuises seldom are.
(aka. THE END)