Sunday, August 1, 2010

Form Rejection Blues To Reds


It’s such a shame literary agents don’t go in for wanky old floral lampshades the size of a house and the colour of vomit.

I have one cluttering up my attic right now — a cast-off from a wanky floor lamp I de-wanked with a tastefully unwanky non-floral lampshade.

I could unwrap it from its dusty bin bag shroud; tuck it neatly into a jumbo jumbo Jiffy and bundle it to the finest literary agent in London, accompanied by a short, handwritten note which reads,


Dear Agent,

Please find enclosed a wanky old floral lampshade the size of a house and the colour of vomit.

WANKY OLD FLORAL LAMPSHADE THE SIZE OF A HOUSE AND THE COLOUR OF VOMIT is a 15" diameter, vaguely 40s style, faded, flappy crock of shite perfect for gracing any room in the house bar the bathroom, and guaranteed to be a talking point should you be inspired to make it the focus of a dinner party or assisted suicide.

I am an avid collector of wanky old floral lampshades the size of a house and the colour of vomit and raised £37.45 last year for Children in Need by jumping off a step ladder into a bathtub of custard with two such shades gaffer taped to my head like I was some sort of outer space beetle thing.

If this wanky old floral lampshade the size of a house and the colour of vomit is of interest, I would be happy to send more, along with two rolls of shitty wallpaper the colour of mucus and the texture of rotting flesh, and a crappy old rug knitted by a mewling old spinster with senile dementia and fourteen aging cats unable to control their own bowels.

Thank you for your time and consideration.



I could, I could, I could: unwrap that shade and bundle it off so, so thusly.

But it’s a Sunday.

9 comments:

Kiersten White said...

I am exploding with love for you right now. And wishing I were such an agent interested in such a thing. In fact, I may just abandon writing to represent old floral lampshades the size of a house and the color of vomit.

Whirlochre said...

I'd have you as my agent anyday — someone I could look straight in the eye (even if the box you were standing on was itself standing on my foot).

Old Kitty said...

May I have it?

Thank you.

Take care
x

fairyhedgehog said...

de-wanked

Good word.

How could any sane agent reject a pitch like that?

writtenwyrdd said...

that is an excellent sell for puce lampshades.

Now I want some pea soup for some reason...

JaneyV said...

Ah - a lampshade the colour of vomit! It brings me back to those 1970's sitcoms like Reggie Perrin when everything looked like the morning after a college toga party.

I think any agent would be proud to represent someone who has clung on to - nay - preserved - such an item of historical significance (if not taste).

Whirlochre said...

Old Kitty
Are you trying to fleece me of my most untreasured possessions?

Even though I'm not a sheep?

For Hedges That Make Ditches...
It has oxymoronic qualities but, yes, it's a fine word...

WW
I want pea soup for any reason.

Janey
The living room carpet that guided me through the 70s was a wonder to behold. Similar patterns are now to be seen gracing luxury wallpaper — but it's not quite right.

Ann said...

Great pitch! I am sure any agent would just love your wanky old floral lampshad the size of a house and the colour of vomit. How could they not???

Mother (Re)produces. said...

Put the lampshade on e-bay. You've nothing to lose. And only the savviest agents know to look on e-bay, so you'd be getting a cracking agent.