hee hee, just got a phone call from a reader who reminded me that we met, the first time in the 80s, uncovering an old-fashioned con job via the postal service. I was editing On Our Backs, and we got a poetry submission — a fiery poem with clear sado-masochistic references.
To my amazement, the author’s name was one I recognized, of a prominent gay athlete and gal about town — really clean-cut, if you will. A Wholesome Girl.
I called the “poet” — let’s call her Marie — and I said, “Wow, I had no idea you were into this content or form; I’m flattered you sent it for my consideration.”
“WHAT POEM?” She said.
Oops.
She was floored… this was an imposter! An imposter, who as it turned out, was submitting manuscripts, kinky and otherwise, to publishers all over town, pretending to be the Famous Marie. All she did was sign Marie’s name and stick her submissions in the mail.
Marie reminded me that I was the one who unwittingly uncovered it, and that she was then able to track down the culprit and have a little “intervention.”
So is Marie finally ready to write erotic poetry, 40 years later?
She thinks not. . . . But we had a laugh, cause you never know!
hee hee, just got a phone call from a reader who reminded me that we met, the first time in the 80s, uncovering an old-fashioned con job via the postal service. I was editing On Our Backs, and we got a poetry submission — a fiery poem with clear sado-masochistic references.
To my amazement, the author’s name was one I recognized, of a prominent gay athlete and gal about town — really clean-cut, if you will. A Wholesome Girl.
I called the “poet” — let’s call her Marie — and I said, “Wow, I had no idea you were into this content or form; I’m flattered you sent it for my consideration.”
“WHAT POEM?” She said.
Oops.
She was floored… this was an imposter! An imposter, who as it turned out, was submitting manuscripts, kinky and otherwise, to publishers all over town, pretending to be the Famous Marie. All she did was sign Marie’s name and stick her submissions in the mail.
Marie reminded me that I was the one who unwittingly uncovered it, and that she was then able to track down the culprit and have a little “intervention.”
So is Marie finally ready to write erotic poetry, 40 years later?
She thinks not. . . . But we had a laugh, cause you never know!
"instrumental Peruvian Flute music from 4-6 Friday afternoons" pretty much sums up Berkeley's KPFA
haha! Well maybe this is when it all started! The fatal mistake!
“They forgot to pick up the needle”