Deer Editor

by David Sigge

You are so brilliant, so sensitive, so in touch with the best of contemporary literature, that I am proud to submit my brilliant, sensitive manuscript to your gaze. Hear is a story that is perfect for you. It's exactly like all the others you've published, only different.

I am well aware that, last time, you threatened me with a restraining order if I ever bothered you again. I have also, at long last, studied your guidelines, per your suggestion, and have noted that you limit your concerns to material relating to the Northwestern river sloth during hibernation.

May I remind you that I have a doctorate in theology obtained through the mail in the late seventies and an M.F.A. I got last week @creativewriting.com. The faculty includes Joyce Oats, Dave Wallace, Don D. Lilo, and J. Crew Ransom, although I did not work with either of them personally. My work has been in many nationally known magazines, which I produce on a secondhand ditto machine in my garage.

In the enclosed story, "Kitchen Sex," there are no sex, drugs, and violence in the family. Beneath the easy-to-digest (ha ha) plot is a coded message that only scholars will be able to decipher. This story is fictional, but based on truth. It says things that have never been said before and disguises them so you can't figure out where I stole them from. It's a worldly story that depicts the interesting people in my neighborhood.

By page 400, my hero dies. Everyone is upset, but no one really cares, and the rest of the story is in second-person omniscient. The last line will affect the reader in a way that will change his or her life for ever. In case the ending makes no sense, I've included a kinky epilogue. All this takes place throughout 120 years and within 863 pages.

I use capitol letters for no apparent reason and funky fonts that no other computer has but are critical to the theme. I drew pictures along the margins too, but they aren't necessary, unless you like them, of course.

If you like this one, I've got more, hundreds more. They're not yet typed, but I can FedEx them to you--all of them. So please except my story and I'll promise to stop harrassing you.

This is the original and only copy. An SASE is not enclosed. Feel free to mail the entire document back to me using your own envelope and stamps.

I would be grateful for any comments and suggestions, unless you have something mean and nasty to say. If you want to rewrite my story and claim it as your own, that's O.K., too. As long as I don't have to subscribe to your crummy ego-tripping poorly punctuated sloppily bound overpriced excuse for a litmag.

If you liked this piece, head to the subscription form or your local independent bookstore to pick up this issue.

David Sigge lives in San Francisco.