The Wildwood Story; Sun By the "C"

The time is almost upon me. My first foray into the world of literary…literariness is just about to be unleashed upon the masses. I will spare you the agony of rewriting and reediting the “piece” (as us authors like to call these things. Kind of like how directors call movies “pictures”.) Upon reading it aloud (something that sounds really fey, but actually works) and poring over it for the 50^th fucking time, there is always something that can be done over/better/away with. I can only liken it to the agony of a parent debating what to name their first child. If you fuck it up, you are screwed for life. And who knows if I will ever be ‘published’ again, so this may very well be my only shot, so I better not fuck it up. And this is also why we don’t have kids, because I’d want to name it Supreme Being. Boy or girl.

OK, so I guess I lied about sparing you, my bad.

Anywhoo, I will remind you of the Charlie Brown analogy I used in a previous Wildwood Story post. Now, the ball is teed up and I am approaching. My article will be online the first weekend of March, with the print version following the next week. I start to run to the ball. On Saturday, I check the site, and sure enough, the first paragraph of my story is on the front page. Only 4 stories make the front, and mine is good enough (or least sucky, depending how you look at it). Wow, this is wicked cool. Sure, all of my stuff up to this point has been online, but this is a new and wider audience. I am now full speed, ready to kick the winning field goal at the Super Bowl. Even that skank Lucy has a look of sour acceptance on her face.

I have a superstition. I really don’t want to read it online. For some motarded reason, I think that is bad luck. Yea, I know, don’t ask me why, I just do. But it’s OK to peek. I click to just scan the article. Foot just about to make contact with the footba….

I click my story, only to see another story pop up in its’ place. YOINK! Lucy pulls the ball out at the last possible moment, prompting a cartoon like head over heels swirl as I crash into the ground.

You have got to be kidding me. I get this far, only to have the wrong story pop up? Just my damned luck. “It’s OK, Charlie Brown,” Lucy tells me, “you can try again. I promise I won’t take the ball away this time.” I dust myself off, and wonder how GD loaded I must be to be hallucinating Lucy.

OK, this is a minor, albeit it totally unforeseen, setback. After all this is the internet, and can easily be fixed. I track down my story within the website. I start to approach the ball again. The article opens up. There’s my title! I am gonna kick the ever loving shit out of this ball now. There’s my na…

YOINK! With the accuracy and precision only a spiteful broad can have, Lucy pulls the ball away again.

Kecvin. My GD name is spelled wrong.

Kecvin.

Really? Seriously? Kecvin?

In reality, it’s an easy mistake to make, the c key is right next to the v key. Just one simple slip of the finger and my name is spelled wrong. I am lying on the ground after another cartoon worthy tumble. Lucy comes up to me, laughing with ball in hand. Then she kicks me right in the nuts. I realize now this is an analogy; Lucy is really life kicking me in the nuts.

Did I really just a say a cartoon character is an analogy for life? I don’t know what I’m smoking, but I want some.

My immediate worry now is that my name is misspelled in the print version as well. Again, the Net is an easy fix, print not so much. I am sure there is only one run of the paper, and that’s it, I’m signing autographs as ‘Kecvin’. OK, that’s a lie. I’m signing autographs ‘Supreme Being’.

I reluctantly email the editor of these glaring omissions. When they are fixed, I’ll put the link up so you can baste in all my literary badassedness.