Yeah, Another Blogger

Two Thursday mornings ago I found myself in the mood to raise my ass off the living room sofa and take a stroll outside. So, I did. The ensuing 40-minute walk through my suburban neighborhood and an abutting neighborhood was a fine one. The skies were friendly and the temperature was pleasant. And many flowering trees were in blossom, their petals adding calming colors and healthful vibrations to the milieu. I got up close and personal with hundreds of those blossoms and photographed them. They didn’t mind at all.

I don’t remember paying much attention to trees in flower until I was well into my senior citizenhood. Why, I’m not sure. But, for about the last eight years I’ve been a major fan. Their masses of flowers both soothe and awe me. Little wonder, then, that Yeah, Another Blogger contains a bunch of stories featuring trees abloom. Following the latest walk, I felt inspired to produce yet another. But was there truly a strong reason for me to do so? Hadn’t I already visited the topic enough times? I gave the matter some thought and decided that I definitely should proceed. After all, it would be foolish of me to ignore inspiration. Before beginning to write, though, I figured it would be a good idea to make sure Edgar Reewright, my editor, was on the same page as me. I called him the day after the walk.

Edgar answered after the first ring. “Neil, I feel a major bowel movement coming on,” he said, “so let’s keep this conversation short, okay? I assume there’s a writing-related issue you want to discuss.”

“You’ve read my mind, Edgar. Yup, I need your opinion about a story I’d like to pen. I was out for a walk yesterday and was floored by trees in flower. I can’t wait to sit down at my computer and bang out an essay about their amazing beauty, and about how they fill me with wonder. I think I’ll be able to complete the article in two or three days. It would be in your hands right after that, awaiting your magical editing skills.”

The silence that followed worried me, as well it should have. Finally, Edgar replied. “You’re out of your f*cking gourd, Neil!” he yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve published flowering-trees stories six, seven, maybe eight times already. There’s nothing more to say about those trees! Sure, their flowers are voluminous and look great. But everybody knows this. Good lord, enough is enough. Spare me. Spare your readers. Believe me, none of them want to read another word about trees in bloom.”

Before I could get a word in, Edgar continued his tirade. “Listen, the BM is about one minute away from making its appearance. Neil, if you write your proposed story, I will not edit it. You’re on your own with this one. And if you publish anything I’ve said to you today, I’ll sue you for invasion of privacy!”

“Edgar,” I said, “maybe you’ve forgotten that I pay you exorbitantly to whip my stories into shape. You and your wife have been living the high life because of my extreme generosity. So, if you sue, I’ll dump you, and you’ll never be able to replace the income I send your way.”

Edgar responded immediately. “You win, Neil. But only partly. I will not sue. But I refuse to edit another flowering-trees article. And, speaking of dump, I’m headed to the bathroom as we speak. Urgent business is at hand. Signing off!”

It serves Edgar right that our conversation appears on this page. I mean, who ever heard of an editor refusing to edit? And this isn’t the first time he has pulled this stunt. I’m toying with the notion of docking his pay, but I know I won’t follow through on that, because Edgar has saved the day for me, writing-wise, time after time after time. I’d be lost without him. That’s the truth and nothing but the truth.