Saturday, September 15, 2012


by Harry "Speegg" Sneed

“No editor is ever going to publish a story that begins with fuck.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not writing this to please an editor. That’s the difference between us. You’re always worried about what others think. That is why you’ll always remain a poor penniless editor and I will one day become a world famous author.”
“Fuck you!”
“And that is exactly why I started the story with fuck. People use the word fuck; you’ve just proved my case. Kids use it. Policemen use it. My grandmother let it slip once when I was a little kid. She dropped a whole pot of spaghetti on the floor. It was the only word that fit. Damn and shit just couldn’t describe her anger, so she said fuck. Fuck is real. Fuck is a valid normal word and not an ugly, retarded sibling that should be hidden in a literary closet. Besides, I’ve always wanted to start a story with the word fuck. Once I had an English teacher tell us if you shock the reader at the beginning of a story, you’ll captivate them into reading the rest of the story. I hated English, I hated the teacher. So I wrote a short story that started with fuck.”
“What was it about?”
“Two people arguing over a short story.”
“Just like we’re doing now?”
“Sort of, except that story was about an author and a disgruntled reader. The reader sent the author a nasty letter criticizing him about always using the “F” word. He couldn’t even write the word fuck.”
“So what happened?”
 “The author wrote a letter back with only the words FUCK YOU written really big across the paper.”
“How did the teacher react to your story?”
“She gave me an F and sent me to the principal’s office. They called my parents and my dad got on the phone and asked the secretary “What in the fuck did he do now?”
“I can picture your dad doing that.”
“Yea, the secretary told him it wasn’t necessary to use that kind of language.”
“Oh no, what did your dad say?”
“He told her he could use any kind of fucking language he wanted. He’s been out of school for over thirty years and he didn’t need any sniveling school secretary telling him how to talk.”
“Did she hang up on him?”
“Nope. She got the principal on the phone and him and my dad went at it for about ten minutes. My dad ended up telling the principal to fuck off and hung up on him.”
“The principal calmly hung up the phone. Stared at me for about a minute and then asked, “You have to deal with that every day?” I shook my head yes and then he said, “Well that’s fucked up.”
“He did not!!!”
“No, he just politely smiled and sent me back to class.”
“What did the English teacher say?”
“Nothing, but several years later I ran into her at a bar. She was celebrating her divorce and teetering on the edge of being shit-faced. She apologized for sending me to the principal’s office and bought me a drink. We sat there for a couple hours talking about old times. We got totally wasted and guess what?”
“You didn’t.”
”Yep, I fucked her. Through the whole process she kept yelling “Fuck me, Fuck me” And every time she said it, I couldn’t help but thinking, “Bitch, why did you give me a F for Fuck?”
“You got an F for Fuck that’s funny.”
“OK so you’re starting this story out with the word fuck. What comes next?”
“I don’t know. I’m still creating it. Maybe I’ll just write everything we just said.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you said fuck way too many times and people don’t want to read stories that have the word fuck in it that much. They feel guilty like they’re reading erotica or some cheap porn story. You have to trust me on this one, I’m an editor. I know what I’m talking about.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“There’s another word they don’t want to read too much either.”
“What if I add some humor to it, throw in some famous literary first lines embellished with fuck. For example, “It was the fucking best of times and the fucking worst of times.” Or “Call me fucking Ishmael” That sounds like something Melville would write.
“That’s hilarious, “Lolita, fuck of my life, fire of my loins.”
“Or how about this, “In the beginning God created the fucking heavens and earth.”
“Stop! That’s not funny. See, now you’re really crossing the literary taboo line putting God and fuck in the same sentence.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t give a fuck about any literary lines being crossed!!! I’m a writer, not a fucking alter-boy, English teacher. I’ll write from the heart and slice my literary wrist and bleed my ideas and thoughts on the white pages and if that means I have to cross lines, break rules and piss off editors and offend readers, so be it. I’ll do what I want. Hell, I’ll write the whole damn story in quotes. I won’t use any descriptive text it’ll be one long quote after another.”
“You mean like, I said this. You said that.”
“It’ll never work. People want to know more than just what’s being said, they want some action to be taking place; descriptions; body language; facial expressions. Readers want to know about the character’s surroundings, their attitude and their history. You can’t just put quote after quote.”
“Oh yes I can, watch me.”
“That’s what I hate about writers, you think you own the world and can do anything you want.”
“We can. Matter of fact, I’m going to rewrite what you just said and put; That’s what I love about you fucking writers, you think you own the fucking world and can do any fucking thing you want.”

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