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For a full list of today's Salon Books stories, go to the Books home page.

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D E A R_.M R ._G R E E N :

The suffering poet
I've lost my job and my girl, and I'm beginning to think I'm a lousy writer.

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By Garrulous Dealer

April 1, 2000 |  

Several readers wrote to take me to task for my advice last week to Pained in Pittsburgh, who was wondering whether to give up her writing career after 200 rejections, including one from the local throwaway paper and two from an Internet chat room. I told her that the world has enough writers and that she should set her jaw, put on a face of stoic cheerfulness and try another line of work.

One young woman wrote: "You should never encourage someone to give up their dream. Imagine if you'd given up your dream, Mr. Green. There'd be nothing to listen to on the weekends, and hardly any satirical novels about Jesse Ventura."

True enough, and while it's also true that my readers are as a rule taller, smarter and better looking than I am, I stand stoically by my advice with a Midwestern cheerfulness.

Dear Mr. Green,

I am a 32-year-old poet, and I'm dictating this letter from the 38th-floor ledge of the office building where I work a soul-sucking data-entry job 50 hours a week. At least I did until a few minutes ago, when I was fired for using office time, supplies and equipment to produce my latest work, "The Insomniac Pelican," a semi-autobiographical allegorical epic in iambic pentameter (available for $4.95 online at www.insomniacpelican.com).

Also, my girlfriend left me this morning, saying I was not only the worst poet in the world, but the worst lover and even the worst typist. I've seen her sneaking out of my boss' office twice in the last three days. I'm also $250,000 in debt, all of it to thuggish organized-crime bookie types.

I really want to jump, Mr. Green, but I can't stop thinking: There's a great novel in all of this, which I'd like to write in the form of interlocking sonnets. What should I do? Jump, or write that novel?

April Fools' Day cover Salon's regular issue

Teetering on the Tower

Dear Teetering,

All I can say is: The world doesn't need another novel.

Dear Mr. Green,

I've stolen the ball and I'm leading a three-on-two fast break. Filling the lane on my right is a 6-10 power forward. If I give him the ball he'll throw down a tomahawk dunk that will bring the enormous crowd to its feet and give our team (we're down by seven with 3:51 to go) a much-needed boost. But he has a tendency to miss those dunks -- to clang them embarrassingly off the back rim -- and that would give the other team just as much of a lift. On my left is our star player, the shooting guard. If I give the ball to him he'll go strong to the hoop and surely score. But last semester, in one day, he stole my girlfriend and wrecked my car, which he'd borrowed without asking. I'm not very excited about the prospect of feeding this louse the rock so he can add to his game-high scoring total.

If I keep the ball and go to the basket, I'm sure to get fouled. Since I'm the backup point guard, it's not like I get a lot of face time on TV, and I wouldn't mind going to the line and letting my family and friends back home have a good look at me while the announcers talk about my solid if unspectacular stats and what a hard-working, genuinely nice kid I am. But the thing is, I'm only a 56 percent free-throw shooter, and I'll probably only make one of the two shots. What should I do? Please answer quickly.

Indecisive in Indianapolis

Dear Indecisive,

You don't say which team you play for, but I can guess it's one of the Southern schools, not one of the ones from the Midwest. We Midwesterners don't let our emotions get the best of us when there's work to be done. We set our jaws and move forward with a stoic cheerfulness until the job is done, and then we go to the Cracker Barrel and eat giant plates of hearty food, flirt with the waitress a little, admire our neighbors' colorful sweat shirts and maybe on our way out buy a doormat that plays "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" when you step on it.

But Mr. Green is not totally ignorant of Southern Gothic culture, and offers this advice: Pull up at the free-throw line and shoot the 15-foot jumper. If it goes in, you look like a star. If not, you've got two teammates crashing the glass for the offensive board -- plus you if you follow your shot. Your high-scoring nemesis might get the rebound and put-back, but at least you're leaving it up to the Fates, and if he does benefit, comfort yourself that it's for the good of the team. Just keep your shoulders square and follow through with a good stroke, and if you get to the Cracker Barrel, try the chicken pot pie.

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