A Hook and A Cliff-Hanger

Snowflakes swirling around and descending to the ground, created a dirty new slush pile formation, on a New York City sidewalk, smack dab in front of a brick multi-story office building.

Stinky Ink & Prints Inc., received thousands, upon thousands of unread query letters and manuscripts of different genres and word counts on a weekly basis.

When it came to reading unsolicited query letters and manuscripts from aspiring authors, employees were given the freedom to actually read them or just skim through them, before deciding what to do with them.

“Well it's about time they finally showed up!” shouted a disgruntled female employee, “We almost had to resort to using our shirt sleeves or shirt bottoms to dry our tears!"

Her hollering at the delivery driver caused such a ruckus. Everyone sprang up from their desks to see what was the matter. They were left wondering what was going on, and continued to remain out of the loop.

The tears ran plentifully, and were a common occurrence here, in this particular workplace. Ironically, the tears had nothing to do with working for a horrible boss. Their manager was awesome!

“Sorry! My apologies mam! The pandemic has created major supply chain shortages, leading to shipping delays,” shrugged the delivery driver, with an expressionless face. Her screaming at him like an angry customer, throwing a temper-tantrum, didn't even faze him.

“Well a tissue box shortage is COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE! Having an ABUNDANT supply of tissues is a TOP PRIORITY here, because our job makes us CRY A LOT!” scoffed the livid, brunette, female employee, currently beat red in the face, standing with her arms crossed. Her left foot tapping the carpet, resembled a rabbit's foot, thumping the ground. It was casual dress down day, and she was wearing a gray sweater, tan pants, and brown boots with the fur. Everyone was staring at her. Her mood right now was anything but relaxed, and she too had her own pile of manuscripts to deal with.

The traditional book publishing company just received the latest shipment of tissue boxes. Tissues were desperately needed for some of the manuscripts that the staff were forced to look at. Some manuscripts left them sobbing-in-tears. Some left them laughing-in-tears. While others made them bored-to-tears. The manuscripts that made them bored-to-tears required the most tissues, and the vast majority unfortunately fell into that pile.

*clink clink clink*

The female employee was banging on her ceramic, cream-colored, coffee mug, with a black ink pen. It was a little after 9:00AM, and she already had wine on the mind.

“Hey everyone! If I can have your attention please, for just one second. We have a fresh supply of tissues. They just arrived, right now. Come get 'em while they're still dry and clean. Be sure to grab an armful of boxes on your way back to your work stations,” announced the female employee, who had apparently claimed to have lost her name-tag somewhere. She didn’t bother introducing herself either.

The assignment for the day was to shovel through the heaping stack of manuscripts, and weed out the ones that made them bored-to-tears. 

What happens to those bored-to-tears manuscripts? 

If they are a hard-copy they get chucked right out of traditional book publishing company’s windows. 

What happens after that happens?

Nothing special. Bored-to-tears manuscripts are incapable of miraculously growing pairs of wings. They lack the ability to fly off to land on someone else's heaping desk pile of manuscripts, at another office, located up the road and around the corner. No one assists them in becoming paper airplanes either, and they cannot become paper airplanes all by themselves.

Bored-to-tears manuscripts, like snowflakes, land and accumulate in some random slush pile on some random street in New York City, where they anxiously wait their turn to get plowed away by a snowplow or get ran over by a taxi, which ever comes first. It didn’t really matter to the team, because the bored-to-tears manuscripts were no longer in their hands.

The entire staff could hear the distinct *beep beep beep* of the snowplow backing up and coming their way. Everyone raised from their chairs and rushed to the windows to see the snowplow for themselves. 

“Good riddance!” they chanted in sync.

The manuscripts that made them bored-to-tears were gone, once and for all, permanently disintegrated due to the dirty slush pile exposure. 

Eliminating the bored-to-tears manuscripts from their desks, left very few manuscripts left. 

To them, it felt like an eternity had passed since a brand new talented author, with an interesting query letter and manuscript, made themselves known to editors, literary agents, and publishers.

Was this going to be the last snowfall they’d see until the fall or winter? It was the last week of April. 

*scene break*

How could it possibly be the first day of summer already? Time flew fast and the staff was not having fun reading more bored-to-tears manuscripts, requiring even more tissue usage. 

*scene break*

In a fish school, in the sea, none of the fish in the sea space rose their hands, because they didn’t have hands. When none of the other fish willingly swam up to the surface to raise their fins out of the water, one brave fish swam around the swim group, before it nervously decided to swim up, to raise its fin in the air. The class question required a lot of fish and swimming comprehension, in order to avoid getting caught up by a fishing hook or a net, or the other possibility of getting bit up by a shark or ate by a whale. 

The fish was right in the middle of swimming its way up to the surface and was about to raise its fin in the air to answer the question, when it began to have second thoughts about raising its fin out of the water. The pelicans were out today and hungry they were, hovering around, waiting for some fresh fish food, their favorite meal. This one smart fish was fearful of being scooped up into the bill of a pelican, before it got a chance to answer the question. It decided to answer the question, completely underwater, without raising its fin. 

The backstory to this question was that yesterday during swimming school, a new fish had been spotted swimming around the cliff, adjacent to the reef. The new fish lacked a species identification name-tag because it had not yet been discovered by humans. The fish school didn’t know what to call it either, but wanted to introduce themselves to the newest neighbor, and possibly invite him or her over for a swim over at their school some time.

The question of the day was to explain in your own bubbles, what happens when a new fish species gets discovered by a deep sea fisherman? The class was given a hint, and the hint was that it causes a ripple effect. 

After blowing some bubbles, the fish realized it needed an interpreter to transcribe the bubbles for human reading pleasure. The fish located a mermaid, before continuing to answer the question. 

Mermaid translation: 

If the ocean was the equivalent to the traditional book publishing industry, manuscripts would be the hundreds of thousands of fish swimming around in the vast ocean of the publishing world. 

If a single fish species represented one person, discovering that one, new, single, fish species, would be the equivalent to discovering a brand, new, author. 

To some deep sea fishermen, the editors and literary agents of the sea, this new fish species might be considered high up there on their lists of the biggest catches that they have ever seen in their lifetime. Comparing this new fish species to other fish species that have previously been captured, after doing the math, these deep sea fishermen estimated that this trophy fish could potentially net a merchant 1 million copies or more in fish sales.

*scene break*

At the following summer school swim session, the fish school swam towards the cliff, in search of the new fish, only to be greeted by a bunch of nosy marine biologists along the way, that were covered up in scuba gear attire. There was no sighting of the new fish. It must have been captured by some deep sea fisherman. 

*scene break*

Marine biologists floating in their boat above the underwater cliff were staying occupied with their research pertaining to a new and mysterious fish species, that had been recently captured by a deep sea fisherman. The news of this fish finding was supposed to be kept top secret so that most of the world still wouldn't know that this fish species existed.

At the current moment, the marine biologists were lacking an encyclopedia worth of information on this new fish species, and they were the chosen ones, that were put up to the task of finding out all of that information. Lucky them! All that they knew so far was that it displayed key characteristics that were genetically linked to the genus of “ala-gories”. It was definitely “pun-ny” looking, and this heavy fish was a fishing reel killer. It nearly broke free and swam away. The fish also didn't appear to be a bottom-dweller, but a cliff-hanger.

Some ditzy marine biologist, with pastel dyed hair, was jotting down notes on an index card, when she decided to go on a lunch break, and left the index card unattended. 

You’ll never guess what happened next! 

Some hungry little seagul thought it was lunch time too. That dirty bird had the nerve to get a hold of the index card with its bare claws, and it took off in the direction of the dock, with the rest of its flock. When it made the discovery that it was not in fact food, but a piece of paper of some variety, aiming at the head of a bald human man, it dropped it like a piece of bird poop falling from the sky.

The hairless headed guy standing on the fishing peer, was taken aback, when he felt something pelt him on his bald scalp. Although it didn’t feel warm and gooey like seagul poop, he still cursed at the “rat with wings” for dropping something on his head. 

*scene break*

The bald headed man just so happened to be a part of a litter pickup crew. This fella, using a trash picker upper, grabbed the slightly wet object that landed on the wooden plank before his feet. He was about to chuck it into the trashcan, but soon realized that it wasn’t trash. Since he was terrible at keeping secrets, he proceeded on his path to starting a big freakin' rumor. 

News flashed around real quick amongst multiple players about this newly discovered fish species that had been hanging out near a cliff somewhere, when it got hooked. Time was money, and a bidding war was about to ensue at the fish stand. 

Merchants dressed in business professional, from their heads to their toes, with ties tied around their necks, had arrived at the fish stand all at once. They were shouting and chomping at the bit to get their hands on this lively flapping fish, that the deep sea fisherman brought out just a split second ago. The merchants all followed the traditional method, taking a cookie cutter approach, to what they would do with this fish, if it became theirs to keep.

Who is going to win bragging rights and a substantial amount of cash flow for their company?

*scene break*

The sunbathers, relaxing on the beach, in the vicinity of the fishing peer, but not quite in ear shot range, were extremely curious about the excitement going on at the fish stand above them. Unfortunately they had to wait. All of the commotion, caused them to set down their summer beach reads, as they were all too busy staring at the screens of their smartphones, keeping their eyes peeled for a newly released story. They were left hanging. 

*scene break*

Who won the bidding war? 

No one won the bidding war!

The fish flopped off of the fish stand and managed to flip flop its way back into the water.

All of the merchants returned to their offices disappointed, and were left day-dreaming at their computer desks of the fish that got away, the one they wished to get their hands on someday or later. 

It turned out that this new fish species was the type to swim their own way, into unchartered waters in search of a mermaid, for tips on how to shell they own story. The merchants ended up being the ones hooked and hanging for their next opportunity to snag this one particular fish species at the fish stand, if it ever decided to swim around again and take a bite of bait off of a deep sea fisherman’s fishing hook. 

A chef, who wasn't a representative from a traditional book publishing company, accidentally overslept and was running late to the fish stand. He decided to show up anyways, despite the fierce competition that he was up against. The chef who was dressed in street clothes at the time, didn't believe in following traditional cookie cutter recipes and preferred to do things his own way. The fish ended up swimming back around to him, and an agreement had been made to not change a single thing, to not butcher its outside or inside appearance. That was the fish's "living gill" should it die in the near future. It was beautiful and perfect just the way it was, in its original state. A chef with a new type of fish. It was a perfect match that was meant to be.

For whatever lame reason the agitated chef couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t just take the dead fish home, right then and there. He learned that the fish that he had just purchased, needed to be placed in a container, packed in ice, and shipped to him. The rule was preposterous. He might not have lived a block away, but he did live on the other end of town. Apparently living on the complete opposite side of town wasn’t good enough. The fish had to be delivered, and it must be delivered at all costs.

It wasn’t like he had ordered the fish while it was still attached to the hook on the fishing line; that’s what you’d call an online order. The fish would have still been on the line. He didn’t understand. This fish was purchased off the line and in person. 

He learned that the fish stand had that policy in place due to food poisoning and spoiliage concerns on a hot day, and the chef didn't have any spare ice on him.

*scene break*

Chef Bord-Arr-Wee, who was NOT heating up canned raviolis in a microwave, was instead, slaving away in the kitchen of his family's restaurant, concocting something else. He was dressed in his work wardrobe: a tall white hat and apron, with checkered black and white pants, and black non-slip shoes, should he ever encounter any slick spots on the tile floor. His short, black hair, was greasy and grimy, and beads of sweat were sliding down his forehead, like raindrops on a car windshield. Reeking of seafood, he couldn't wait to get home to jump in the shower. He was boiling up Maine lobsters, making up crab cakes, and stirring up a pot of New England clam chowder, when someone pounded on the back door.

Who in the world, is crazy enough to be knocking at this hour of the night, in the pouring down rain, he wondered. He flung open the door, all hot-tempered and bothered, thinking someone was going to barge in and steal money from the cash register out front at the hostess stand. Why didn't they just come in through the front door instead? That would have been the much quicker way of doing things.

To his surprise it was the delivery man dropping off the “ale-gory” fish that he purchased at the fish stand earlier in the day. He was so caught up in what he was doing, he had forgotten about the fish purchase and delivery.

He scampered back inside to place the rare delicacy in the walk-in, frigid air freezer, to preserve it, next to the frozen shrimp section. Chef Bord-Arr-Wee, was bored no more. He dashed back outside. It was too dark for anyone to see him dancing in the rain, with or without clothes on. Dancing in the rain was his way of cooling off and celebrating.