Welcome To The Bullpen
Reaching For Straws
By Brian McTavish
The auspicious Horseshit and Gunsmoke Writers of the West were enjoying their annual convention in The Saddlestrings Hotel in beautiful downtown Duncan, Arizona. The members had arrived from many places; most quite distant from Duncan and many of the attendees continued to complain about the one hundred mile bus or taxi ride from the Tucson International Airport. But, that was nothing new to the organization. Members always bitched about the location of conventions even though they had always voted for future convention sites. That was the only thing they were allowed to vote for.
Many had attended the panel discussions that were offered by other members who knew little to nothing about the subjects assigned to them by the convention chairman who also knew little or nothing about the subjects he had chosen for panel discussions. One panel had been chaired by Mildred Moffensburg, a ninety year old woman writer from Ausable Chasm, New York whose non fiction book, The Women Who Scribbled Western Truth had been the recipient of the organizations prestigious Boot Heel Award ten years before. Mildred was perennially asked to be the judge for Long Non-Fiction, one of the sixteen of the Boot Heel Award categories. Some of the members complained that Mildred always chose a female writer for the winner of the Boot Heel for Long Non-Fiction. The subject for her current panel had been, Why women are qualified to write about menopause in the West. It had been one of the most popular panels in the history of the HS&GS conventions. Not only did all the attending female writers attend, but also the wives of all the male writers crowded into the conference room. Extra chairs had to be brought in. The men converged on the bar.
The most talked about part of the convention and also the most speculated about topic was the upcoming announcement of the newly chosen candidate for Executive Straw Boss, a position that was not highly sought after by the membership because the search committee had laid down such stringent qualifications for the job that all the member felt that any feasible candidate would certainly have to be able to walk on water to be considered for the lucrative position. Lucrative is how the board of directors had described the position in the bi-monthly magazine published by the HS&GS WOTW. All knew that someone had been chosen but secrecy about all such decisions and many other minor ones was of the essence of the groups habits. Over the past ten years membership rolls had diminished considerably so that the board of directors changed membership rules t include self-published writers of the West. Therefore those remaining hoped for an intelligent choice for the position to be soon vacated.
The Executive Straw Boss that was being replaced continued strutting around the hotel during the convention, chatting almost amiably with members who, in his opinion, might do him some good along the way some day. To the rest he successfully snubbed with a cold slight smile that radiated contempt rather than cordiality.
At last it was time to assemble in one of the conference rooms for the annual Boot Heel Banquet at the end of which the annual awards would be distributed to the winners. The trophies had a bronze boot heel welded to a copper base and inscribed to the lucky winner. Some winners, upon receiving their trophy, felt that they had reached some sort of pinnacle with their writing. Others realistically took it all in stride with smiles and boring acceptance speeches.
Rumor had it that the new Straw Boss would be introduced at the end of the award ceremonies. There were several members that never attended the banquets that paid for this particular awards banquet just to learn about who had been chosen for the Straw Boss slot. One could almost spot these members by the way they wiggled in their chairs during the award ceremonies. One had been overheard whispering to his wife, Why in hell dont these stuffed shirts just come out with it and not make us pay for this awful rubber chicken and get sore butted sitting in these jailhouse chairs?
The outgoing Executive Straw Boss had filled the position for four years after retiring from Usurping University after a long career as a history professor and editor of the universitys historical journal that someone had entitled Labyrinths of Time. The university had informed him that he must vacate his office space to make way for a professor specializing in Recession Reform. This had caused the Straw Boss to resign his position because his wife would not listen to his pleas to move the Straw Boss office to her house on Academy Hill. Many of the members were happy with the change of helm, but they were also nervous about his replacement, whoever that was gong to be.
The awards chairman, a man who had written twelve series Westerns one of those sex with a Stetson pulps, under the pen name, Rascal Hoss, stepped to the podium to announce the last winner for the category, Short Western Song Lyric Written in Spanish and English. The winner is Robert Barlow.
The audience clapped in spite of the fact that Bobby Barlow had, through the years, won eight Boot Heels in seven categories. Another thing that bothered some was the fact that Bobby Barlow was from Britain and had never lived in the united States, much less in its West. Bobby, who had been sitting at a table at the far end of the room came almost prancing up to the podium and gave the longest, and most boring acceptance speech in the history of the event. Besides telling his personal dull history of life outside London, he thanked everyone he had ever known. This was all done in his foggy British accent. Everyone in the room breathed sighs of relief when he stepped down and returned to his far away table carrying his trophy on his right shoulder so that everyone in the room could see it. As he passed by one old timer the old fellow leaned over to the member seated in the adjacent chair and said, You would think that Sumbitchin Limey was the reincarnation of Louis LAmour to watch him strutting with that damn trophy for some stinkin song lyric he dont even understand and he supposedly wrote.
The award chairman sat down at his nearby table and the current President walked to the podium. Everyone in the room sat up straighter in their chairs and all eyes pointed in the direction of the Stetson hatted president as he cleared his throat and took a sip of water from the glass that he had taken from under the rostrum. He looked up with one of his broad fake smiles at the members seated in front of him. I suppose you are all waiting with baited breath to learn who your search committee has appointed to fill the coming vacancy of Executive Straw Boss. I will tell you that she has been the mainstay of this organization for many years and her selfless love of it has kept us all on an even keel. She has shown her expertise as an editor with every issue of our magazine, and the articles she has written for it about her own experiences have been the most interesting of anything else in it. In spite of living in isolated Muskrat, Montana she has been able to oversee all stages of publication and been able to get it in the mail on time without many exceptions. She may be as ugly as the south end of a scoured bull heading north but she will make one helluva good Executive Straw Boss, and besides, she needs the money. With pleasure I present to you, Dulce Mold, our next Executive Straw Boss.
Before Dulce could reach the stage Mildred Moffensburg hobbled up to her and hugged her with her sagging arms. Dulce, obviously in a hurry to give her acceptance speech, smiled blandly and shoved the old lady gently away and went to the podium. The manner in which Dulce wiggled her hindquarters showed that she considered this appointment the pinnacle of her lifes accomplishments.
By the time the president had named Dulce to the position, half the members had left the room and made for the bar. Dulce was not among their choices for the job. What they were not aware of was that Dulce as the only candidate to apply for that august position of Executive Straw Boss.
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REVIEW 1
I love this kind of tongue-in-cheek satire. You have a unique style, which I think can be improved by editing your work thoroughly.
I have taken the liberty to show you several areas where your writing could (and should) be improved.
You show great promise in your work, so keep at it.
Best of luck to you.
L. Roger Quilter.
The most talked about part of the convention and also the most speculated about topic was the upcoming announcement of the newly chosen candidate for Executive Straw Boss, a position that was not highly sought after by the membership because the search committee had laid down such stringent qualifications for the job that all the member felt that any feasible candidate would certainly have to be able to walk on water to be considered for the lucrative position
My grammar check calls this a long sentence and to consider revising I agree.
Suggested rewrite (my opinion of course!)
Of all the interesting topics discussed the one that drew high speculation was the forthcoming election of Executive Straw Boss, a position not favored by the membership as the search committees stringent qualifications meant any feasible candidate should be capable of walking on water
Over the past ten years membership rolls had diminished considerably so that the board of directors changed membership rules t include self-published writers of the West. Therefore those remaining hoped for an intelligent choice for the position to be soon vacated.
Typos and commas.
Over the past ten years, membership rolls had diminished considerably so that the board of directors changed membership rules to include self-published writers of the West. Therefore, those remaining hoped for an intelligent choice for the position to be soon vacated.
The Executive Straw Boss that was being replaced
Who for that.
The Executive Straw Boss who was being replaced
At last it was time to assemble
Comma
At last, it was time to assemble
and inscribed to the lucky winner.
Suggest one of these options.
and inscribed, To the Lucky Winner.
and inscribed, TO THE LUCKY WINNER.
Over the past ten years membership rolls
Comma
Over the past ten years, membership rolls
The awards chairman, a man who had written twelve series Westerns one of those sex with a Stetson pulps, under the pen name, Rascal Hoss, stepped to the podium to announce the last winner for the category, Short Western Song Lyric Written in Spanish and English.
Long sentence and one I am struggling to understand. Needs a rewrite.
Bobby Barlow was from Britain and had never lived in the united States
Capital U in united.
Bobby Barlow was from Britain and had never lived in the United States
Review 2
Made me smile several times and chuckle a couple of times. Thanks for the fun yarn. You have a talent for story-telling, but really need to work on editing before you submit. Pay attention to Mr Quilter's comments and you will do well. If I'd had just one editor like that I wouldn't have received enough rejection slips to wallpaper a room before I was ever published. Keep working at your craft.
Bob Burnett
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