...Wherein I post treatments or pitches that were rejected by various publications for indeterminate reasons. This installment was sent to the folks at Amtrak, as I and every other writer in America with more than a passing penchant for laziness lunged to try and land a residency to write aboard a long, free train trip. I sent them a writing sample previously posted on this blog ("Cadaver"), forgetting to read the fine-print that they were not interested in any crazy-asshole rantings on sociological accounts of depressive maniacs or otherwise burnt-out fuckers bent on imminent demise. Whoops.
Anyway, here was my stupid, idiot pitch on what I would have written about, as sent to the suits at Amtrak, and which was given a big ol' "FUCK YOU, GUY":
I'd like whatever I write to be a meditation on the effects of human tendencies toward isolation/agoraphobia/complacency as it relates to a world bent on bridging the gaps pertaining to hermetic psychoses (social media, smartphones, GPS, FourSquare, etc) - the paralyzing fears wrought by lack of connection and the collective bristling of people who’d just as soon be left alone.
-An intrinsic analysis challenging the false connections people make over uniform obedience to social trends and entertainment; or the nearly blind filing-in and marching along with the ubiquitous ebbs and flows of some TV series/news story/fruitless pandemic warning.
This idea could be given further bloom within the construct/context of the writer/narrator isolating himself within a sleeper car aboard a passenger train burping across the country - the United States rolling by; interesting ramblers carousing in the observation car; the junkies and lovesick romantics and runaways and spooky old drunks; the sometimes mortifying proposition of a dimly lit dinner in a dining car at a table full of strangers. The dichotomy of attempting to expand on one’s comfortable spectrum, while being forced to abandon certain aspects of reclusive tendencies to accomplish it. Almost being commanded to.
It’s not that the story has to take place on a train. Rather, the self-imposed isolation could serve as impetus to the creative synapse necessary to spark my fledgling story of this meek figure who’s facing his fears of returning to the location of what he thinks is the source of his self-imposed isolation.
...Clearly, they made the correct decision to decline. So it goes...
