Reader's Digest Bankrupt...Again

For the second time since August 2009, Reader's Digest Association has filed for Chapter 11 protection.

Please...someone shoot this horse and put it out of its misery already. Here's a funny quote from Chief Executive Bob Guth: "The Chapter 11 process, which will facilitate a significant debt reduction, will enable us to continue to redefine our business by focusing our resources on our strong North America publishing brands, which have shown a new vitality as a result of our transformation efforts, particularly in the digital arena."

Strong? New vitality? Is he saying this with a straight face? I think the captain of the Titanic said "Don't worry, everything's OK. We'll be in port soon."

The WSJ says in their article that RD emerged from its last bankruptcy "on a very healthy and viable basis" according to its bankruptcy judge, but even a lighter debt load couldn't save the company from the pressures on print publishers.

That seems to indicate that the problem with RD is that consumers aren't buying print anymore. This is true to a point, but maybe it's the crappy stuff that RD is printing that the consumer doesn't want, no matter what format they shovel it to the public.

Another one bites the dust at RDA

"Reached over the weekend, (Dan) Lagani was tight-lipped about the circumstances surrounding his exit. Read more: Dan Lagani shown the door.

Once the mushroom clouds dissipate, the only things left on Earth will be cockroaches and Readers' Digest Condensed Books

Watts: Readers' Digest books become part of furniture.

RD Satire

This is a satire, but it's actually a better idea than anything the real leaders of Reader's Digest are coming up with nowadays:
Reader's Digest To Offer New Abridged Version

RDA Dismantling Continues

The Reader's Digest Association has unloaded Weekly Reader. Reports are that Scholastic bought the educational magazine for slightly less than $5 million. Wow! That's chump change. Barely enough to pay bonuses to upper management. But I guess it's one step closer to RDA folding completely.

RDA never really knew what to do with Weekly Reader. They're in a better place now, with a real publisher who actually, you know, makes money. Good luck to them!

So, what's next to go? Taste of Home? Children's Books? The magazine itself? Stay tuned.

RDA Fire Sale?

Publishing giant Meredith has purchased AllRecipes.com from Reader's Digest for $175 million. Meredith previously purchased the magazine Every Day With Rachael Ray from RD. As long as Meredith keeps getting a good deal, they'll continue to pick over the remains of the once-proud company that Lila and DeWitt Wallace created.

Reader's Digest is deep in debt and this infusion of cash will (barely) help make a dent in what they owe. Maybe just the higher-ups can give themselves nice fat bonuses now.

My prediction? Weekly Reader is sold off next, then Taste of Home, then RD's flagship Reader's Digest magazine. Then the current board of directors can close up shop completely, and Lila and DeWitt can spin one last time in their graves.

Even More Layoffs at Reader's Digest

The sinking ship known as Reader's Digest Association has recently cut another 150 jobs worldwide. Thirty of these jobs were at the company’s Greendale, Wisconsin-based Reiman Publications. And that's the part of the company doing well! Ha ha.

In the White Plains, NY office, nearly half of the Children's Books division was sent packing, including a mid-west sales rep. Eliminating sales reps is a clear indication of throwing in the towel. It won't be long now before Children's Books is closed completely. I give it 2-3 months. The rest of the company? Maybe 6.

OK, let's all sit back and watch the ship sink now. Get some popcorn!

Meanwhile, RD is continuing their misguided "We Hear You America" campaign, which grants up to $50,000 to American cities in need. Hello? Your own employees are in need! They haven't gotten a raise in two years. Not to mention the ones laid off. Do you really think it's a good idea to be doling out money you don't have? Here's a tip to the cities that win grants: Cash the check as soon as possible.

Reader's Digest wants your life story!

Reader's Digest is running a cool contest, and you can win money!

Share a lesson, simple advice, funny moment or other story from your life in 150 words or fewer. Your story could be chosen by our editors to be published in Reader’s Digest and win $25,000!

Here is the link: Reader's Digest Version

And here is my story, exactly 150 words:

I was born the same place I was conceived--in the back of a taxi cab. The driver, of middle eastern origin, who had previous experience birthing goats and sheep, wrapped my wet, newborn body in a large print edition of Reader's Digest Magazine. I was literally born into the Digest. The pages clung to me, the ink staining my skin like tattoos. If you look closely enough, you can still see the Reader's Digest logo, faint but there, the noble pegasus always flying, perpetually, majestically. The ink entered my bloodstream; blood is thicker than water, ink is thicker than blood. My monthly cycle was in tune with the magazine’s pub date. I was hired after college, entering the hallowed halls of the original building. Separated at birth. Reunited. I left when the company left. I survived as the company survives. I live and breathe still. I am Reader’s Digest.

Reader's Digest For Sale

According to today's Wall Street Journal:

Reader's Digest Association Inc., the magazine and website publisher that emerged from bankruptcy protection in early 2010, has put itself up for sale and hopes to fetch around $1 billion, according to people familiar with the matter.

The New York-based company, which is best known for its namesake family magazine, has hired financial advisers to shop the company to potential buyers, including private-equity firms and other media companies, these people said. The process may result in the sale or spinoff of some Reader's Digest properties rather than the sale of the entire company, two of the people added.

Is this winter over yet?

Hi all. I figured I'd check in and give you an update from icy White Plains.
• This winter is relentless. One snowstorm after another. And the temperature is not warming up, so the snow from previous storms isn't melting. More just gets piled on. Yesterday we had an ice storm, just to change things up a little. RD's snow policy seems to be the company will never close, but you can work from home if you clear it with your manager first. Except upper management is putting pressure on lower management to make everyone come into the office. So, we're getting a mixed message. I myself have been coming in every day.
• The management of our building, Westchester One, cancels shuttle service to the train station without much warning. If you commute here by train, well—sorry! You're out of luck. Either you have to beg a co-worker for a ride to the train station, or you have to walk a mile (uphill) through ice and snow to get there (while carrying your files so you can "work from home"). Why are they canceling the shuttle service? This is White Plains! We're not in the sticks here. The roads are plowed and salted. In Pleasantville RD owned a shuttle van, and someone drove it back and forth. If it snowed, they drove slow. We're not trying to get people to the moon here. It's only a mile drive.
• The White Plains office now has flooring in the kitchen and carpeting outside of the elevators.
• Still no personal garbage cans.
• There is now "art" hanging on the walls. It's the ugly, reject art that no one wanted to buy during the company auction, but at least we're not looking at bare white walls anymore.
• I still have no idea where these supposed "huddle rooms" are.

Breaking News! You like me, you really like me!

As the Pegasus Flies is a finalist in the USA Book News National "Best Books 2010" Awards, Fiction & Literature: Short Story Fiction category! The list of winners and finalists was released today. See the results here.

Don't forget, As the Pegasus Flies can be purchased for only $7.50 on Amazon.

A Kris-mas Carol

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Kris placed the last of his personal items in the box—a coffee cup with the old Reader's Digest logo proudly emblazoned on it. Fifteen years of his professional life reduced to a single, small copier paper carton. He had seen the writing on the wall; he wasn't blind sided by the news, wasn't caught unawares, or shocked. He had, in fact, been preparing for it emotionally for awhile. His little group was one of the last to be scheduled to move out of the old headquarters and into the new offices in White Plains. Then—no go. Well, he thought, at least it was over. The worrying, the doubt, the stress. He was off the sinking ship now, but still afloat. He had some options, some contacts to call. Holding the box in his hands, he looked around his empty office, checking one last time for anything he may have forgotten. Just then there was a knock on his door. Whoever was out there was impatient, and before he got a chance to open the door, it swung open. Kris dropped the box, not believing his eyes.

(Part 2) Kris found himself face to face with an unearthly, transparent figure. The visitor looked extremely old, with white hair past his shoulders, and long, bony limbs. "Who are you?" Kris asked. "I am the Ghost of Publishing Past," the figure stated dramatically. "Long past, like Guttenberg times?" Kris asked. "No, Reader's Digest's past," the ghost said. Then, "Take my hand." Kris grasped the ghost's hand and they passed through the brick wall of the building. They were outside up high looking down; everything was different. The annex wasn't built yet, there were less parking lots and more trees. Old fashioned cars filled the front lot. The ghost and Kris passed through the ivy-free brick of the Rotunda and into the office of DeWitt Wallace. "My god, is it really him?" Kris whispered. "Yes. And don't worry—he can't see or hear us," the ghost said. DeWitt's suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He held a red pen and was copy-editing an article, writing directions in the margins. "A CEO doing real work!" Kris said. "Yes, shocking. Come this way," the ghost said, again taking hold of Kris's arm. They proceeded down a hallway lined with original work by famous artists. The furniture was expensive and antique—except it wasn't antique yet. The look of the building was more of a mansion than a place of business. Homey even. Kris had never seen the building in such good shape. They stopped outside a conference room where a team of editors was brainstorming new ideas. There was laughter, and more ideas than they could use. What struck Kris was how happy and relaxed they all seemed. Confident. Secure in their jobs and their profession and the future of publishing—a future they were helping to shape. "Remove me! I cannot bear it!" exclaimed Kris. "Take me back! Haunt me no longer!" Next thing he knew he was back in his own office, sitting at his desk. He was exhausted from the experience and put his head down on the desk and fell quickly into a heavy sleep.

(Part 3) Kris woke with a start. "Who's there?" he asked, sensing someone at his office door. A larger, more robust specter than before stepped inside. "Who are you?" "I am the Ghost of Publishing Present," the ghost said. "Take hold of my arm." Here we go again, thought Kris. Soon they were passing through the wall, and Kris was looking down at a strip mall, where a small, independent bookstore was closed—out of business—and the landlord was posting a For Rent sign. "This is happening all over," the ghost said. The next stop was the home of a young family. Kris recognized the father as an employee of Reader's Digest, a book designer. He was in the kitchen of his house preparing a meatloaf, a boy and girl hanging off each of his legs. They were happy to have their father home from work. A younger boy came hobbling into the kitchen using a crutch. The father stopped what he was doing, picked up the boy and placed him atop his shoulders, then resumed mixing the chopped meat with bread crumbs and eggs. The mother came in, upset that the father hadn't gotten a raise in salary again this year. "Don't worry," the father said, three kids hanging off of him, "we already have everything we need." The scene suddenly dissolved and the two older children—wretched looking now—were clinging to the robe of the ghost, as if for their life. "What about the young boy?" Kris asked. The ghost just shook his head. He said, "There is still time to erase this scene. It doesn't have to happen. You can fix things." Then Kris found himself back in his office, and without delay the third phantom approached...

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] The third spirit stood there, draped in a black robe and hood. He reminded Kris of the Grim Reaper. "Are you the Ghost of Publishing Yet to Come?" Kris asked. No response. "Okaaaay..." Kris said. Finally the spirit just pointed, and a scene of high school kids appeared. Boys and girls were on their smartphones texting each other, others were surfing the internet on iPads, some were playing video games. No books in sight. Magazines and newspapers were as extinct as dinosaurs. Then suddenly Kris and the ghost were in a fog-shrouded cemetery at night. The spirit pointed again, insistently. Kris took the hint and followed the ghost's bony digit to see a tombstone. On it was carved "Publishing, R.I.P." "Aaaah!" screamed Kris. "Tell me this can still be altered! Surely you wouldn't show me this if there was no hope left." Finally the mute ghost spoke, "You have the power to prevent this. You know what you have to do." Kris was confused. "But how can I change things?" "Aren't you the CEO?" the ghost asked. "No," Kris said, "In fact, I don't even have a job anymore—I've just been laid off." "Uh oh," the ghost said. "What?" Kris asked. "The other ghosts aren't going to like this. We're going to have to do this all over again with the real CEO." The ghost shook his head, then waved his arms and they were back in Kris's office. "Good luck to you," Kris said. The ghost wished him well, too, then dissolved into nothingness. Kris hefted his box of personal items and left his office for the final time, closing the door forever. RD had given up on yet another valuable member of the team, someone who could have helped alter the ghost's bleak prediction.

******

MB looked up from her desk to find herself face to face with an unearthly, transparent figure. The visitor looked extremely old, with white hair past his shoulders, and long, bony limbs. "I am the Ghost of Publishing Past," the figure stated dramatically...

Oh, Snap!

Oh, well, it looks like they killed off the Oh, Snap! feature. I wonder what they will replace it with? Something lame, like iGen?

Look for a new short story here soon, to address this new development. And don't forget to check back and find out the results of the USA Book News Best Book 2010 awards, in which As the Pegasus Flies is entered in the Short Story Fiction category.

UPDATE: Winners and finalists will be announced Tuesday, Octber 26!

Week 31

Jonathan

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Jonathan showed up a half hour early for his interview. He allowed himself extra time in case he got lost; if he didn't get lost then he'd just use the extra time to have a look around and absorb the atmosphere of the legendary Reader's Digest grounds and building. The place was amazing! The huge brick building was magnificent—a testament to the iconic brand name of Reader's Digest (some things you could always count on, Jonathan thought, Coca Cola never changing its recipe, and Reader's Digest never changing its name). And to think, this is where it all happened. On a daily basis, no less. Jonathan had wanted to be a part of this for as long as he could remember; he finally secured an interview through the friend of a friend who worked here, and he wanted to ace it. He had all his clippings with him, packed tight into his portfolio. He had been building up his writing resume over the years, mostly freelance, but some staff work, too, on the local newspaper in his hometown of Mt. Vernon. He was ready. He took a deep breath and approached the woman behind the desk. She quickly slipped something into the bottom drawer of her desk (her flask, of course), then said. "How may I help you?" "Hello, Ethel," Jonathan said, reading her nameplate. "I have an appointment with Mr. ________, the managing editor of the magazine. My name is Jonathan ________." "Hold on a minute please," Ethel said, picking up the phone. "Yes, a Jonathan ________ is here to see you. Okay, I'll send him in."

(Part 2) Ethel hung up the phone and said, "He's ready to see you." "Great! Thank you. How do I get there?" Ethel stood and pointed as she spoke. "What you want to do is go through this door right here near the funky chair. Then you'll come out this door here." She pointed to the left. "Then you'll be right back here and you'll want to go down this hall right behind me, past the first door and in the second. Which will lead you right back here, on the right near the funky chair again." Jonathan wasn't sure if she was pulling his leg, but he tried to stay with her, held a wary smile on his face. He repeated the directions back to her. "Then what?" he asked. "Well then," Ethel said, "you sit in the chair and wait for Mr. ________ to come and get you." Jonathan smiled again to let her know he was in on the joke. When she didn't crack a smile, he figured she wasn't joking. "Uh, okay. Thanks," he said. He proceeded through the first door. As soon as he was gone, Ethel picked up the phone and called Mr. ________. "It's me. We got a live one!" she said, then returned the phone to its cradle. Jonathan passed her desk twice, then settled into the chair and waited. He was getting nervous, and checked his watch several times, switched his portfolio from hand to hand, felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. When Mr. ________ finally opened the very door near the chair and stepped out into the hall, Jonathan bolted upright as if a fire alarm had sounded. "Come right this way," Mr. ________ said to Jonathan, draping an arm around his shoulder to guide him in the right direction. "The good news is you passed the first test."

(Part 3) They walked down a carpeted hallway that was adorned with intricate crown molding, antique furniture, and expensive, original paintings. This was one classy joint! No wonder it had taken Jonathan so many years to even get an interview; probably no one ever left the company! Bonuses, surprise days off, company outings, and free turkeys at Thanksgiving. Who'd want to give that up? Jonathan followed Mr. ________ into his office, who said, "Have a seat." Jonathan couldn't believe that someone could work in an office that was so fancy. Leather armchairs, an enormous oak desk, curtains on the windows, a fireplace! This room was nicer than Jonathan's apartment—by far. In fact, he would live here instead if he could. He squinted at the painting on the left wall, then nearly fainted. Yup, it was an original Van Gogh. It boggled his mind, when he really stopped to think about it, that publishing short little articles, mostly condensed from other sources, could become such a money maker. Those Wallaces really knew what they were doing! And if some unforeseen thing happened fifty years from now and people forgot how to read, well then the company still had this amazing nest egg of paintings to keep everyone rolling in the dough for centuries to come. Jonathan hadn't even gotten the job yet, but he saw his whole future laid out in front of him: a big house in Scarsdale, a beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a new car every two years, a fat pension. Retirement in Miami. It was so close, he could taste it! He just needed to ace this interview. "So, tell me a little about yourself," Mr. ________ said. "Well, I," Jonathan started. Then he fell to his knees and hobbled over to Mr. ________. Grabbing his legs he said, "Please, you have to give me this job. I'll do anything! I can start right away! When do I get to see the pegasus? I hear it has magical powers. Can I pet it? Can I? Please!" Mr. ________ smiled, nodded his head. He always loved the enthusiastic interviewees.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Jonathan holds his soup bowl with unsteady hands. This isn't good. The server always gives him a little less when his hands shake so much, so it won't spill on the walk to the table. Jonathan wills his hands not to shake. When he gets up to the front of the line his hands remain steady long enough for the man with the ladle to fill the bowl up to the top. Slow even steps get him to the table, where he sits and begins to eat. Thank god for these soup kitchens. He thinks back to his days at Reader's Digest. The glory days—theirs and his. He had a nice house for a while. A wife too. She eventually left. The kids, they never came. The pension came and left. He takes a sip of soup. A little salty for his taste, but beggars can't be choosers. He thinks of that Van Gogh painting from all those years ago. Where is it now? Who owns it? A museum, probably. Maybe he could find out which one and go and gaze upon it one more time before he dies. Jonathan thinks these type of thoughts as he eats, mops up the remaining soup with a slightly stale piece of Italian bread. He feels sleepy, but stands, heads back out into streets of the city. There is only one door in which to exit; he thinks of all those doors that were once open to him when he was a young man. The air outside is bitterly cold, awakening him like a jolt of caffeine. He pulls his tattered overcoat tight around his throat, the warmth of the soup already gone. He makes his way slowly to nowhere in particular, his eyes on the cloudy sky, hoping to see the pegasus once more, too, before he dies.

Nancy and Julia

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Nancy was bored to tears with her job. She liked the paycheck, though, and the way people responded positively when she told them she worked for Reader's Digest. Everybody knew and loved Reader's Digest! Then, inevitably, they'd ask what she did for them. This is when Nancy would have to get a little vague, or change the subject completely. What the hell did she do for them? Yes, she was part of a whole, the sum is greater than the parts and all that. But packing up register tape? How would this help the company in the long run? Fifty years from now, people would remember the articles that were written, not a cardboard box that was packed up and stored in a basement. She wanted to be part of something that would be remembered! Oh, well. Nancy sighed. She never thought she would be one of those people who disliked their job, and had to grit it out to the weekend, when she could then have fun. At least she had plans with her best friend Julia this weekend. They were going to take off work on Friday and drive out to Idlewild airport to see if they could meet the guys in a new band she and Julia were crazy about. The band were making their first trip to the US from England, so Nancy was confident there wouldn't be too many fans, and she'd be able to get some autographs. And then, for Sunday, Julia scored a pair of tickets to see them perform on the Ed Sullivan Show. This is what kept Nancy going. Something to look forward to. Meanwhile, she packed up another box of register tape, wrote "Feb. 1964" on the side, then began a new box.

(Part 2) Pan Am flight 101 approached New York's Idlewild airport. The Beatles were nervous. They had conquered Germany, then their home country of England. This was their final test. The USA! The home of their idols: Elvis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, Little Richard. The band had a big send off from their fans when they left Heathrow airport, and the boys were excited and confident. But despite this, and despite the fact that "I Want to Hold Your hand" was a hit in America, by the time the plane neared New York the fellows were feeling a little doubtful. "America has everything, why should they want us?" George asked aloud, to no one in particular. Soon the pilot sent word to them that a big crowd awaited them. As the plane taxied to the gate, John said, "Just look at that!" More than three thousand fans were in a frenzy at the sight of the Beatles' plane. "They must be out of their minds," Ringo said. "Well, bloody hell," Paul added. Their manager Brian came up front to talk to them. "You boys up for a press conference?" he said. "I've been told there are over two hundred reporters present. Can't buy this kind of publicity." Paul said, "This is great!" "Let me guess," John said, "They're going to ask us about our bloody hair." George, still looking out the window, said. "Look at all those screaming girls!" When the plane came to a stop, the boys were ushered into the Pan Am arrivals building for their impromptu press conference. Amongst the two hundred or so reporters and photographers were Nancy and Julia, Nancy having gotten them in with her Reader's Digest credentials. The fun was about to begin...

(Part 3) The cynical, jaded New York press took an instant like to the cocky, cheeky, young Liverpool musicians. Their confidence and charisma actually made the press conference fun. The reporters fired off question after question, and the boys (they were so hard to tell apart) had quick answers. Can you sing for us? "No, we need money first." Have you decided when you're going to retire? "Any minute now." Julia nudged Nancy, whispered in her ear, "Ask them a question!" "What could I possibly ask them?" Nancy said. "I don't know—just the first thing that pops into your head." "OK," Nancy said and raised her hand. When she was called on, she said, "Hello, I'm Nancy from Reader's Digest magazine. Have you fellows ever seen a real, live pegasus?" The noise in the room abated for a few seconds as the question floated there (this is how the rumor of RD having a pegasus started). Finally, Paul said, "You're daft!" Then Ringo said, "I've seen a unicorn, but never a pegasus." John said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Nancy, embarrassed, said, "Nevermind." Then the real reporters resumed asking their serious questions. What do you call that haircut? "Arthur." But John had nodded to someone in his entourage, who went over and escorted Nancy and Julia outside to a waiting limo. Ten minutes later the boys ran from the building and hopped into the back of the limo, giggling like schoolboys causing trouble. (Which, of course, they nearly were.) "So, where do you have this pegasus stashed?" John asked, pushing the bangs out of his eyes. "Pleasantville," Nancy said. John leaned toward the driver. "You heard the lady," he said, "Pleasantville it is!" The limo took off, rounded a corner, and soon hundreds of screaming and crying teenage girls draped themselves over the car, pounded on the windows, and shouted nonsense. The car gained speed and quickly the hysterical fans were behind them. It took an hour to get to the RD campus, but the time went fast. The radio was playing Beatles songs non-stop, the boys were buzzing, and the excitement was palpable. Before they knew it, the limo was pulling to a stop in front of the Rotunda entrance. Lorenzo was outside grabbing a smoke. Everyone piled out of the car. "Buon giorno, Beatles," Lorenzo said.


(Part 4) Nancy liked to walk the grounds of Reader's Digest during her lunch hour. For exercise, but also just to be outside in the fresh air. She loved the garden, where fellow employees got to grow their vegetables and flowers, but she also loved going farther back into the woods—and past that where there was a grassy meadow. This is where she first glimpsed the pegasus, Peggy. The pegasus was no longer held captive, having been freed years before by Lola and Jake. But like a homing pigeon, Peggy always returned to Reader's Digest to graze. The pegasus had magical powers that brought good luck to whoever touched her. Lila and DeWitt Wallace were perfect examples of this, as was Mink Stole Suzy. Nancy said, "Legend has it that if you touch the pegasus, you'll have good luck." The Beatles already had their own magic and luck, of course. Nancy had just asked the Beatles a question, off the top of her head, as Julia had suggested. Now it was all this. She had no idea if the pegasus would even be here! The boys had boundless energy, and once loosed upon the RD campus, it was hard to get them under control. While Lorenzo went to the cafeteria to cook them a nice hot meal, they ran around aimlessly looking for the pegasus before Nancy could tell them about the secret meadow.

Once they had a focus and destination, John said, "Ringo, use your big schnoz to sniff out the pegasus!" With Ringo leading the way, they--The Beatles, Nancy, and Julia--tramped through the woods and emerged into the sunlit meadow. It was a chilly early February day, but it felt warmer here. "Come on little pegasus, don't be shy!" Paul said. They all looked to the sky, and sure enough, off in the distance a pegasus approached. Peggy's strong wings brought her directly above them quickly, and soon she was on the ground, pulling her wings to her side and snorting happily. Peggy was excited! She had sensed the arrival of the four Liverpudlians, and hurried back to RD as soon as she could. She knew the lads were charmed, and hoped some of their luck could rub off on her. She took a few tentative steps toward the group, and they did they same. The four lads reached out, and gently petted the pegasus...

Sam

Sam had outgrown his job. As much as he loved being part of the Reader's Digest team, he knew it was time to move on, for career advancement. He'd miss his friends—Horace, William, Hilda, Lorenzo, all of them. But they'd still be his friends, right? He just wouldn't see them on a daily basis. After setting up this whole system here at RD, Sam wanted to go where the action really was: IBM. And they were nearby, too! He wouldn't even have to move. He knew computers were the future, but he also knew it would be hard to leave the cushy, lucrative publishing industry for one that was still in its infancy. But the lure of being part of something new and innovative was just too tempting. Sam could help shape the world! He could be part of something historic. He foresaw huge computer systems like this in every home, computers that would run the whole household. Appliances, climate control, garage doors, alarm systems, and on and on. The potential was endless! He had an in at IBM, a contact that would almost guarantee he'd get hired. This was what Sam was thinking, what he was deciding on this Monday morning, as he planned out the next phase of his life, when the new hire, Melissa, walked in the door for her first day. "Hi," she said, "Are you Sam? You're supposed to train me. I'm Melissa!" All Sam's plans immediately went out the window. She was beautiful! His circuits overloaded, his hard drive froze, and his interface twitched uncontrollably. "Absdk heuitdhy," he said, incoherently, but also sweetly. He smiled and shook her hand. She smiled back. Working at Reader's Digest for the next thirty years started to seem like a good option.

As the Pegasus Flies entered in 2010 USA Book News Awards

As the Pegasus Flies has been officially entered in the seventh annual 2010 USA Book News National Best Book Awards contest, Short Story Fiction category. From the website: The National “Best Books 2010” Awards are specifically designed to garner MEDIA COVERAGE & BOOK SALES for the winners & finalists throughout the 2010 holiday retail season and 2011! Winners & finalists will be announced October 2010. Stay tuned here for the results!

Meanwhile, As the Pegasus Flies is available for only $7.50 on Amazon.

The Four of Us

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Look at that picture, will you? We were all so young then (well, Milly was getting a little long in the tooth). I'm an old battleax now; it's hard to believe so much time has passed. Where does the time go? You look for some things to stay constant—when you're old—things that have remained the same over the years, so you feel like part of your youth still exists. You can go back and not only revisit a place, but revisit your younger self, too. I'd go back to RD for various functions over the years—or just to visit—and memories would come flooding back. The building, the grounds, the trees, the garden all basically looked the same. I'd be a young woman again, transported back to my youth, just like in this here picture. That's the image I have of myself, how I still feel. By the way, that's me there second from the right with that curlicue collar design (what was I thinking?), waiting eagerly for some of that happy juice. The company wants Candidness nowadays? Well, there's nothing like a little happy juice to get those tongues wagging. We knew how to be candid back then, believe me. I miss all the girls in this photo. Not that they're dead or anything. The Four of Us (I'm not counting the "bartender" there, she wasn't part of our clique). From the left that's Rhonda, Hilda, myself (Brenda), and Milly. You've already met our spouses: Joey the Pinhead, William, Horace, and Tommy Four Eyes. I remember this picture like it was yesterday. That's 'cause a moment later all hell broke loose.

The Jesters

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Like jesters summoned to entertain a king and queen, Pete, Louie, Wayne, and Bert were called before the CEO. They weren't to be whipped or put to death if their performance was unsatisfactory, however. Their fate would be much worse: unemployment. Yes, they would be laid off, and not make the final trip to White Plains to join the rest of the company, which had already relocated in June. It was to be an impromptu performance, and they grabbed whatever props they could get their hands on; there wasn't much to work with—the old Pleasantville headquarters was now nearly empty of 70 years of clutter. "Maybe we can use this?" Bert called out, holding up an old hot water bottle. He turned it over and saw the initials DW written in faded marker. Eew, he thought, having an image of DeWitt snuggling up close to the hot water bottle during a cold winter, if not a cold marriage. "How about this cane and safari hat?" Louie asked. "I found some old sheets. Maybe we can use them?" Wayne said, tentatively taking a sniff. Pete—reminiscent of Kenny—just mumbled a sound through his parka that sounded like a question at the end. These were all rhetorical questions because they had no choice, they had to throw something together fast; everything was usable. They hung a sheet in the library and waited for the Queen CEO to arrive. They waited in a side room, sweating nervously. Finally her private car arrived and she entered through the Rotunda, sunglasses on top of her head and Blackberry in her hand. "Where are these jokers?" she said, sitting down on the one throne chair in the room. "Chop chop, fellas. I haven't got all day. My plane to Nantucket leaves in an hour."

(Part 2) Bert felt somewhat like a performing monkey, made to entertain someone to keep his job. Is this what publishing has come to? He was fifty-eight years old. He had seen the glory days of publishing—the steady raises, yearly bonuses, expense accounts, travel, the occasional free lunch. How had it all come crashing down so hard, so fast? Were people really not buying books anymore? Or magazines? Was it the recession? The increased costs to produce the product? The competition from other entertainment sources—like the internet, video games, DVDs, iPads and smartphones? Well, yes. Bert had worked his whole professional life in publishing, he had climbed the ladder (and now, apparently, was climbing back down). He was insulted that his job now depended on the whim of the Queen CEO. He had worked—no, slaved—for years, building his reputation, winning awards, mentoring others, working overtime. He was more than insulted; he was mortified, demeaned, livid, hurt, embarrassed, shamed. But when the Queen CEO looked at her watch and said, "I'm not laughing yet, boys," Bert did what he had to do. He grabbed the hot water bottle hanging from his belt, removed the plug, and aimed a nice, long squirt of water right into Louie's face. When the Queen CEO let out a spontaneous cackle of laughter, Bert felt dirty and abused. Used. But hell, he needed to keep his job. When she said, "Do it again!" he gave the bottle another long squeeze.

(Part 3) Louie was taken by surprise the first time Bert squirted him in the face, but the second time he let it happen willingly. He had a job to save—namely, his. He could take one for the team. He waved his cane in a threatening manner in return, which got another laugh. This was all about entertaining the Queen CEO, right? Taking some hot water in the face was the least of his problems. His wife was having an affair with Wayne—there was no doubt about this fact. The private investigator he had hired supplied photos of them in compromising positions; Louie had been struggling with how to confront the libidinous adulterers since he found out the truth. But maybe this skit was his answer, he thought. A well-struck blow to Wayne's head, all in the name of comedy and horsing around, of course, and old Wayne'd be toast. And in the eyes of the law it would all be nice and clean and accidental. And as an added bonus, Louie would get to keep his job, because who would be so cruel as to lay off someone who just accidentally killed a co-worker? Plus, Wayne would be dead, so that would leave either Pete or Bert as the one to get the axe (Louie was wrongly working on the presumption here that only one of the four would lose their job.) He had to make it look accidental, all in the name of comedy. He had to really camp it up. There couldn't be any suspicion that what he was about to do was intentional, pre-meditated. He laughed loudly, then raised the cane high, toward Wayne, and yelled, "Die you robe-wearing Statue of Liberty wannabe!" and struck Wayne a hard blow on the right temple. Wayne went down like a felled tree, bringing a squeal of delight from the Queen CEO. "Good show boys, good show!" she said. Moments later, the pool of blood spreading from the still-prone Wayne finally raised some concerns.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Juan, the CEO's driver, sat outside the Rotunda entrance with the car idling and the A/C on. What a plum job he had. He let out a low chuckle, satisfied with his lot in life. He knew he was earning more than most folks who worked under the CEO (or below Level 8, anyway), and here he was sitting around doing nothing. Or not nothing, really, more like taking care of his personal business. Sending out emails on his smartphone, paying bills, making phone calls, catching up on his reading. Even the driving part of his job wasn't all bad. He had himself a nice new Garmin GPS system; he could easily get around traffic jams, meaning he'd get his client to her meetings faster, allowing himself even more free time to do his own stuff. Heck, he didn't even have to worry about small talk; she was always on the phone "working" while he was driving her around. He didn't feel guilty about this easy gig; he'd paid his dues, working too hard for too little over the years. This is what he was thinking when the CEO suddenly emerged from the building and hopped in the back seat. He didn't even have time to get out and open the door for her. "Go, go, go!" she shouted. He took off like he was driving the getaway car for a bank job (something he really once did many years ago). Before he had a chance to ask what was the matter, she was on the phone. "He's dead! They're killing each other now! No, I don't know. Some level fiver. Doesn't matter. Uh huh. Okay, bye." She hung up and stared out the window, one would think almost pensively, if you didn't know better. Juan knew better. "Where to?" Juan asked. "The Manhattan office," she said, then got back on the phone. "It's me. Get rid of them all," she said. "They weren't that funny anyway." Juan pulled onto the Saw Mill River Parkway heading south. This should take forty minutes or so, he thought. Then he could get back to his personal stuff.