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