On Noms-De-Plume

Justin Von Depathos strode across the ballroom floor To sit with Carlton Vishizwa and Charlotte Genivieve, While I watched, in silent fascination, from the door, The “major players” waltzing ‘round the room that Friday eve. Thurston Beaumont Jr. brushed my arm as he walked by. Twelve best selling books had earned him legendary fame, And I remember thinking I was actually going to die, It even gave me goose-bumps just to say his pretty name. I had been considering some catchy noms-de-plume, As names you can remember seemed a very needed part Of great success, and as I glanced around the crowded room, I knew that this might be the night my new career could start. I headed for the pink champagne and bowls of caviar In hopes of finding literary stars to mingle with, But then I asked myself, “When someone asks you who you are… Do you really think it’s wise to tell them…Wilbur Smith?” Now…I’m not absolutely sure…but I think that it’s risky To launch a new career with such a common sounding name. I felt that I should dub myself with something rather frisky, Or elegant, and debonair. That’s how they play the game. As I stood there contemplating what that name should be, A suave, distinguished looking lady gracefully walked up, And with what looked to be a smile, she turned and looked at me, Then, with a condescending gesture…handed me her cup! It was rather obvious this woman had no clue That I, too, was an author. (She’d mistaken me for staff.) But then, instead of snotting off, like I was tempted to, I countered with a smile and, somehow…conjured up a laugh. Racing through my mind were thoughts of well-deserved revenge, But better judgment intervened (though I was pretty stressed.) I realized that…though her misconception made me cringe… The reason for the boo-boo was the way that I was dressed. I took her cup, politely, then I gently set it down, To thereby make it clear that I was not convention crew. My smile was met with angry eyes, and followed by a frown, When I said, “Hi. I’m Quildon Thrush.” And she responded…“Who?” “Quildon Thrush. The author! I don’t have an agent yet. If you could recommend one, I could use some good advice. Like fledgling writers everywhere, I’ll take all I can get, And if you’d introduce me to your friends…that would be nice. “I was so disgusted when the airline lost my tux. There wasn’t time to shop, so I just grabbed some working clothes. My fancy suit…that disappeared…cost seven hundred bucks. I know I’m slightly under-dressed, but hey…that’s how it goes.” She would stand there, motionless, for quite a little while, Until I’d finished babbling and I paused to take a breath. Then, again, I’d see her force a manufactured smile, As she began the barbed reply that scared me half to death. “Who the hell is Quildon Thrush? I’ve never heard that name. You look more like a waiter, and I’ll bet you made that up! But…if, in fact, to get some free advice is why you came… Well…I’ll be glad to give you some…if you’ll refill my cup.” Frantically, I grabbed the closest bottle, pulled the cork, Then carefully filled her little cup with sparkling pink champagne. “You,” she sneered, “have got to be the very biggest dork I’ve ever seen…and if you think you’ll make it…you’re insane! “How the hell did you get in is what I’d like to know. A crude and unsophisticated jerk is what you are. Maybe if you changed your name to Edgar Allen Poe - You could find a publisher. I think you want the bar!” I was so incensed I pinned my thumb across the top And wildly shook the bottle, nearly filled with vintage brew. An awful thing to do, I know, but I just couldn’t stop… And after what she’d said, it seemed the fitting thing to do! Her scarf of white chiffon and ivory blouse - appropriately - Absorbed the brunt of flying wine, as I released the spray. “Gosh, I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said sarcastically, Then, as she stood there freaking out, I calmly walked away. Nothing else I’ve ever done has felt as right, or good, As soaking down that spiteful cow who treated me like dirt. And if I got the chance to do the same again, I would. I only wish there’d been enough to booger up her skirt. After that convention, I would take some time to think. I grew this bushy moustache just in case I ever see The witch that went from - dry-an’-white to…very-wet-an’-pink… Because I know she’ll kill me if she recognizes me! And though as far as pen names go, I’m sure the claim is true That classy sounding noms-de-plume can help your pieces sell… Only fools confine themselves to asking merely “who”, For some unknowns can write - if not much better - just as well. PS: I've now got 4 new Audio-CDs - @ 4 1/2 hours each = (62 diversely varied pieces). They’re listed on EBAY - under - “Mark Stellinga Poetry” - or available by simply contacting me at -- mark@writerofbooks.com -- should those of you who enjoy listening to poems as well as reading them - and particularly those of you that travel - care to be so entertained. (We use safe and simple - PayPal) There are a bunch of my pieces on YouTube as well --- Cheers, Mark