d a v i d    g i a n a t a s i o

Dear Alice Blue:

Thanks for inviting me to contribute to your latest issue!

After so many rejections (I like to think of them as "near misses"), I cannot find the words to describe how great it feels to actually be queried BY you guys. I intend to make the most of this amazing opportunity!

It's especially big of you to offer the olive branch, as it were, given the tone of some of our past exchanges.

I apologize for anything I said that sounded like a pissed-off rant. I don't know your home addresses and have no access to firearms. That was the hurt talking, not I.

Likewise, I'm sure your responses were well intentioned. YES, I have enabled my spelling/grammar-check program and installed anti-virus software on my computer. Thanks for the helpful hints!

I am not, however, pursuing a "career in woodworking or zoology" (I'm allergic to dander and oak), though I have tried to socialize more, which is how I interpret your suggestion that I, "Get a life, already."

Of course, that's all behind us, now that you've solicited a contribution.

I had no idea it worked this way, with you proposing topics to writers, or that I could "cut through the slush pile" by cc-ing my finished piece to that ".fbi.gov.us" e-mail address. (Don't worry, it's our little secret.)

But I must admit, I'm a bit stuck about how to proceed given the unorthodox theme.

LUNCHEON MEATS?

At first, I thought you were putting me on. Playing me, as the saying goes.

Then I realized ... My God, it's a big idea. It's Malcolm Gladwell big!

Here's what I've come up with: There's this astronaut. And he's hungry. So he goes to the deli for a sandwich.

That's all I've got so far.

What do you think?

The possibilities for antic wordplay (a hero on a quest for a hero) are pretty obvious. ("Salad days" — I'll toss that in somewhere. Get it? Never mind.)

The astronaut's sterile from exposure to all that radiation in space. That's a no-brainer. Still, how to proceed?

Maybe he gets to the deli and they're closed. It's an unexpected twist, but sort of stops the narrative dead in its tracks. The word count would be, like, 45-50. That's not even long enough to take pot shots at Ann Coulter.

Should I take the piece in a different direction? What if the astronaut gets to the deli, but they're out of rye bread? Too dark? We'll make it light rye. (Bam — I still got it!)

So, the astronaut ponders his fate for 12 graphs — I'll drop a few pickle jokes — and we're out. Maybe he dies at the end and his last word is "pumpernickel." That's a funny word.

Also, you mentioned ZOMBIES as a secondary theme.

Unless they're waiting on line at the deli, there's no plausible way to work them in. Sure, it'd be kind of cute if they ordered brains — but that's an obvious gag, best avoided. (Have you ever tried brains? Oh, you'll gag, all right. Bam — I'm hot tonight!)

I guess I'll just start writing and see where it goes.

It's just ... well ...

Would you consider broadening the theme to include SOUPS?

That way, the astronaut can spill a scalding tomato bisque in his lap. He's badly burned — but it doesn't matter, since he's already sterile.

Now, THAT's funny — Damon Runyon funny!

—DAVE

(PS — Per your request, I'll write the piece in Esperanto. If that's how Dave Eggers got started, it's good enough for me.)

(PPS — If I've misinterpreted the theme, let me know. The astronaut works in almost any situation. Or we can make him an architect — whatever.)

(PPPS — Did I mention that the sandwich talks?)

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DAVID GIANATASIO's first fiction collection, SWIFT KICKS, from So New Publishing, was re-issued this summer in an expanded and revised edition featuring five new stories.