THE SEVENTY-FIRST PAGE

One of my favorite selections was to a particularly repulsive assistant who had collared me in the offices. At first, I had been flattered that he had read my novel, but my delight turned to fury when he began to lecture me on point of view, citing my misuse of it as cause of the book’s failure. He quickly betrayed his lack of understanding of this fundamental principle of prose and I let him know it.

So, he got the raven. An adult would have been too large for a standard manuscript carton, so I considered myself very lucky when I found an immature freshly dead near a throughway exit. I discerned a glitter in the dead eyes, which seemed appropriate for my also glittering-eyed little critic. And god knows, there was enough heft and bulk in the carcass to produce a putrid package for the prick. Who, me? --alliterate?

I did not always include notes in my mailings, but since I have an appropriate type font in my computer, I could not resist putting a single word in the middle of one of my weightiest, creamiest sheets of stationery:

Nevermore.

Ravencroft is a beautiful typeface, but one rarely has occasion to use it. I hope the lad appreciated the care given his selection.