Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

LITERARY AGENTS IN 'PAPERCLIP' SHOCKER

Pernickety Hat can exclusively reveal a sinister conspiracy at the heart of the writing industry. Our source, a 30-something writer who not only demanded to be named but also asked us to include samples of her writing in this story in brazen attempt to gain publicity, believes that she has discovered just why it is so difficult for aspiring writers to get into print.

'It's the agents,' explains our source. 'They don't actually read anything you send them.'

She claims to have sent a synopsis and sample chapters to a number of agents, only to receive rejections within a matter of days.

'I thought, at first, that they had simply discerned my writing to be the pile of tosh I secretly fear it to be,' she continues. 'But then it clicked. The same thing kept happening, and I realised then that something sinister was going on. Each time, my manuscript looked untouched - except for the fact that the agency kept the paperclip.'

Pernickety Hat has investigated these claims, and is now in a position to reveal the truth. The agency industry is nothing more than an elaborate scam, aimed at depriving needy writers of paperclips. We urge all writers to rebel against this behaviour, and to staple their manuscripts without further delay. Together, we can make a difference and bring an end to this evil paperclip-snatching conspiracy.

With apologies to T. S. Eliot...

My current essay is turning into something of an obsession (not that I'm actually writing it or anything; that would be a step too far). There's great displacement to be had in aping J. Alfred Prufrock...

Let us go then, you and I,
While essay plans flutter before eyes
Like a patient bouncing on padded walls.
Oh, do not stop to ask ‘which question?’
Both A and B cause indigestion.

In the forum students come and go
Panicking about Okigbo.

The lowering fog that curls round my brain
Obliterates knowledge;
And do I dare to no longer care
And submit a pile of garbage?
To make it by my teeth’s skin?
(Tutors will hoot, ‘how she is dim!’)
It is impossible to write what I mean!

There will be time, there will be time
To analyze all the obscure rhyme
then feast on chocs and fizzy wine
Once the final ‘send’ has been confronted.

In the forum students feel wrecked
Musing on the ways of Brecht.

It grows late…it grows late…
And shall I miss the cut-off date?
I have seen essays returned,
Seen them marked, and smiled at some,
But this one will not smile for me.
I shall swim in seas of ignorance,
That’s by the by,
Til a ‘bad fail’ wake me, and I cry.