On Our Way To Crazy

The scene: An office on Music Row, late afternoon. The phone rings. A sleepy, zoned out marketing coordinator answers.

MARKETING COORDINATOR: This is Brandi? (said in office greeting form, where one is not actually asking a question but intones like they are, inviting the caller to respond with whatever they heck they are looking for from you)

CRAZY LADY: I wrote a song.

MC: … okay.

CL: I’m not crazy, I’ve lived in this town for ten years and it’s really hard to get a break.

MC: Can I help you with something?

CL: I wrote the sequel to Fancy. I want Reba to sing it.

MC: *long boring speech about publishing deals and company’s inability to take submitted material from individuals*

CL: I’ve lived here a long time. I know a lot of people. They all think this is a great song.

MC: I’m sure it is, but I can’t accept it from you. It has to come from your publisher. Do you have a publishing deal anywhere?

CL: I should! This is a killer song. It’s really hard to get a publishing deal in this town. How do you get people to take you seriously?

MC: *wanting to say, “Don’t write sequels to Fancy, for starters”* I don’t really know the answer to that, ma’am. There are several songwriter organizations in town that can give you more information.

CL: I just want her to hear this song. It’s about what happens to Fancy later in her life.

MC: I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing I can do to help you.

CL: But this is my dream! Are you trying to tell me that you are crushing my dream?

MC: Yes, ma’am. Crushing your dream is exactly what I’m doing.

CL: *hangs up*