I’ve just completed a quick scan of the 2019 Pulitzer Prize winners and did not notice my name so immortalized. Bummer.
There are fourteen journalism categories and I didn’t even make it to the finalist stage in any of them. Of course, the fact that I’m not a journalist may have played a part there.
My chances were perhaps better under “Letters, Drama & Music,” which includes a number of brackets that are right in my wheelhouse:
- Fiction: When my wife comes home from work and asks me what I’ve been up to all day, I spin elaborate fictions to rival the greatest found in literature.
- Drama: Once I admit how I actually spent my day, drama ensues.
- History: The pathological need to camouflage and embellish my daily routine goes back decades.
- Biography: Just last week I asked a cashier at the grocery store how her day was going and she proceeded to tell me her life story. Wish I’d written it all down.
- Poetry: My movements around a tennis court have been described as “poetry in motion” – if by “poetry” one means free verse; obtuse and completely devoid of rhythm.
- General Nonfiction: Recognizing the popularity of both spiritual and medical tracts, I self-published my minimis opus, I Know You’re Up There Somewhere: The Story of Suppositories.
- Music: This year’s winner received the prize for her very first opera. I also composed my first opera (in a style best described as bel can’t-o), entitled Libretto-maine Poisoning, in the key of E-coli. From the aria that opens Act II:
My gut took a lickin’
From undercooked chicken
I’m going through hell – wish
I’d passed on that shellfish
My face is all blotchy
Well… there’s always 2020 to look forward to. I think I’ll have a fighting chance under “Criticism,” since I will be subjected to quite a bit of it after my wife finds out this is what I’ve been up to all day.