A man sits down and writes a poem. It is not a great poem, he knows, but still, he has writ­ten it, and so it makes him feel proud. Every­where he goes, he recites it in his head.

Then one day the man has a great idea.

I will send my poem off to be pub­lished! he says.

And so he goes and buys an envel­ope and sends it on its way.

Many weeks later, the poem comes back.

It has been rejected.

The man is sad.

I knew it was not a great poem, he thinks to him­self. But still, I thought it was pretty good.

A moment later, he becomes very angry.

Who are they to say what’s good and bad? he thinks. They prob­ably never wrote a poem in their life!

And so he decides to send his poem out again.

The man sends the poem out many, many times, and every time it comes back rejected.

This is crazy, the man thinks. This world is insane! There must be some­thing wrong with these people!

The man decides to pub­lish his poem him­self. He takes it down to the corner store and makes four­teen thou­sand cop­ies. Then he wanders all over the city hand­ing them to people and tap­ing them onto sign­posts and slid­ing them under doors and fold­ing them into paper air­planes and launch­ing them off build­ings. He does this for days and days and days and days and days, until finally all his cop­ies are gone. Then he goes home and col­lapses on the couch.

I have done everything I can do, he thinks, and turns on the TV.

The TV is full of news about the man. Or, rather, news about his poem. Every­one is talk­ing about it. Every­one– every­one! People on the street are being interviewed.

I think it is pretty good, one per­son says. I think it is a pretty good poem.

It’s not the best poem I have ever read, says another, but it is free, and that’s good for me.

I didn’t like it, a third per­son says. But then again, I don’t really like poetry.

Bah, says the man, and turns the TV off.

Just then there is a knock on the door.

The man stands up and walks over and opens the door.

There is a very pretty lady outside.

Are you the man who wrote that poem? the lady says to him.

I am, says the man. Who are you?

I am a writer for a fam­ous magazine, she says. I’d like to inter­view you about your life and poem. Would that be okay?

The inter­view lasts for quite some time. The man describes his child­hood and his views on life and talks at length about his job and how much he dis­likes it.

So what’s next? says the lady, when he’s done with it all.

Next? says the man. What do you mean?

Next, says the lady. Next is what I mean. You know, what are you going to write next?

The man frowns. He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t thought about writ­ing more.

I don’t know, he says. I haven’t figured that out.

Well, says the lady, one thing’s for sure: you won’t have to self-publish again!

When the lady is gone, the man sits for a while, think­ing. Then he gets out a piece of paper and sharpens his pen­cil. He sits down and tries to write. He tries and tries and tries.

But every single thing he writes is about the lady reporter.

I’d love to go out with you, the lady says when he calls. When exactly did you have in mind?

The man and the lady go out for drinks that night. The lady tells him all about her child­hood and her views on life, and goes on at length about her job and how much she likes it.

Have you decided what you’re going to write next? she says, when they get to the end of the night.

Well, the man says, if you want me to be hon­est, I don’t think I want to write anymore.

The man and the lady spend lots of time together. The man asks her to marry him and she says yes. They have a nice wed­ding and buy a little house and settle down in the sub­urbs and have kids.

Four­teen years later, the man writes another poem. He does it in the TV room while the kids are at school. When the poem is all done, the man reads it over.

Not bad, he says, and smiles.

Then he throws it away.

Ben Loory lives in Los Angeles. He is a screen­writer and a mem­ber of the WGAw, and a gradu­ate of Har­vard and the Amer­ican Film Insti­tute. His book ‘Stor­ies for Night­time and Some for the Day’ is cur­rently seek­ing a home. He can be found on Face­book.