Idea 45 - Cymbalta 'n Me

At this point in the blog, we all know that the print publishing industry is a flailing one-eyed carp in the raging river of battery acid that is the global financial system. Changes are afoot, and there's a good chance that your next copy of The Iliad will be stuffed with ads for seitan-flavored tomato paste and decorative press-on fingernails. Writers and readers will be equally whiny about it.

But what if, as an alternative to bitching, we smartly embrace these changes and actually build our new works of word-art around our generous corporate benefactors? Okay, an example:

The aging subway train doors slowly clattered shut, shuddering as they rushed toward each other, like long-lost lovers with late-stage Parkinson's.

The doors' disheartening dance obscured Brandy's view of Marcus, he on the inside, she on the outside. The symbolism was obvious to both, and they shared a sorry smile through the graffiti-scratched window. The train departed, dragging the scraps of their relationship in its rat-filled wake.

"Thank God for Cymbalta," a relieved Brenda noted aloud. "This innovative anti-depressant has made it possible to practically float through life's little rough spots." Flashing a smile that felt nearly genuine, she enthusiastically scaled the station steps, forgetting Marcus' name along the way. As her gaze and mood reached toward the heavens, she experienced almost none of the drowsiness or stomach upset that are often caused by Wellbutrin and many other Cymbalta alternatives.

Not sure if you even noticed the product messaging in that passage -- go back and give it a look -- but that's what great writing can bring to both readers and advertisers. Wait a minute... I've been dicking around trying to get money from book publishers, which is like asking a homeless guy for a job. Why haven't I been offering to write ad fiction for large corporations? Holy shit, I just invented another new type of book.