Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Literary Inspirations, incorporated

"Literary Inspirations?"
"Yes. Here for an interview?"
"Yes. The name is Ishmael Khan."
A quick glance at the monitor illuminates the agent's face. "Excellent, Mr. Khan. I would be happy to do the interview myself. Please, follow me."
It is a shallow journey into an ante room lined with two-seater tables. The room is very modern, a renovated industrial site, the piping bare above.
"Any one that inspires you, Mr. Khan. Let your genius guide us."
Ishmael beamed from the treatment. He was well enough liked, but rarely were his talents acknowledged.
"I know the form mentions the use of audio devices, but, in case you have any misgivings, let me ask directly. Would it be acceptable to record this?"
Ishmael was again pleased. The interviewer entrusted his abilities of perception and forethought, but also was polite and respectful of his station.
"Please do. I have nothing to hide. I want to share with the world my insight and learn from my accomplishments."
The interviewer sat at the empty desk Ishmael chose, mumbled into his dress jacket and then made eye contact. "This is Caleb Meadows interviewing intake number one for February second. Mr. Khan, please tell Literary Inspirations what specialized knowledge you bring to authorship."
"Quantum physics." Ishmael sat with hands in lap, a wide grin on his face quite sure that this avenue had not been explored, at least not the way he could offer. "The very mechanics of our universe. What could it not apply to?" Chuckling, now, Ishmael was amused at his own boldness. "The mysterious spin of subatomic particles. The dangerous intrigue of antimatter. Features, such as electrical and magnetic fields, existing with certain probability." This last word he emphasized feeling that this factoid was the crux of bridge he proposed to build between the analytical and the qualitative.
A moment fully passed and Caleb was still, almost stiff, without any indication of the shock and awe that Ishmael hoped to produce out of any living person. He quickly got himself energized, first rotating his shoulders and flapping his arms. Then clearing his throat and leaning far over the desk. Finally, before the probability of Caleb's response reaching one, Ishmael cried in an accusatory voice, "you aren't even recording this, are you? You didn't think I would notice, but seeing things others don't is how I came to work at the most prestigious university and the particle accelerator at CERN. I'm told I am a nominee for the Nobel prize, you know?"
"My apologizes for the confusion, Mr. Khan. I am, we are recording this interview. The device is inside my jack, for portability and discretion. Please continue with your argument."
Ishmael straightened himself, uncertain of Caleb's intentions in feigning respect and then lying about not recording the interview. He understood that most were just "getting by," without regard for self improvement or their place in the greater picture. What level of education would one need to be an interviewer? "I have degrees, accreditation, peer reviews. I have been published in multiple journals and headhunted by the leading department in probability wave mechanics. What credentials does this outfit, Literary Inspirations? What do they have? Who can I inform about not being interviewed with any notes or a recorder of any kind?"


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