Actual Cover Letters I Send To Literary Magazine Editors Pt. 2

Dear Editor,










….I bet you were waiting for me to start off the cover letter like a professional and not some 90’s retro computer game. Well expect the unexpected, my friend. Here I would love to tell you that there is some deep significance to the number seven that applies to the story I’m sending, but there isn’t. I thought it would be fun to draw.

If you couldn’t tell, this letter isn’t going to get any different from what’s above. I’ll probably ramble a few more sentences about nonsense and sprinkle in some inappropriate jokes here and there, because well screw it. I really don’t care if you publish my work or not.

Trust me, it’s not that I don’t think my work is good. Everything I write is fireworks on the 4th,  including my name. I would like you too, if you feel it fits you journal. But if not, we’ll do this song and dance again soon.

You see for whatever reason, I measure my success by the amount of times I hit the green submit button. That’s the gold metal to me. Whatever happens after that is a bonus. This year I’ve submitted 30 pieces, which means I’ve kicked ass 30 times. Chicago Marathoners have nothing on me and you best believe 31 is coming in a few brief seconds. Well, that is, until I figure out how to tie in a solid joke at the end.



……………………So I got nothing. I was trying to out smart you by making a pun with a movie quote from Se7en. But I’m done. I wasted all my creativity on this this piece. …Okay and this cover letter that you probably won’t read. So you won this round, but I’ll be back. You can count on that one.

P.S. Please enjoy my my 700 word piece entitled “Oscar”.

P.S.S. I really loved your last piece “Mooncake” by Grace Prasad.


Darby Cashed

Aka the people champ

Aka the Voodoo Child

Aka the Italian Stallion

Aka the most successful deadbeat writer you’ve never heard of


Part 1 Here


OKC: About me pt 2


Part 1

I recently moved across the country to become boarder line homeless and fill marbles in a jar. I work in a startup department that has all the gut wrenching highs and lows of a Telenovela. Unfortunately, there aren’t any sexy Latin women. Well one, but she got pissed at me for asking to help take out the trash. Sweetheart, I get that you’re in heels but you finally lost the Jenga style trash game we’ve all been playing this week and didn’t pick it up. All you have to do is put the new trash bag in the empty bin. I guess that was asking too much of her and it sent me to the principal’s office for being “too abrasive.”

When I’m not getting barked at for taking out my co-workers garbage, I design spider-web power structures. Well more like constantly re-design due to the ever changing flavor of the month standards. These beautiful wired monstrosities are the most under appreciated pieces of art scattered throughout the state of Florida. They only get noticed when a hurricane or a drunk driver plows into one and the pieces are all over a fat balding man’s property who is pissed because his beer is going to get warm, and now can’t watch the NASCAR race in his favorite chair.

In the 45 minutes of free time I get per day I write, read, and mess with strangers in my fake Australian accent at the local watering hole called “Duffy’s.” I became very disappointed to find out that the name has no relations to the Simpsons and they don’t like it when you order a duff beer. It’s really not the bartenders fault though, she’s young. The Simpsons haven’t been relevant since the early 90’s. Even though, I bet her profile is on here and it probably says that she considers herself a 90’s child and claims the spice girls were a significant part of her early childhood development process. If you’re out there reading this Sarah, the jig is up.

(Note: this is taken from an old profile I use to use)



You Should Message me If…. Pt. 1


Part 2

You’ve ever jumped head first into ice cold water on a dare. But not just any dare. A legit game of high stakes Truth or Dare, that for some reason the unthinkable happened. Both your ex and your new boyfriend, Jared with the great jawline and weird twitch you’ve asked about but received no explanation, decided to show up to this party.

Oh all parties, it had to be Homecoming. You don’t want throw a match between the two and light up a fight. But you’ll be GOD DAMN if your gonna lose this break up. Not before the Crowning at least. So you say ‘Dare’ with a wiff of ‘I still miss you’. Which leads you to now, showing that you still got it. That you’re not afraid of a little water. Sooo aren’t afraid to jump into the same lake that everyone knows Steve shit in back in 6th Grade. Why he did it? Even a mystery to him. But the point is, he fired off a steaming pile of brown goop and a handful of student council members witnessed it’s glory. Many people wait for fame, Steve went after his. You even heard that the ten year olds next to him didn’t even flinch. Kids are gross.

So yea, that’s why.

When You Have to Know


“So what brought you to Dallas?”

God I hated this question. So inevitable. I’d do everything I could to divert it. Bullshit about the weather, check. Talk about Winona’s come back in Stranger Things, check. But once anyone heard my absence of the over pronunciation of a “TW” sound, it was over. Even if for some reason I walked the tightrope on my date flawlessly and stay away from saying ‘Twelve.’ I’d fuck up somewhere.

“Could you hand me my bag?”

“Wait. You said that weird. Say ‘bag’ again?”


Everything about this question is stupid. It inferred that you had to have something other than your two legs to be here. A reason. And of coarse that reason had to involve some type of monetary gain.

What did she want me to say? On the surface, it makes no sense. I moved from sunny Florida where I had it all. Friends, roommates, a lady with a great rack, a job I was killing it at, and a shitty blog with an actual “.com” name. It all happened in 6 months. Here it’s taken me 18 for the 7-11 clerk to know my name. But that’s what happens when you chase a dream. That’s what happens when you spend every last dollar because you have to know. No one realizes how much the ‘you‘ gets emphasized. Especially after the rest of it doesn’t work out.

Even as I answer, they look at me bright eyed, then switch to concerned like I’m a cancer patient. Sympathy and gleam in their eyes like that says “Ah, this is why we don’t do that huh.” I guess. Whatever I’m okay with being crazy. The weird one for going after something I wanted to do since 8th grade. I tried being happy saying ‘Welcome to Macy’s! Can I help you find anything?” I just wanted more. Always have. I have dreams, and follow them. I need help, and find answers. I don’t care where it takes me. I don’t care if I go broke. I don’t care if I don’t have any friends. I don’t care if the only thing that keeps me sane is a string of words written on the back on a napkin. At the end of it all, I just have to know.

“Just work.” I said.

“OMG I know just what you mean! I’m originally from the suburbs but they gave me so much more money to move here and I was like ‘DUH Stacy! you’d be stupid not to go'”

“Yea, exactly”

The Christmas Card


Dear Cousins,

Thank you so much for the Christmas card. I’ll be honest, when I saw Houston I thought it was a pink slip. Or hate mail from a possible HR rep. It’s not that anyone hates me at work, it’s just you never know how sarcasm hits on an email.

Anyways, I would send you a card back but it’s depressing when you constantly date a revolving door of women from the internet. I’ve attached a picture of the latest girl I’ve been dating. Her name is Taylor and as you can see she has a great “personality.”*

But how do you guys like Houston? I hear it’s nice! Plus a hell of a baseball year! Unfortunately, its been a tough weather year. Can win them all. I think I heard you didn’t move until after Harvey, which is good. I saw a lot of the aftermath from our crews. On the train I met a few refugees. One told me a story about swimming away from a water snake! Crazy! During that time, Michia called me asking me if I was okay. Strange considering the distance from Houston to Dallas but thoughtful. Same with a few others of the family. The last one to call was my mom. I tried to stop her by saying “Look save it mom. I’m safe from the hurricane. It’s a couple hundred miles away.” She responded, “Yea I know dumb ass. You owe me $35.00 for the life insurance policy I took out when you were 7.” I love my mom.

Taylor: I love the guitar in the picture! Although I’m not much of an acoustic fan the irony isn’t lost with me. And I gotta say, thank you for playing a C chord. Most of the guitar pictures are of people just holding the neck. Glad to see someone in the family with musical talent doing something with it! My advice, drop out of college and move to L.A. or Nashville. I’m sure you’re mom’s rolling her eyes. But real talk, Sista to Sista. You’ve got the Brains. You’ve got the beauty. You’ve got the talent. The only question is…. Do you have the drive? Do you have the audacity to handle criticism? To play gigs in empty smoky bars? To network? To flirt? To lead on? To give yourself to the audience in a way that makes them think they know you in a different level? I don’t just KNOW, I believe 100% that YOU CAN! I’d bet my entire life savings of $53.82 on it! Just remember when you make it big, your 2nd cousin believed in you and has played guitar for 17 years. Plus, he remembers when you use to awkwardly chase him around in Middle School, telling him you wanted to merry him. #Blackmail

Steve: Digging that 23 number. I had the same one back in my football days. I never got to pitch with it on before. Actually, I only got to pitch once wearing 12. It was short lived.  I nailed a batter, which lead to the game getting canceled. Needless to say my pitching career ended pretty quickly. If you’re projecting that much focus by biting your lip, I know you’re gonna be a stud. All the greats do it, Maddux, Kerry Wood, Kyle Hendrix, and now you. Keep it up kid!

Derek: Unfortunately I can count the number of times we’ve spoken on my hand. No disrespect to a new comer of the family. We just met at a weird time for me. I hear you’re a bad ass salesman, and not just from the old man but lots of fokes. From a kid who’s never felt comfortable with our extended family, for you to come in like you did is nothing short but immaculate! I’ve always felt like I’ve never lived up to what’s expected of me. I can’t help it. I like my booze. I like my porn. I like making jokes. I am who I am. But I have a close friend who use to work at the B.H. wings and she tells me nothing but wonderful things about you. She said you barely knew her but set her up with an Accounting interview at Whirlpool. Super nice of you! She did say you tried to touch her butt once, but like a gentleman, apologized profusely about it. Believe it or not, ME FUCKING TOO! Only I didn’t apologize. I was at her wedding. It’s still nice!

Last but not least cousin Kelly: You are the epitome of cool! Ever since I was a kid, you were one of the coolest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. My sister won’t ever admit this, but I feel like she’s always been jealous of you. I’ve always pictured as a young Madonna for some reason. Not the “Ray of light”, Stella got her groove back, but the original. Gummy bracelets, Celebration, Material girl type shit**. I remember when you’d show up at our Great-Grandma during game night and play Uno with us. You were cool. You’re Michigan State ass didn’t have to put up with my five year old antics. Trust me I know. I’ve seen myself how I act over 20 years later. You’re a saint!

But I have to say my favorite story is when I went to sell you knifes. I showed up late on that rainy day. And I felt awful, I had to hit up my recently divorced cousin. The same one trying to sell her house and pickup the pieces. You could of told me to fuck off. Shit you should’ve. Instead, I came over and you let me give my sh-peal. Normally, I’d go right out of the book. But not this time. I went off script. I couldn’t help it. We were having fun! We cut tomatoes and I made jokes about how Rachel Ray was your bitch. We laughed about our family. You weren’t a victim like I was told. Just a human being. I’ve never felt more awful in my life.

You gave me shelter. Life kicked me in the teeth that week. I lost friends.  Every appointment I had canceled. I spent my last 20 bucks on gas to drive to your house not even sure if you were going to be there. Look to you it was probably a small blip in the radar. But you really have no idea the type of shock waves it sent to another soul. I had another appointment after yours which offered me another job. The same job which propelled me to get back into school.

Look kids, I know our family. I’ve been a part of them since birth. I love everyone of them, but we have this smile for the camera type persona. We look fantastic on paper. We get together because we assume that is what you’re suppose to do. Tradition upheld, year after year. And that’s completely okay. It’s just, look, things fucking happened to me this year. I got the shit kicked out of me in Oklahoma. I fell in love with a childhood actress in L.A. I lived one of my childhood dreams, only to have it fall apart on me months later. I made friends. I had people tell me they never wanted to see me again. I’ve gone toe to toe with life. Round after round. I got knocked down. I got back up. Though most of this, I felt alone. And now I’m going to miss our Christmas party for the first time ever.I don’t even have a fucking tree and my last tinder date laughed at me about this.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve always thrown away Christmas cards. I don’t mean I didn’t read them. I’d check for money first, but then just toss them into the trash. But for some reason there’s something about this one. This one flooded me will all these memories. This one that reminds me I’ve loved. This one that gives me the slightest bit of hope on following a dream. This one that has a funny imperfection above one of the pictures that I’m sure the perfectionist of the family will notice. This one is beautifully flawed. And I’ve decided that THIS EXACT ONE is going to stay with me all year. It’s going to move with me, where ever that may take me. It’s going to be a conversational starter, the reminder, and all the memories I never want to forget.

Thank You!


*Edit: We are no longer together.

**PS: I may or may not have danced around to “Get into the Grove” when writing this letter.

**PSS: I may or may not have lost my lady friend because of the dancing. In which I may or may not have cared cause let’s be honest, no one wants to date someone who’s not into Madonna. Am I right?

OKC: About me Pt.1


Part 2 here

I recently graduated two years ago Magna Cum Laude so I could slowly afford pay small fractions of $60,000.00 back with the added bonus of a card that doctors take up front and you pay more later. My boss is a professional delegator who talks better in circles than most politicians. Actually earlier today we had a 45 minute informative discussion about how our company’s workflow charts operate that ended abruptly with the shouted question “Why wasn’t this taught in school?” I’ll ask next time I’m there.

Luckily for me I’m not always in the office and get to travel quite a bit. My last two destinations varied greatly from a small town in the middle of Oklahoma to Los Angeles, where I partook in my first legitimate Rodeo and found myself walking through a Neiman Marcus on Rodeo drive, all in one month. Ironically enough, at both places the locals took my friendliness and met it with modern day hostility. “Excuse me do you know where-” “No I don’t! Fuck off!” (insert your accent of choice).

When I’m not shuffling around the U.S. or playing Candy Crush in the bathroom at work, I like to workout, have a drink with friends, pretend I know how to Salsa dance, and write down different stories so I have enough material for a book. I live in Uptown, which automatically makes me a date raping douche bag within the Dallas OkCupid Community, even though I drive a beat up Honda Civic, and get called a “fairy” by most of the local guys because I don’t give a fuck about Dak Prescot, that’s the price you pay for a cheap apartment next to a bar.

One day I plan on getting fed up enough at my job that I move back to the north, possibly to Boston, but I’m waiting until I’ve perfected my “Facken acksent”.