OK, I saw Irritated Mother’s spoof of Kerry’s supposed cover portrait in the The New Yorker. And I realized I have a connection with that magazine, too.        

A lifelong dream since my college creative writing class was to be published in that  magazine.  And lo and behold, will wonders never cease, faith and begorra, hot- diggity, dog-diggity -- no shit, people. I achieved that dream. Fourteen years ago, while perusing page 38 of the February 6, 1995 issue of the magazine, my eyes glanced at my very own words in The New Yorker.

  See my writing?

I know, the article on the Japanese Nobel-Prize winning novelist has a byline by David Remnick, who later became the magazine’s editor. But that’s not my writing.

Look way up in the left-hand corner. The part that I highlighted in yellow. THAT’S my writing!

It’s a blurb I wrote for a Zagat’s hotel guide, about a resort called The Point. I was writing and editing blurbs for Zagat’s back then, among other guidebook assignments. And the Adirondack tourist board chose to quote my words from that guidebook in their ad in The New Yorker, without me knowing it.

There I was, a can of diet Coke in hand, feet propped up, reading the article by Remnick, and I happened to look up the page, and there was my own dream, realized. And the spilled Coke remains on the page!

Those are my words on top.  Trust me.

Because this is an iPhone photo, let me quote my lyrical, magical, crystalline, memorable, resonant prose:

 The Point

“#1 Resort in the U.S.”

“…formerly the lodge of the Rockefellers; ‘there are not enough superlatives’ to describe this ‘fantastic hideaway’ located on Saranac Lake in the Adirondacks, a  ‘serene’ wilderness lodge offering  uncommon luxury; it’s a ‘very special, one-of-a-kind retreat’ ….”

Now isn’t that succinct? Powerful? Note how I seamlessly knit the comments from readers into my blurb. Why, it’s as tight as a sonnet. Practically Shakespearean. You’d  think I’d be nominated for a National Magazine Award.  I mean, I’m surprised I didn’t get a contract to become a New Yorker regular, or a six-figure book deal.

The lodge is a private retreat now, and I’ve gone on to other pursuits. But I realized my dream, kind of. I never mention this “writing achievement” on profiles or resumes, of course, even though I suppose I could literally say I was published in The New Yorker. But it sure is fun to share my words with those of you who might also have that literary aspiration.

What a smile it brought me that day -- and ever since, whenever I glance at this fading magazine issue. How easily I could have missed it. And for all I know the ad ran for months; I mean, I might have actually been a New Yorker regular!