A person gets desperate, right? Once -- even after I'd been informed that Linda Ascher had left The New Yorker -- I submitted a new story to her in a letter that implied she was slightly more enthusiastic about more work than she really was. I figured she owed me that much for her rude rejection, and I thought it might help me get a foot in the door with whoever the new editor was. But in the end it was the same old kick in the teeth: "Dear Writer, Rejected: Unfortunately Ms. Ascher is no longer with The New Yorker. Thank you for continuing to consider us."