How is it that when I sign another blood pact with Taco about writing that I get an email telling me that one of my favorite small press publishers is taking applicants now for its yearly boot camp for writers? I suspect polar bears are involved somehow, as they usually are. I will now try to find ways to make fire be the answer I'm looking for.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled web browsing.
11 comments:
Polar bears have fire? We're totally screwed.
You could forgo that workshop and come to my "special" writers workshop. You may not get much writing done, but you'll have stories. Oh you'll have stories.
The universe clearly wants your slappy ass at that workshop. Get yourself there. I have spoken. No argument! I HAVE SPOKEN.
And you know, when Taco speaks....words come out.
The thing with that workshop is that they take only 20 people. Total. Do you really think I'd land in that group? Me neither.
I've read some of your stuff, and do indeed think you'd land in that group.
I also think this falls back in the realm of advice we've been given time and time again... submit your stuff. Over and over. Even if you don't make it in the first time, they start to remember names from the reject pile, right?
I uh..it um...see what had happaned was...
Excuses, excuses. We're counting on you to make us all independently wealthy (you will need an full-time entourage as a famous author, you know) by writing the Next Great American Novel.
Get to work!
*cracks whip*
I'm going to tell you the same thing I told you when you felt funny about going to the bathroom while talking to me on the phone:
"Omigod jst grow up we're all adults jst dew it. Jst dew it. Wtf who cares jst dew it."
The Great American Novel wouldn't sell. It would have to be Another Shitty American Novel. I can do that probably.
I'm not going to take a shit on the phone!
You are applying to this workshop. We have decided. We being your awesome friends. Get to it. Chop, chop!
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