Archive for November, 2010
You’ve emerged from the trenches covered in mud and blood. You’re probably babbling by now — gibbering about a story nobody has read or heard. Your hands are shaking. Your boots are filled with urine and viscera. I’d appreciate you dropping into the comments and answering… well, any of the questions posited
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What’s that? You want to hear the bad news? I dunno. I’m not sure you’re ready for it. Your ears, they look virginal. If I speak this news, I’m afraid the words would form a searing hot stick-pin, and that pin would thrust into your tender ear and lance your eardrum as if it were a plague bubo pus balloon.
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To clarify, I maintain that writing advice — yes, mine included — is in no way universal, in no way absolute. Each snidbit (snippet + tidbit) of advice given us nothing more than a tool for your toolbox or a weapon in your armory. It is strictly YMMV: “Your Monkey May Vacillate.” No, wait, that’s not it. Young Marmoset Make Vacuum?
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Time once again to stuff a hot steaming load of deviant bloggery into the double-mouthed barrels of a hungry, hungry shotgun. With a pull of the trigger I blow my words through the back of your head and onto the wall behind you. CHOOM. That’s right, nerds. It’s a buckshot blast of Painting With Shotguns.
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I have a handful of short stories that need a home. The problem with these stories finding a home, as I see it, are many-headed, but none of those heads (in my mind) have to do with quality. They’ve been gone over time and time again with picky fingers removing all the ticks, lice, briars and twigs that one must remove to make a work of fiction be presentable and palatable.
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