SOME PEOPLE CAN'T VIEW LIFE FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

People who post things on Pinterest like, "The best things in life aren't things," have never been without shoes on their feet during a long journey, a coat on their back on a freezing night, a roof over their head in a storm, bread in their stomach for weeks, a bed to sleep in after twelve hours of hard labor, or a book to read to elevate the mind and free the imagination.

WELL, BLESS MY THETAN!

I recently finished reading the most fascinating and disturbing book I have read in a very long time.  Think Scientology is a harmless fad?  An eccentricity of movie stars?  Then you must read Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief, by Lawrence Wright.  It is horrifying.  On more than one occasion, I had to put it down because it was just too much.  Too much to know that there are people in the world so desperate to believe in something that they will subject themselves to captivity, starvation, and torture.  That they will not only turn a blind eye to the same treatment of others (friends, siblings, spouses, children), but take an active part in it.  Too much to know that the shiny, happy front for all of this is the Hollywood machine that so many of us worship as if it were a religion in itself.  And, well, I guess maybe it is.  That isn't to say that it is the norm in Hollywood, but it is too prevalent to be dismissed.  And it's power is far too great to be ignored.

The first part of the book is a revealing bio of founder L. Ron Hubbard, which reads like a case study straight out of the DSM.  It is not hard to imagine why Hubbard waged such a passionate war against psychiatry.  The seriously mentally ill often see those who are trying to help them as the enemy. 

Wright admirably refrains from mudslinging (when it would be quite easy to do) and, in fact, takes great pains to see that every effort was made to let all sides have their say.  Still, the evidence is overwhelming.  Scientology is, at best, laughable in its teachings, at worst, terribly dangerous.

I could go on and on about this book, but I wouldn't know where to start or when to stop.  It's a fascinating read.  Do yourself a favor and read it.  And yes, it says a lot about Tom Cruise and his not-so-innocent involvement.  So much, in fact, it made me ill.

As a side note, just a few days after I finished the book, I finally watched The Master, which P.T. Anderson initially claimed is not based on Hubbard or on Scientology (though he finally admitted it was), but there are so many very specific parallels that it all comes across as a nudge and a wink.  But who can blame Anderson for not wanting to fess up after all of the  attacks Scientology has launched against anyone who dares even question it, stopping at nothing short of ruining the lives of "suppressive persons."  It's a good thing no one cares about what I have to say.  I might be in trouble.

AN OUNCE OF HEALTHY SCEPTICISM IS WORTH A POUND OF "OOPS, MY BAD"

Recently, I encountered this urban legend on both Pinterest and Facebook:

If a thief forces you to take money from an ATM, do not argue or resist. What you should do is punch your pin in reverse. EX: if your pin is 1234 you punch 4321. The moment you punch in the reverse, the money will come out but will be stuck in the machine and the machine will immediately alert the police without the theif's knowledge. Every ATM has this feature. Can't believe I never knew this!!

Here's another example:  If your pin is 1441, then you should punch in...  oh, wait...  nevermind.  Right.  If people took even a split second to think about this, or even--God forbid--took the trouble and the ten seconds it would take to research this story, as I did when I first saw it, then they would almost immediately discover, as I did on Snopes, that it is FALSE. 

Not only was the disproof of this story easily found within seconds, but this falsehood has been floating around for more than six years and it still gets credence.  I flagged the recent pin, but to my dismay, it had already been repinned by 30 or so people, who are now passing it on to their friends like an STD passing through Studio 54. 

This is how lies, rumors, and urban legends become "fact."  The worst part about this one, is that it could be endangering lives.  What happens when a person getting robbed believes this and tries it, thinking the cops will be showing up at any minute, rather than giving the robbers what they want.  It is giving the victim a false sense of security, and angering the robber at the same time. 

In this age, do people really still believe everything they read, even on the internet?  That is terrifying to me.  Please people, take some responsibilty for the "information" you spread.

FTS for Friday, August 24

I don't mean to imply that right-handed people deserve more rights than left-handed people, but let's be honest, there are more of us than there are of them (or of you, as the case may be).  So if the majority of people in this world are right-handed, why is it that in every house and every apartment that I've ever lived in, the power outlet in the bathroom is to the left of the mirror rather than the right, so that every time I try to dry or curl or straighten my hair, the damn cord gets caught on the sink?  It's very inconvenient.  Just saying.

So to the people responsible, I curse you:

May gout disfigure you.

The Heroes We Choose

I know it's extremely old news (Almost as long ago as the last time I posted.  Guess I'm restarting the blog.), but I just ran across this online, and I couldn't not share. 

This is Fay:

She was rescued from a dog-fighting ring.  She died of complications from facial reconstruction sugery just days after Michael Vick was awarded (post-convinction) the Ed Block Courage Award by his teammates.  Here's what Vick had to say about receiving the award and his experiences leading up to the honor:

I've had to overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can bear. Take a look at what I've been through. You ask certain people to walk in my shoes, they probably couldn't do it -- probably 95 percent of the people in this world. Because nobody had to endure what I've been through.

What a hero.  My heart bleeds for him.

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE FACEBOOK

In addition to the invaluable public service I provide my readers with through my harping rants, I’m thinking I can add even more helpful content. Since many of the half-dozen of you reading this (Boy, I’ve got a following now! Look out world.) are writers, I’m thinking of also using the blog as a forum to discuss my and other’s experiences with different writing markets, interesting contests, anthologies, and other calls for manuscripts, links to useful websites like Duotrope's (if you don’t know this one, you’re living in the dark ages), etc. Writerly stuff. Maybe one of these days I’ll even get a links list together, but let’s not get too ambitious just yet. And of course you won’t want to miss any of this, so don’t forget to subscribe to Shouts From the Madhouse. You wouldn’t want to miss one scintillating day in the life of me, would you? I thought not.

I’ve figured out how to send this feed to my Facebook (yeah, yeah) page. I’m like a bride in an arranged marriage with this Facebook thing. I was forced into it, there’s no getting out now, so I just have to learn to love it and hope it doesn’t slap me around too much.

And now your long awaited and much beloved Irish curse of the day:

MAY YOUR DREAMS AND REFLECTIONS BE VILE AND BAD

Wait a minute, I think my enemies have been reading my book!

ABOUT-FACE(BOOK)

Hey there friends and frienemies alike. Today’s FTS award goes to Facebook. That’s right, I said it. And if you’ve seen my Facebook page, you already know my feelings. Hey, what’s the beef with FB, Jess? you ask. Well, I’ll tell you. For one, I don’t like that you can’t personalize your page. It’s boring. And now that I’ve taken the time to personalize my MySpace page, everyone is migrating to FB. Now I have to deal with keeping up two pages. I am only one woman! (Though my psychiatrist might say different.) And I was never any good at maintaining the one page. Is that all? you query. No. I also hate that it broadcasts my every move to all two (ok, I have a few more than that) of my friends. Jessica Hoard just added a picture. Jessica Hoard just wrote on so-and-so’s wall. Jessica Hoard just scratched her butt. It’s creepy, it’s invasive, it’s a bit like being stalked. But now that I’m being forced to spend some time getting to know FB, at least I’ve discovered how to limit that somewhat. And another thing, instead of using normal language like “send a message” or “post a comment” they have to be all cutesy with stuff like writing on super walls and poking, and people are always wanting you to take personality tests and crap. It’s just all very junior high. Of course, the whole idea of social networking is junior high, what with all the friend counting and belonging to groups and networks and whatnot. Considering that Facebook has now eclipsed MySpace, I can’t really say “FTS” to FB, though it’s still not my BFF. Because everyone is now at FB, I have to suck it up and go too. I’m trying not to show my advancing age with my crabby, stubborn, change-hating, Luddite ways and utter uncoolness. So I guess I’m making an about-face about Facebook.

Today’s un-FTS, or non-FTS, or whatever, goes to the guy at the car inspection place who passed me yesterday even though my right blinker wasn’t working. Thanks, dude! You rock! Actually, I don’t know if that’s really a fail-worthy violation.

And today’s Irish curse:

MAY WARTS AND CHAPPED HANDS ALWAYS BE WITH YOU

See you on Facebook.

FTS

I got an email from my friend Chris today who has a deep appreciation for what he calls my “Fuck that shit” attitude, encouraging me to keep writing despite sometime overwhelming feelings of “what’s the point of it all anymore?” I had talked to him before about trying to figure out what this blog is or should be “about”. I’m still figuring it out, but I think it works best as a mish mash. I told him I ought to write a blog called “Fuck That Shit” in which I bitch (my expertise) about, well, whatever annoys or pisses me off. It could become my catch phrase, my “Are you having a laugh?” It would sweep the nation. It would be on t-shirts and bumper stickers and they could make a doll of me that, when you squeeze it, says “Fuck that shit.” Well, I don’t know about all that, but I do think that I will be incorporating FTS as a regular feature of the blog. I had thought I would try to keep the blog somewhat respectable so that it might be useful in the search for freelance work, but you know what I have to say to that? That’s right, fuck that shit. (Don’t worry you’ll catch on.) So Ducky, this FTS is for you. Thanks.

WHEN A DOOR CLOSES...

A window opens, or something corny like that. You may notice that my recent post about the drabble (story of exactly 100 words for those of you not in the know) I wrote which was rejected for publication is no longer here. Well I just received an email about a different piece I submitted to a different journal. No, it wasn't accepted either. It was rejected. But they did read my blog, and they did happen to like the drabble (I'm not explaining it to you again), and they would like to publish it in their premiere issue due out in January. So keep your eyes peeled for Pear Noir! And for those of you who write, submissions are open until Oct. 31. Let's make it a family affair. Or a friend affair. You know what I mean.

And the Irish curse for today is:

MAY YOU SUFFER AN UNQUENCHABLE THIRST

Don't give up the good fight!

(WITH BACK OF HAND PRESSED TO FOREHEAD) I'M SO MISUNDERSTOOD (SIGH)

So I just got rejected (again) from another lit mag. Ah, the writer’s life. I really thought I was in. That’ll teach me to be cocky. This particular mag publishes drabble (stories of exactly 100 words), and I wrote something I thought was pretty good, and I submitted it. This is the story:

UPON WAKING, ANOTHER KIND OF SLEEP
She had never touched a dead thing before. No, that wasn’t true. She had dissected things in high school science class, hadn’t she? An earthworm, a frog, a fetal pig, all with the sickening sour smell of formaldehyde. And even then she had made her lab partner do most of the work. But never anything she had known as alive. She wasn’t prepared for the hardness of it, the absolute stillness. Her husband’s
arm was warm and yielding in comparison as she touched it to wake him.
“Hmm,” he managed, his eyes remaining closed.
“It’s over,” she murmured. “He’s gone.”

So the editor wrote back:

“I have to be honest, I don't know who died. And if I am confused, I know that others will be too. You might consider using less of your 100 words talking about dead stuff she has touched in the past, and more to show really what's going on, so the reader feels more engaged in the plot.”

Ok. So the editor didn’t like the ambiguous ending. Fine. It’s a matter of taste. Lots of people don’t like ambiguous endings. I can accept that. What bothers me is that the editor thought that it was unintentional. I thought it was quite obvious that it was intentional. I mean, I’d have to be a REALLY bad writer to have meant that story to be totally clear (as in, who the “he” was), but then, I forget just how bad some of the writing is that comes across an editors desk.

I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t work. I did go back and forth with myself about whether to leave the ending that ambiguous or to reveal who had died. But, personally, I like ambiguous endings, so I wrote it the way I did. Am I wrong? Give me your opinion. Because, I do like it, and actually, I had an idea about writing a drabble chapbook. Hmm? What do you think? About the chapbook and the story itself.

And don't worry, in my utter despair I haven't forgotten...

Your Irish curse of the day:

MAY YOU HAVE NEITHER MEAT NOR SOUP

Love to you.

AND ANOTHER THING...

I was so distraught over my missed opportunities that I forgot the most important thing of all. That's right, the Irish curse of the day! (yea)

MAY YOUR MISFORTUNES BE FOOD FOR GOSSIP AT THE FORGE

And now that I've crossed Sarah!, I'm sure to have many misfortunes.

OPEN LETTER TO PROF. WHO SENT ME THIS EMAIL IN RESPONSE TO MY CANCELLING OUR MEETING ABOUT TAKING A CLASS I'VE ALREADY TAKEN

YOU:

(Subject) You made a wrong choice...

Jessica,YOu [sic] made a mistake by not keeping our appointment today. You really don't know what would have come of it. When I hear anyone say they WANT more than anything to be an actor I take that very seriously and you have no idea what kind of help I could have been to you. I have numerous connections in New York and I've gotten several actors in this department signed with the local TV and FILM agent -- and they've been working! I went to Yale School of Drama and received my MFA there in Acting -- I am friends with the Artistic Director of the Yale Rep Theatre and others in the business - I am plugged into numerous opportunities and programs that I've helped actors get into. I know the ropes and I could have been of enormous help to you if you were truly serious and believed you have talent - which I could have familiarized myself with. You should have kept your appointment with me. In this business it's all about networking and relationships and I was already thinking of ways I could help you with your audition package and support you in that -- even if it meant auditing the class (for a nominal fee) and helping you on a couple of pieces outside of class. You still would have learned an ENORMOUS amount by auditing!!! You should have come in and brainstormed this with me. And you shouldn't have canceled so closely to the time -- there would have been no harm in meeting me -- I planned on coming in FOR YOU! Jessica! Be well, Sarah

ME:

Well, Sarah!, congrats on the whole Yale thing and all your numerous connections and whatnot. I guess that's why you've got such a prestigious career teaching at the University of Memphis. Was that your first choice? I always know when someone is really important when they feel they have to list their credentials to prove something to me, a mere nobody as we've already established. Nothing like insulting someone who you were apparently so keen to make your protege by implying they have no talent. Oh, but not keen enough to let me in the class I actually wanted to take. You were going to do all of these favors for me and give me all of this personal time and attention outside of class, but you wouldn't give me a simple permit to take your class. But I would have learned such an ENORMOUS amount by taking, yet again, a beginner's acting class. Thanks, but no thanks. I promise you, I am a great deal more serious about and skilled in acting than the twenty year-olds in that class, or in your other class, which is supposedly too advanced for me, for that matter . I'm sure you think that you possess a wealth of knowledge, which I would be so lucky to take advantage of, but really, I'm a bit beyond that. I know you were shocked to hear that I had already studied in London and in New York, and that I give much of my time to Theatre Memphis, because, how could anyone as lowly as me accomplish anything without your guidance. But I'm sure I will soon regret possibly the worst "wrong choice" of my life. And to think, I could have signed with a local (Memphis?!) talent agent. Fame and fortune could have been mine for the taking. I was so close.

P.S. My mother wanted me to let you know how much she enjoyed the conversation she had with you after you procured my home phone number without my knowledge and interrogated her as to my whereabouts and activities, even though she didn't know who the hell you were and vice verse.

P.P.S. I do regret cancelling at the last minute, and I apologize. That was rude. I only hope you don't stalk me and kill me in my sleep by bludgeoning me with a copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare, unabridged.

A TREE FALLS

If a hermit blogs on the internet and there’s no one there to read it, does it make a sound? That has been the great existential question I’ve been grappling with instead of actually blogging. But of course the answer is yes, the tree hears it. What I mean is that whether or not people are reading my blog entries, I’m writing them. And that is still time well enough spent. And that is my nugget of wisdom for today. Of course, if I’m the only one reading this, I’m the only one benefiting. Your loss.

Your Irish curse of the day:

MAY YOUR WIFE BE A WITCH

Til next time

I AM NOT FAUST

I am not Faust. I will not sell my soul, that is, my work, to corporations that think they can pay writers pennies for their hard work, and that we will sell it gladly, outright, with next to nothing in return. I’m sick of CEOs trying to get one over on the rest of us, making their money on the backs of desperate writers. I know I sound like a crazy conspiracy fanatic, but Prevention magazine wants to hire bloggers. That is, bloggers who are willing to give up ALL rights to their own work AND let their company use the writers as their personal PR lackeys AND use those writers’ personal MySpace and Facebook pages as billboards for said company in their “social marketing techniques.” All for “up to” $100 a month.

Speaking of selling your soul, I watched the ORIGINAL Bedazzled with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore the other day. Fabulous. Must see. Check it out.

And now your Irish curse of the day (yea):

MAY YOUR PARTNER BE AN UNFEELING BRUTE.

Yeah. That’s what I have to say to anyone who tries to take advantage of me just because I’m broke and desperate.

ON "RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION"

I’ve been reading about this Virginia Quarterly Review scandal that was brewing online a couple of months ago. Yes, I’m always a bit behind the times. VQR published to their blog snippets of scathing comments made by the readers on their staff about submissions from their slush pile. I’m all too aware how elitist attitudes run rampant in literary circles, but it’s still a bit surprising to see it displayed so proudly. Apparently, a lot of other people felt the same way, and cyber fights broke out like the plague.

So then editor Ted Genoways wrote an “apology” that spent all of one sentence expressing something resembling remorse and the rest of the several paragraphs tooting the publication’s horn in the same self-important, aren’t-we-so-clever tone that got so many people riled up in the first place, with a lot of fighting-the-good-fight-for-literature rhetoric and blaming the blog readers for misinterpreting their intentions, saying that “some writers got the idea that VQR delights in belittling unsolicited submissions,” which, of course, is exactly what they did. But I’m sure they didn’t delight in it. I’m sure it was very painful for them.

He also says that the comments accurately depict their readers’ “righteous indignation” at the submissions they read which are inappropriate for them. What?! Did he really just say that? Righteous indignation? Is he aware that this phrase is typically not used in a particularly flattering way (see link above)? It might not have been quite what he meant to say, but it certainly does speak volumes.

Genoways tries to defend the post by saying that there is objectively good writing and objectively bad writing, and to a degree this is true. But I hope he’s not trying to pretend that he has always been a member of the former group. Who of us with any self-awareness can say we never wrote something embarrassingly inept? But hopefully, there wasn’t someone there to berate us publicly for our bumbling, sophomoric attempts, and that’s why we continued to write and to, hopefully, improve.

When I was reviewing submissions for River City (now The Pinch) did we make derisive remarks about certain submissions? Of course. Did we post the most absurd cover letters on the walls of the office? Yes. One has to keep a sense of humor in such a frustrating, often annoying, and usually thankless job. But did we keep our snickers and comments within those four cover-letter-papered walls? Most definitely.

Everybody that has ever been in the position of reading other’s work (with a publication or as a teacher) has complained about and laughed about the quality (or lack thereof) of the many, many manuscripts they have to trudge through. I think the line is crossed when you make public the responses to specific pieces, which could very well be read by that very same author. Genoways says that the criticisms did not describe the works in any recognizable way, but then no one can read the original post to decide that for themselves because it has been removed. If it was harmless and defensible, why remove it?

I’m not trying to paint the staff at VQR as bad people, but what they did was tacky and unprofessional. And instead of sincerely apologizing, they are still defending their actions, because after all the debate, they still feel justified in their “righteous indignation.” Perhaps they could use a little more tact and a lot more humility.

Now, on a lighter note, the reason you really came here... your Irish curse of the day! (yay!)--or week:

ANOTHER STONE ON YOUR GRAVE, YOU MISERABLE WRETCH.
Happy writing.

THE BITCH IS BACK

No, I’m not dead. I’ve merely been in an intellectual coma. But not to worry, I’m awake again and the doctors have given me a clean bill of health. I even took a brisk stroll around the fertile grounds of imagination today.

Aside from having a productive day creatively speaking, I also got a surprise phone call from my long lost best friend. Unlike me, she actually has a very busy life with school, and a real job, and a real boyfriend (though my imaginary boyfriend does take up quite a lot of my time). The point is that I hadn’t talked to her in weeks, and frankly, it was beginning to make me a bit, well, crazy. Literally. I began to develop some imagined falling out we must have had, some way I had slighted her without knowing. Some reason I had not heard from her in so long. Solitude can do this to a person. Especially in the absence of a person who is so essential to your life, to your sense of who you are and how the world works. Like separated identical twins.

But things now seem right in the world again. We tend to forget how much we need human connection, even writers, especially writers. Ours can be such a lonely and narcissistic existence, spending an unhealthy amount of time alone with nothing but our own thoughts. We need the touchstones in our lives to keep us sane. I do, anyway.

One last matter of business I’d like to address today. I’m introducing a new feature to the blog… (drum role)…

The Irish curse of the day! (Yea!)

I picked up a little book of Irish curses last summer while on the Emerald Isle, and it’s quite funny, so I’d like to share it, one curse at a time. How nice. That and I’m trying to come up with filler and maybe a hook to keep people coming back—or, to get them to start coming—to the blog. So without further ado, your Irish curse for Saturday, July 12, 2008!

MAY YOU HAVE TO STAND FOR A LONG TIME ON WEAK LEGS

Wow! That’s a scorcher! See you here tomorrow for another installment of…

The Irish curse of the day! (Yea!)

ZEN AND THE ART OF DOIN' IT DOGGY STYLE

Watching my dog, Violet, today in an encounter with a beach ball, I vowed to myself to try to be—to live, to think, to write—more like my dog (not that my dog writes, mind you). What I mean to say is that she, as well as my cats, are like children in their sense of wonder. Only they never grow up and lose their wonder. They are forever children in awe of everything. The world is a constant sorce of fascination to them. It is often scary and confusing too, but then, so it is to me, more often than not. I’m not saying I wish to be a simpleton, though I might be happier if I was. Actually, I almost assuredly would be happier. But if I could just try to concentrate a little less on what is scary and confusing, and a little more on what is wondrous, beautiful, funny, and amazing, I might be a happier person, and who knows, maybe even a better writer. Not that I want to be warm and fuzzy, but then there’s little chance of that. You won’t catch me reading Chicken Soup for the Soul any time soon. I’m naturally negative, but I go online or, in a moment of weakness and boredom, turn on the TV, and everyone is bitching about something. Just who does that Britney Spears think she is, or some shit I couldn’t care less about, but the negative energy abounds. And it’s definitely contagious. I’m as snarky as the next gal, and even snarkier than the one after that, which is why I have to make a real effort to enjoy myself. Always look on the bright side of life, as my boys say. Keep on whistling.

What would we do without these furry little jesters? (Pets, that is, not Monty Python.) Or are they really wise men—er, women—that is, animals. People without pets genuinely concern me. I wouldn’t want to turn my back on someone like that for too long. So yes, you will definitely catch me pissing and moaning in my blog or anywhere else I’m allowed, but I’m trying to be a bit more, let’s say, less negative. You’re sure as hell not going to hear me touting the power of positive thinking, or any crap like that. But most people could stand to be more like their dog or cat, unless it bites. Or poops on the floor.

Just read more Shel Silverstein and like he said:

Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. (Maybe that’s why he’s the one with all the books.)

A WORD OF ADVICE TOO MANY

I’ve been catching up on my reading today. I’ve looked at several magazines and websites, all about writing, and they all have, more or less, the same content—advice. The advice they offer is different, but the pitch is all the same—Read this, and you’ll get published. Even the most respectable publications are guilty of this blatant appeal to writers’ frustration and desperation. Anyone and everyone who has ever had a word in print (and some who haven’t?) feel they have the authority to offer advice in this area. And why shouldn’t they, because they know people will read it. Yes, it’s good to hear, or read, the voice of experience. We should never be so proud or think we know too much to take advice, especially from those who really are in the know. But there’s just so much of it. If one were to actually listen to every Never do this or You must always do that, a writer wanting to “break through” would never even attempt it. We all know that there are exceptions to most every rule, and, of course, it does help to at least know the most important rules, but the cacophony of voices out there giving their expertise is deafening. It can make one feel like, I can never meet all these so-called requirements, so why bother? Well, I too have a piece of advice for all you writers out there: Stop trying to heed everyone’s advice already. Except mine, of course.

TO ALL THE EDITORS I'VE LOVED BEFORE...

A few days ago, I submitted a short piece to Tiny Lights and received almost immediately a very pleasant email from the editor, Susan Bono. Needless to say, this kind of thing is so out of the ordinary that I felt it warranted a comment.

I’m sure all of us writers have had encounters with editors who are less than courteous or professional. Years ago I submitted work to a journal. I don’t remember now the name, but I don’t think it exists anymore. I got a letter from the editor in which he said no thank you to my submission and in the very next sentence let me know that I could become a better writer if I just read his instructional book which I could purchase directly from him for a reasonable price. (Oh no he didn’t) Oh yes he did.

And then there are those editors who accept your piece as long as you don’t mind a few minor revisions, i.e. letting them rewrite it to read exactly as if they had written it themselves. But my intention today was not to rail against those kind of editors, few that they are, but to celebrate those we appreciate.

By the way, I should also mention that the editor at GUD was very sweet about the ftp server thing.

So to all the editors who treat us writers like human beings, thank you. We appreciate it. And I for one will try to return the favor. We know your jobs are hard, and we know that you know ours is too, since most of you are writers yourselves.

Just as it pays for writers not to insult editors for rejecting their work if they ever hope to get published, it also pays for editors to be respectful of writers, even if they don’t respect their work, especially for small publications. If you treat writers with courtesy, they will be loyal to you and your publication. See, here I am plugging Tiny Lights. Not that droves of people are reading this. But that ‘s not the point. The point is, well, thank you. That’s all.

ON THE NATURE OF BLOGGING

I’ve been thinking about this, to me, still strange phenomenon of blogging. The idea of writing every day for an audience is a bit daunting. I’m fairly used to writing daily, since I’ve kept a journal for years, though sometimes sporadically. But then that was private writing. Yes, sometimes something would come out that I found I could put to use later somewhere else, but there wasn’t the pressure to entertain, inform, or in some way benefit or interest in any way an audience. Not that I have more than one or two in said audience at the moment. And I have written daily on something that was meant to ultimately be read—ultimately being the operative word. Not today, but someday. After many revisions. So is blogging really anything more than, as I have suggested before, self-involved rambling? I certainly don’t think anyone would call it literature, but can it be edifying, either to reader or writer? I am still discovering the nature of this beast.