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Ve Haff Vays of Makink You Talk
Jul. 27th, 2005 12:56 pmI'm delighted! I finally got "Blood for Oil" typed up and put into the Critters critique queue a couple of days ago, and I used my MPC last night to get my story on the list of ones that will be critiqued beginning...drumroll...today! I had submitted it after the deadline, so I thought I'd have to wait another week, but no, it squeaked by!
Yay!!!!
As soon as the manuscripts go up, I'm going to start compulsively checking my email every fifteen minutes...more than a slight problem when on dial-up internet. Maybe I'll be able to restrain myself to only every hour, but I doubt it. I'm such a feedback junkie.
I know that there are writers out there who closet themselves away with their precioussesss, showing them only to their nearest and dearest, hoarding every word to themselves and reluctant to show it to others lest they dash the poor writer's hopes and dreams to dust.
I am not one of them. At all. On the offchance that I one day go completely bonkers, you'll probably find me in the bustling heart of downtown Minneapolis, accosting passersby. I'll hold a knife to their throat and make them read my manuscripts and tell me, in detail, what they think of them and how they think the story could be improved. "Fine?! Okay?! Those are not answers to 'What do you think of my story?'" I'll snarl. "Tell me more. Tell me the truth. Write me a damn dissertation or I'll slit yer throat!"
Yay!!!!
As soon as the manuscripts go up, I'm going to start compulsively checking my email every fifteen minutes...more than a slight problem when on dial-up internet. Maybe I'll be able to restrain myself to only every hour, but I doubt it. I'm such a feedback junkie.
I know that there are writers out there who closet themselves away with their precioussesss, showing them only to their nearest and dearest, hoarding every word to themselves and reluctant to show it to others lest they dash the poor writer's hopes and dreams to dust.
I am not one of them. At all. On the offchance that I one day go completely bonkers, you'll probably find me in the bustling heart of downtown Minneapolis, accosting passersby. I'll hold a knife to their throat and make them read my manuscripts and tell me, in detail, what they think of them and how they think the story could be improved. "Fine?! Okay?! Those are not answers to 'What do you think of my story?'" I'll snarl. "Tell me more. Tell me the truth. Write me a damn dissertation or I'll slit yer throat!"