My stupid “Master Whatever-His-Mom- Calls-Him” story? I thought it was starting out fantastically. I anonymized everyone expertly- from “St. Septemberstine” to “Bermuda Shortie’s” to “LilyPad the Great Sheepdog”, I thought I did wonderfully well! Sure, all my *villains* found it, recognized themselves and came back to haunt me from beyond their literary graves! But I kind of expected that . . . there’s a pooper at every party!
My point is that *this* was the only feedback I got! Except, of course, for the occasional comment from “FREE IPHONE HERE!” or “SEX! SEX! FREE INTERNET SEX!” I had such high hopes for that story, kids! I read back over old journals and ancient Facebook updates, remembered useless things I’d all but forgotten! Cobwebs I’d long since brushed away from my face! I was sliced coldly by shattered memories from a thousand restless nights and countless ghastly internet threats! It took forever! To hone my masterpiece, I went back and reread *Rebecca*, *Flowers in the Attic* AND *Wuthering Heights!* I had villains attacking me for FOUR DAYS! *FOUR*! Spying on me, following me, interrupting me at work and waking me up! The pain was heavy and brutal! The terror unimaginable!
All the shit I went through writing this? And no one’s even *reading” it? For shame, all you wretched brats!
I poured my heart into that story. My memories were palpable, my anguish harsh and complete!