The Deviled Egg Eyes of the Publishing Abyss Gaze into My Soul
'Twas the season to be jolly a short while back.
Dr. Zaius received Charleton Heston, stuffed by the finest simian taxidermist. When wrapped, it was certainly the most oddly shaped gift placed on the Retail Season tree skirt. (We didn't have a tree this year, so we simply laid out the tree skirt, where the tree might have been.) Everyone got a t-shirt from William Blake. My most notable gift this season was a plateful of chocolate covered deviled eggs.
Mazel tov!
Unfortunately, our holidays were marred by a tragedy. Mrs. Butterworth got coked up to the gills and emptied herself onto the Christmas morning waffles. Now, she is a mere bottle of herself, soon destined to the recycling bin. Her past Tony Soprano chutzpah gone. Expect more Sylvia Plath.
Merry Christmas!
An even greater tragedy made the Holidays a lot less jolly than I would have hoped. I am still unpublished. I have not transmogrified into a published fiction writer. Somehow, not writing any short stories and submitting no stories to literary journals or magazines had an adverse effect, which I had not entirely anticipated, on my publishing success.
I look back at the past year, and I gaze into a publishing abyss and it gazes into me with deviled egg eyes. I approach the New Year with great apprehension and trepidation, as well as an elevated level of anxiety.
Happy Holidays!
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