Ok, I just sent in a fresh piece to the New Yorker, and if you don't see it published within the next couple of months, it can only mean one thing: The world really did end this weekend.
I can say this with confidence, because I compared my piece to the last three essays in Shouts and Murmurs -- objectively. To the first, I gave a 4 for execution and a 6 for artistic merit. The second earned a mere 3 and 1. The third one I gave a 6 and 8, but when it came to my piece, I couldn't hold up and wave two 10's fast enough.
I mean, I laughed really hard. And that was before I poured another screwdriver. Because after I drank that one, I sobbed uncontrollably. But humor is like that, you know -- touching.
It's been over a year since I sent the New Yorker anything. They must have wondered what had happened to me, though they haven't said as much. Maybe they're sulking.
In any case, I'm back. I can update all my profiles. Once again, I'm writing for the New Yorker. Or to the New Yorker. Oh, for or to, who cares. It's the New Yorker part that matters.
Friday, 20 May 2011
Start spreading the news
Posted on 15:44 by john mickal
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