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Weekly Contest #378
So, I messed up. And not in a cutesy way, as they say now. I messed up so catastrophically that I have been declared missing for the last four years. And yet, in all this time that people have been looking for me, I have been sitting on a shelf in the town square coffee shop. I have seen my parents walk by me, as well as my sister, my friends, my neighbors, my teachers. I have seen first dates, and finally ones. I’ve seen writers shed tears at their holey plots and hopeless queries. I’ve seen countless awkward job interviews. I’ve seen new s...
Weekly Contest #377
There was once a man, a Londoner, who was also a writer, retired lecturer, avid reader, and very little else. He had friends, but only of the professional sort. He had family, though they might as well have lived across the pond for he saw them so seldomly. And he had hobbies that only seemed to serve him like a supplier does a retailer. He pushed out published works just as the eighteenth century’s Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz did her fifteen babies in twenty-one years. His books were widely considered immersively disturbing. Ent...
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