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in the kingdom of the scribe
the online bard is king

tired of bouncing my writing
off faceless editors and well-
meaning friends who know as
much about literature as I
have knowledge on the mating
habits of komodo dragons
(I don't watch Discovery Channel)
I joined an online writing group

the first group was unresponsive
to the batch of stories I posted
eventually, I realized by reading
their profiles, they were all
god-fearing grandmothers quilting
together their quaint memoirs.
their missionary writing styles
clashing audibly with my reverse
cowgirl way of stringing sentences
together with as many beads of
profanity as humanly possible

the next group was a bit more
my speed - Goth Girls - and
nothing gets my creative juices
percolating quicker than inky
dyed hair atop faces perforated
with bits of polished metal, pale
bodies wrapped in bondage gear

espousing a nihilistic world view
as cover, I joined their Rotten
Weather website awaiting the love.
though my stories were complimented
my offers for sex went ignored

the stories they posted all
revolved around the same tattooed
heavily pierced, leather clad, yet
sensitive in a new agey way
characters who inevitably stumble
across demons or serial killers
as they try to reach the
Vibrators/Screaming Shits concert
at some obscure southside venue.

their stories clogged my e-mail.
they wanted to know how to get an
agent for once their novel's done.
they wanted to know what I thought
of their thousand word stories

I told them the punctuation kicked
ass and the surest way to score
an agent is to finish the novel

its more than anyone ever told me

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