A comment posted on yesterday's blog entry made me laugh out loud. It says:
"Dude, your Rosemary Ahern thing is getting kind of creepy. You're like an abused dog who will latch on to anyone who shows them a drop of kindness. Unfortunately, I can tell you you're reading WAY too much into Ahern's rejection, because in this business, even the nicest rejection is still likely to be a partial form rejection. My collection of short stories was turned down by her, and she compared my writing to Joyce Carol Oates. Two of my friends were also rejected by her, and I showed your letter to them. Their rejections were near-identical to both yours and mine. One friend got compared to O. Henry, and the other was compared to... surprise! ... Flannery O'Connor. So please, please, quit it with the creepy and unsettling Rosemary fixation, or she might slap a restraining order on your sad ass."
Thank God for other mean writers. Otherwise, we'd continue to live out our delusional dreams and feel special in our own little self-addressed stamped envelopes. (Though, here's a question, does no one get a good blog metaphor around here?) Anyway, Dude, I will pay you $50 if you send me all three of these rejection letters for some interesting anonymous posting. What do you say?
UPDATE ON THIS POST: It appears that I have been duped, and that the comment above left by so-called "Joyce Carol Oates" is a joke (or a lie). A funny one, but apparently untrue.