I read the question to him, and he answered, "No, I have 20-20 vision."
"So, how do I look?" I joked.
"Fat and bald," the man answered.
I stood in front of him for a second, stunned. Then I smiled and said, "Well, you look old and rude to me. Shall we move on?" And I finished the form with him.
I certainly could get in trouble for my response, if this gentleman decides to complain. I don't care. I'm a nice guy, but I couldn't help myself. My medical office work is not a career for me. It's a job. Writing/teaching is my career. It's what I love.
This week, I've set a goal. I promised myself that every day this week, starting yesterday, I would submit my poetry for publication. On Sunday, I sent my new book to a small press. Tonight, I e-mailed some poems to a magazine editor with whom I have a connection. Tomorrow, I will enter a contest.
So, my question for this Web dip Monday is:
Will I get my new poetry collection accepted by a publisher this summer?
And the answer from the little radiant pig is:
"You know," [Zuckerman] said, in an important voice, "I've thought all along that that pig of ours was an extra good one. He's a solid pig. That pig is as solid as they come. You notice how solid he is around the shoulders, Lurvy?"
OK, so Wilbur is a solid, winning pig. Zuckerman finally takes notice.
And fat, bald Saint Marty is going to get his book published soon.
Suck it, you old, rude bastard |
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