bee feast

Thank you for your flattering comments about my 'impressive resume' and how I 'seem like a very talented and hardworking lady'. I'm actually quite a lazy lady, but I'll stir my stumps long enough to send you three or four links to larger organisations you can bother.

If only you were interested in my illustrious writing career, I'd take great pleasure in boring you senseless about the inequities of the moribund niche and the tyranny of evil editors. Alas, you just want to know how to make a quick buck out of excising errors. And it irritates me beyond reason that you pick on me to help you. I'm pretty amiable and helpful by nature so why it's this point at which I run out I don't know. I don't like knowing where my line is, and I don't like you reminding me. It's all a big coagulated mass of Don't Like.

Please stop it, the lot of you. You make me feel like a bad person. Go and start an ostrich farm, or something.

(NB I didn't actually send this. I'm posting it here in order to Let Off Steam. I just can't get the text up to normal size for some reason. Looks sorta cute, though.)