Things. Yes, I suck.

I'm having a story published in Dream Fantasy International. Yes, it sounds retarded. Yes, it probably is retarded. No, it's not about dream fantasy in the sense that Amish dreams of porkless virgins. Yes, it's a scifi/fantasy mag.

Lit Pot sent me an email saying . . . well, this: Thank you for submitting your story to Ink Pot. I found it very wellwritten, even though we editors tend to hate stories about writing, and wedislike even more stories about failures and successes in getting fictionpublished. Nonetheless, this story grabbed me, and I read with greatinterest all the way until the end, and then I thought the story fell onits face. All the intensity and wonder and confusion dissipated in a weakbreeze.

Well, sorry to the editors that the story had a realistic ending. I guess Jaba the Hut should have ridden in on a slave Wookie and grabbed the computer's keyboard out from the writer's hands. Cause then things wouldn't have ended in the confused, weak breeze.

Tonight, due mostly to me, there was a lot of talk about the duties of God, responsibilities of an omnipotent being, etc. I think such a being, if He/She/It exists, can be held responsible for allowing its creations to be robbed/raped/murdered/mutilated. If not, then what good is It?