I sure have. I have a few titles floating around. I think there might be a lot more fiction this time around. That could be a lie, though. Who knows what'll be in it. My only goal is to make it at least 75 pages. Everything else will be a bonus. Like finding a wheat penny betweeen the couch cushions, or giving yourself a haircut and not clipping skin off your ears.
**
I need to shave my beard before I head to Muncie for this reading. The feeling of anticipation is punching me in the jaw. Chances are, I'll be wearing a sweater. I'll probably drink a new beer and cheer when people finish their poems. I know that isn't professional, but I won't care. I'm not getting a lower grade for "excessive celebration."
I hope there are dozens of people there.
**
I'm giving this man directions at work, right now, on how to print something from his laptop. I hate him for this. I hate his stupid polo shirt, his stupid glasses, and the way he rolls his pant legs up past his shin. I hope he doesn't have friends, family that loves him. I hope he has a terrible addiction to something deadly. I want his body to betray him tonight. Women will become aware of his impotence. A virus needs to overtake his brain like a drafting race car and pummel everything he's ever known.
Seriously, fuck this guy. Quit asking questions. Trial and error, my friend.
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