I'm seeing two and I can only bring one home

[heather]

Mykle! Dear god!

I had assembled a collection of memoir essays, written with the calm, sardonic, amoral decorum of Harper's or The New Yorker and decided to self publish it. Then I had some bad kimchee and woke up wanting to publish a slim volume of surreal prose poetry / flash fiction instead. It's pretentious-ish. It's sordid. It says f-u-c-k a lot. It would make my grandmother and possibly other grandmothers (present and future) cry. It's even, shudder, sort of sexy Samuel Beckett ish. Mykle, I want people to think I am learned and invulnerable like Sarah Vowell, not a squalling modernist who left the top off the metaphor blender. BUT IT FEELS SO RIGHT.

The writing with, you know, topic sentences and anyone knowing what the fuck is going on-- everyone thinks it's good for me, and we've been together a long time, but the magic is just gone, and I've been stepping out for a long time.

The truth is, I can only self publish one! How can I choose?

h

[Mykle]

Dear H,

My condolences on your poor kimchee performance! Food poisoning is a constant peril of the writing life. And kimchee -- a spicy fermented pickled cabbage mixed with cat brains -- is a difficult food to test for spoilage. I feel your pain. Be comforted that you are neither the first not the last victim of food-induced writing spasms; Marcel Proust suffered severe flashbacks after eating tainted madeleines, yet he soldiered on.

Here's what I'd do: take a look in the mirror. A good long look. Four or five hours at least, standing completely nude in front of a full-lengh mirror in a cold room. You are permitted a nice hat.

While looking, ask yourself: is this poor body of mine ready for rejection, failure, humiliation, poor nutrition and critic-induced eczema?

If not, then I suggest you shelf both of your charmingly un-sellable projects for now, and instead focus your considerable talents upon a desk calendar featuring red pandas. These will sell like hotcakes! Everyone needs a desk calendar, and everybody loves red pandas. They are like cute, furry money!

[karen]

i would buy one

[Mykle]

See! Your success is assured.

[heather]

But you've just told her to shoplift! Now you've assured my downfall no matter what awkward attempt at self expression and/or crass capitalism! I'm going to go finish that kimchee from last week, I think.

[Mykle]

No worries! Only the retailer suffers when you shoplift. The author and distributor still get paid. Is this a great country, or what?

[Steev]

Mykle wrote: "Is this a great country, or what?"

what?

[Steve]

I gotta go with with Steev on "what." Sorry, Mykle and America.