There are so many clichés that compare a writer’s work to a beloved child.  Well, I just sent my first baby off into the cold, cruel world.  With a click of the mouse, I attached him to an email and sent him to be devoured and savaged by wolves wearing the skins of contest judges.  Of course, I won’t know what became of him for a couple of months, but I can’t help but imagine that he’ll be torn limb from limb, little commas and periods dripping from his mangled corpse like drops of black blood.

I added a section to the blog called “Scoreboard” to put the whole process into perspective.  Like a basketball player keeping track of free throw percentages, I can look back and have a good laugh at my terrible acceptance rate.

Appropriate Keane song of the day: “The Starting Line”

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