Writing Contests

We love 'em. We hate 'em, too, but we're still drawn to them like flies to a rotting corpse.

We write, and re-write, and re-write some more, because God knows it just needs that one little tweak.

Then we rush to the post office, still licking the envelopes shut, just making it through those doors before the place closes for the night. The postal worker unceremoniously stamps your precious oeuvre, you turn and depart uttering one last prayer to the Gods of luck creativity.

And anyone who says they're "above all that" is full of shit.

The one and only reason we enter over-hyped pocket-drainers is to receive confirmation that we are unique; that we matter; that in this cookie-cutter world we stand apart from all the others. We, through brainpower alone, have created something so unique that we will change mankind forever. Hallelujah!

What bullshit.

What we've done is to openly say, "love me"!
"Validate me!"
"Give me a reason to believe I'm something more than a sheep. "

And so we wait for those results, firmly believing our words have more depth and meaning than any of the other 5,826 Neanderthals who've entered the same contest.

Yeah, right.