Someone proudly announced their short story publication along with the periodical and a link to read.  Dutifully, I clicked.  And began to read. And quickly became bored.  I shook off my boredom, chiding myself.  ”Give it a chance,” I muttered, and forced my eyes onward even as my brain tried balking.

I made it into Part III.  Then, having had a full-scale revolt of both brain and eyes, I scrolled to the end to check the punchline…which I knew this story would have to have.

It did.

And it was too predictable.

As I’m chalking off yet another online magazine’s editorial staff as “punk,” my eyes are desperately seeking some place to input their resentment at having had to absorb what they did.  …But there is no feedback on this particular zine.  You can’t leave comments and feedback for author and editors.  

I suppose I could email, I thought.  …No.  Waste of effort.  They’re not interested in what I think of their poor choice.

As I close out that window, the original window comes into view, the one with the author proudly, even earnestly proclaiming the publication of her story.  I sigh and close that window, too, thankful that I don’t know this writer, thankful she doesn’t know me. I don’t have to worry about her expectations that I’ll leave a positive comment…any comment, at all.

Recently:

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• They Work Very Hard
• Treading the Dangers of Fiction
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• Scary Writers
• New Novel, Chapter Two
• To the Book Store
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