dotinthesky | (no subject)

Kevin told me in bed that I smell like thyme in the morning. Good ol' roasted potato. This potato hasn't found any wet earth yet to stick his roots and grow from. In fact, this potato doesn't know what to do with his life.

Mr. Potato was looking at his writings last night, done during a time when he was part-time and decided on creating a career as a short-story writer. Mr. Potato was shocked to realize that his writing wasn't very good, and much use for anyone (except Reader's Digest.) Mr. Potato was sad, so sad. Thyme-scented pearls began rolling down his baked face, splashing onto the dining room's glass table. The room was soon smelling like a roast dinner gone bad.

Fortunately, Mr. Potato has a new plan. He might become a literary agent! Business dinners at the Met Bar, movie deals in L.A., 1st class flights between the publishing capitals of the world. Mr. Potato could be so happy. Mr. Potato, therefore, would like to encourage all his little piggy friends to send him their written works: novels, erotic fiction, memoirs, photography books. Mr. Potato is not picky. Mr. Potato will take care of it all and make sure the publishers pay the highest price for printing your work.

Mr. Potato is now going to read his email and reply to your lovely comments. Be kind today: eat a crumpet instead of a potato.

Threaded | Flat

poor mr. potato.
I also write: I also am not very good.

I will add you to angel_fish so you can see how not good I am (i never finished it)

If someone sends you some badly written hentai later from a livejournal address you don't recognise, its not, me, ok?

just be happy you don't smell like morning breath and onions

I am going to be eating you for lunch, just so you know...

as I hadn't had my usual baked potato wwith cheese and brocolli this week yet

oooooohhhh......do you want to be my agent, Mr Redfern!!!!!!??????

Awe...I made mashed potatoes today! Hahaha...and you know what? I think your writing is awesome...much better than reader's digest...and I'm a picky fucking bitch!

perhaps mr. potato should stop indulging in the narcissistic illusion that he, or ANYONE, can write brilliant work without engaging in a long and bloody editing/rewriting process. maybe mr. potato should embrace the ugly, necessary task of reworking one of these old-ass stories. alternatively, since he is likely overly invested in the project of self-loathing, he might consider loosening his miserly grip on his work, and permit a boyfriend or friend to have at it. i know a certain copy-editor who is willing to volunteer her newly-minted services.