Hello again, my dear uncertain someones,
I should’ve said every other week or so, yes, and been clearer. A weekly update letter may just be too much when there’s so much to say and so many words in the way but here we are and ain’t that a contradiction. Wrote a thing recently called “ambiguation,” though, so perhaps it’s no surprise.
Maybe I should make more lists, and post them. And get more readers, like the listers get, as I like to see in my likely misperceptions. X ways to know Y. A ways to be a better B. The Z things you need to know about nothing. Is it really true that if you say less, more people will listen?
For all my life I’ve wondered this, and for all life long I’ve tended toward the yes. Spite, perhaps. Maybe malice. So I thought maybe I should try it.
Learning about that, I am, about anger and patience, wondering how much of what I wrote last year was about that, or them. And how much of that how much is publishable. That’s what I may be soon finding now. Soon, now. As I wait with patient anger for something new to write about and some new old way to do it, and for some magazine/pamphlet/handout/contest to take my old new stuff and put it in print before I lose my nerve or change my mind or drop it altogether. Ok ok, just talking now, doing that little posture dance to premeditatively mitigate potential disappointment. And to think, potential and I used to be such friends.
Well, anyway, deadline met (last night), and now I sit back and list out the Seven Ways to Await the Accolades. Think I’ll post a piece of that submission soon, in a few minutes maybe, or a few hours, days weeks months whatever, see what some of you uncertain someones think—I said long long not so terribly long ago I’d do so and now it seems I shall so do. And then get back to writing like a normal person instead of fucking Dr. Seuss, and I don’t mean that in the sense that sentence’s fucking grammar represents.
Till then,
M.
M. 
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