One day Miss Snark was minding her business, giving her ficus tree its daily watering and bemoaning the Ginmaker's Strike when a query arrived at her door:
Dear Agent:
I wrote a fiction novel. It is 183,000 words and is about a boy and his cat who get abducted by aliens and go to live on the planet Zicam. I know you don't represent science fiction, but I think you will make an exception for my book because I put years into deciding on the perfect font and I used a spellchecker.
Call me and we'll arrange terms of contract.
Sincerely,
Alfred E. Neuman
"Hark! What's this!?" Miss Snark barked. "I've had it with these nitwit writers, they don't know anything! I can't handle it anymore. Since the Ginmaker's Strike, I just can't cope."
"Yap!" cried the poodle.
"I know! I'll start a blog, like everybody else in the world and get this off my chest!"
"Yap!" cried the poodle.
"I can't put my name on it, though, 'cause you can only snark in private. In public everything has to be gumdrops and lollipops, fluffy clouds and that awful glitter these numskulls keep sticking in their queries to grab my attention."
"Yap!" cried the poodle.
"I'll start an anonymous blog. I'll give myself an anonymous name and post my anonymous rants. Nobody will pay any attention, but I'll go and post there whenever something annoys me and it will be my little secret. My little, obscure secret. And once the gin deliveries are back on a regular schedule, I'll close it down and nobody will be the wiser. It won't take any time at all."
"No. No time at all. No time at all..." Miss Snark stroked the poodle, while those little Fairies who sprinkle Doomsday Dust over our best laid plans flitted from one corner to the next dropping unicorn stickers as they went.
The poodle chuckled. Miss Snark tossed him a Liver Treat.
"And what shall we call you, my pretty?" she mused.(from the pen of the low slung gin fizz ironed underpants spinetingler babe)
1.20.2007
In The Beginning
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22 comments:
In the beginning, Miss Snark created her blog. And the blog was without form. And the spirit of Miss Snark moved upon the face of the blogosphere. And Miss Snark said, "Let there be a crapometer." And there was a crapometer.
and it was good
And on the seventh day...
No, actually, she never rested again.
And now we all worship at St. Snark of the Flaming Tresses. The door is never locked, there is no entrance fee, but there is a possibilty our souls will be mercilessly crushed by a sharp stilletto if we do not demonstrate good writing and good sportsmanship. Forgive us, St. Snark, for we have sinned, some of us for far more than 750 words....
You'd think she'd just...ya know...create two new weekend days. Then the crapometer could be done every week, since she'd have a longer weekend to....I hear teeth gnashing.
*runs away*
"once the gin deliveries are back on a regular schedule, I'll close it down and nobody will be the wiser."
Too late for that, Miss Snark.
Far, far too late. :-)
...those little Fairies who sprinkle Doomsday Dust...
Let me pay Miss Fizz the highest compliment one writer can to another:
Geepers, I wish I had thought that one up! :-D
Y'know, I'd figured out who wrote this waaaay before you gave her credit.
She needs to stop goofing around and get over her cold!
liver treat, hmmm... with fava beans and chianti?
Haste yee back ;-)
ha, ha, ha
Ah, geez...ya coulda fixed the punctuation.
Cyberian Snark
Ah, the origin story. All superheroes must have one.
Lovely.
Ironing underpants? Now that's displacement activity...
is there something wrong with ironing one's underpants? I enjoy that crisp, warm feeling...
Seriously, are there people who actually include glitter in their query letters?
Never mind. Dumb question.
That is not a poodle.
I can see it now: HOW TO GET A BOOK DEAL OR WHY YOU'RE STILL A NITWIT by Miss Snark. This should be the introduction.
giggling (while throwing glitter in the air)
Spinetinglers and bunions what a great way to have fun!
I know that voice...
I've heard it before!
Mom... is that you?
What the hell is an iron?
ummm ... you're supposed to take the underpants OFF before you iron them ...
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