July 03, 2012

Return to sender?

Here's the low-down: 1) Clarion West is an amazing thing, a six-week education for SF writers. I went there. It changed me . . . y'know, in good ways. 2) Clarion West is having a Write-a-thon to raise money for itself, so it can keep being an amazing thing, and changing people . . . for the better. 3) If you give them money through my Write-a-thon page a) they get money and b) you get a postcard. An AWESOME postcard. It might not be one of these. It might be better!


Dear Mom, I’ll be home a bit later than planned. Another two months, maybe, with good behavior. Prison is pretty nice here, though. I can sum up Oslo in a few words: Opera House, Bowling ball, WORTH IT. See you (relatively) soon, Jeremy

What could be better? And yet, after two weeks I have few sponsors. I feel lonely. I am writing postcards to the void.


Dear Yahweh, I’ve been meaning to write for eternity. I’m well established now in my new home. Things get more interesting with each trainload of new residents. I confess I’m surprised by the variety of souls who end up here—musicians, dancers, & writers keep the place lively (why don’t you want them?). People seem basically good. Mostly they’re sorry for their mistakes.  How are things with you? Forgive me for saying it sounds awfully dull there, with only bible-thumpers around. If you get bored you can come visit me. I can barely remember what we used to fight about. Surely it no longer matters. Say “hi” to the other angels for me, Lucifer

Maybe it's the economy. $20 is a lot, right? I know. (Boy, do I know. You think things are expensive in the States? Try Norway!) So, okay. Forget $20. I have a lot of these postcard things, and they just keep coming. I'll send them to sponsors until I run out. And then I'll feel guilty and write more of them, and send those out.


Dear Professor, At first we thought it was just a rock. It glowed a little, but in the midnight sun no one noticed. The rock was odd, pointy & rough. So we studied it, & that’s when the suicides began. First Jones, who dug the thing out of the ice. He sliced his own throat. Then the doctor ODed. Then Caldwell. You don’t want to know. I know they’ll send you to investigate when we’re all gone, but don’t come! I have the thing now & I am finding my pistol hard to resist. I want to get rid of the rock, bu-- All is well. This is funny joke, HA HA. From your friend

Got it? Sponsor me; get postcard. Any amount will do (but maybe more than the cost of a postcard stamp, yeah? Just for karma?).


Dear sis, I told you sending Sammy on vacation with us was a bad idea. He basically wouldn’t stop screaming & throwing temper tantrums unless he was eating candy. So despite misgivings about feeding your son an all-sugar diet, we sent a steady stream of chocolate & lollypops his way. In a strange little shop we bought lollipops that sparkled. Actually, they were almost luminescent. Sammy sucked on one for a while, then threw it down & launched into another fit. Exasperated, I said, “If you don’t stop that, you’ll freeze that way.”  And damned if he didn’t.  We think Sammy looks good like this, & he’s certainly a lot quieter. We’re getting quotes today on shipping him home. Love, me

If you don't sponsor me, I might throw a tantrum. And then I might turn into a statue. And then how will you feel? 

6 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Glad you like them! I'm having a lot of fun with this.

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  2. Wow, the captcha is prohibitively difficult, though. I had to try four times and when it finally went through, I actually just guessed. My 1-in-26 chance was probably augmented by the vaguely squarish shape of the blue blur, but if that's under your control you should fix it, and if it's Blogspot's fault, you might want to let them know. (I'm not looking forward to trying to post this comment.)

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    1. I think I fixed it. Maybe that's why I rarely get any comments: because all my friends are robots. :)

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  3. I really enjoyed hearing from hell

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    1. Thanks, Anonymous. :) You can call me Lucy for short.

      ~Lucifur

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