My next story will have violence.
Unless, of course, I’m in jail.
Nothing angers or offends me more than men telling me to offer myself. “Flirt,” they say, “for a discount,” “to get out of a ticket,” “to get a good deal,” etc and so on!
Someone said this, again, recently. He was drunk (not an acceptable excuse) and offering unsolicited advice. I sincerely wanted to kick him in the knee caps.
None of my lady friends have EVER said suggested this, nor done it to the best of my knowledge.
NO, THANK YOU!
I’d rather PAY!
How many of you write about what angers you?
Would they tell their wives to flirt? Their sisters? Their mothers?
I AM NOT A COMMODITY!

I do not trade myself for anyone or anything.
I do, however, write books. They are a commodity that can be bought, sold, traded.
Prepare to die, asshole.
In my next story, that is.

I’ve been worked over by a story all summer. I feel like we’ve been beating each other up and down and neither of us is winning.
“Read, read, read. Read everything — trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it.
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