As Bad A Dresser As I Am,

I Just Think That The People Who Say: 'that's Not True' When Someone Tells A Story At Dinner Are The People Who Didn't Get Any Laughs When They Told Their Story.

I Had Paid For My Folly And, As A Reward, Was Invited To Take Part In The Nest Builder’s Performance Piece. The Script Was Great. ‘when I Bleat Here, Do You Want Me To Just Bleat Or To Really Let Go And “bleat, Bleat”?’ I Asked. ‘i Feel Like “bleat, Bleating,” But If Mother/destroyer Is Going To Be Crawling Through The Birth Canal Of Concertina Wire, I Don’t Want To Steal Focus, You Know What I Mean?

Write Relentlessly, Until You Find Your Voice. Then, Use It.

Writing Helped To Have Jobs That Involved Running Around, Pushing Things Like Dish Carts And Wheelbarrows. It Would Be Hard To Sit At A Desk All Day, And Then Come To Sit At Another Desk. Also, It Helps To Abandon Hope. If I Sit At My Computer, Determined To Write A New Yorker Story I Won't Get Beyond The First Sentence. It's Better To Put No Pressure On It. What Would Happen If I Followed The Previous Sentence With This One, I'll Think. If The Eighth Draft Is Torture, The First Should Be Fun. At Least If You're Writing Humor.

But Instead I Am Applying For A Job As An Elf. Even Worse Than Applying Is The Very Real Possibility That I Will Not Be Hired, That I Couldn't Even Find Work As An Elf. That's When You Know You're A Failure.