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I wrote some short stories and have been considering self-publishing short works to the Kindle store. They would be little genre pieces most likely to pop up in random ebook searches and require far less effort than mailing printed manuscripts to magazines across the country.
Comment whether this idea sounds like foolish selling out or productive branching out. Or both!
Comment whether this idea sounds like foolish selling out or productive branching out. Or both!
Shipping A Canvas
You guys are artists. You have wisdom to impart. How should I ship a canvas?
The Studio System
I am officially going to quit cluttering up the dining room table with the shrapnel of creative endeavors and have cleared out a proper desk space for writing and painting. There's an easel on the Christmas list that I got to handpick for my family's convenience, and that should save my back/wrist some stress.
Sketching stuff out when a thought occurs will always be part and parcel to sparking up a new piece, but having a "work station" to focus on fleshing out ideas won't hurt, either.
And keeping in line with each piece incorporating a different medium: charcoals! I can't wait to muck up a canvas with those bad boys.
Happy Halloween Funfest!
((Any comments, questions, or edits for the story posted thus far? I'm more or less done with it, so all that's left is to make a few tweaks and submit it to the Halloween Funfest.))
Four shrimp tails wriggled from Gorgeous's mouth as he showed off his "mollusk made of mollusks" to a again bald man with no more monocles left to pop out of his eyes. The bald man's harem of bunnies giggled.
"You vulgar brute! I shall have security escort you to the exit!"
"Calm down Father Time, it's not Christmas yet, I want you to make peace with the ghosts of past, present and future before you have a heart attack." He turned away, picking at his gums wit
From Dark Side of Moonside to Top of the Pops
"Rectify this." Gorgeous lifted his loafer and tried to stomp the shiny robot onto its back, but its sheer mass instead stubbed his toe. He fell over breathing through gritted teeth, with his eyes on the robot, whose bomb made a hissing noise and released a sliver of smoke into the air.
Junior panicked and rifled through his pockets for a way out of his emergency. He thew a paper clip and folded pocket knife at the robot, but they simply hovered above the robot's antenna, caught in its magnetic field. Next came a bottle of fruit soda from the studio fridge, which splashed over the robot's body and fizzled into steam. The bomb's hissing grew
© 2011 - 2024 bonjourduck
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