An Editor's Rant

Fie on you evil sentences! Your conjugations defy me. Your nouns slip like water through my fingers. Your pronouns stand down a distant corridor, separated from their wards, never to be joined again. Because of you, my eyeballs are both pasted to the center of my face, my neck muscles wound like angry snakes poised to attack at the base of my skull, and my mood is dark...ever so dark on your behalf.

Learn to write please. LEARN TO WRITE, rather than paying someone else to massage it into beauty. Because I will be honest with you--just as I gave up being in the field of beauty-care because I couldn't care less about how perfect anyone's eyebrows or bikini line were, I care not for your tepid, broken, humdrum little excuses for sentences, and nothing I do will save them. They will always be crooked and ugly. They are unnatural things, never meant to be. Theirs is is a half-life at best, a bedraggled, painful, half-life where they will be teased and stared at and ridiculed, and they can't be saved. Do you hear me? They CAN'T be saved.

You will never know how painful it has been.

Don't worry--it isn't you. You would never think to come here.

JPR