Spam de-lite

551 spams--at least no more cookies: my Internet was switched off Friday from non-payment of the bill by Karen, my Kaseworker (Dave & Karen have vanished to the wilds of Danville); the bill had been misplaced. I saw her this morning, when Trish went in to Perky Pam's Place for her weekly shot. We wrote up a check & called 1-866-ONE-WEST & they turned it back on, but the spam filter had been kicked off & I was stuck with all this shit, including a note from an angry, disgruntled Critter who complainedthat I'dstopped reading a generallymediocre pieceof fantasy becausehe ransomany words together that it was unreadable. Now I had to kiss A. Burt's ass, just to stay in this crappy genre workshop, when I'm capable of so much more. Worse yet, when I arrived home, there was a form letter from Asimov's in my mailbox. Sheila Williams must be one really shitty editor, as Gardner always returned everything with an enthusiastic note before apologizing for it "not being right for us". I'm depressed. Perhaps Car-girl can cheer me up tomorrow. Writing is one of those difficult professions where you often spend a lot of time going unrecognized, & I think part of it is just that these magazines & publishers have such lousy editors. At least Stan Schmidt still likes my stuff.