I’ve been castigated by some editors for what they see as my haughty attitude in tossing Shards into the web stream like gored matadors and welcoming any editor they happen to brush up against to publish them.
Perhaps if I were to promise a $20 “after-the-fact” reading fee if one of these editors were to publish one of these Shards, their attitude toward me might soften; I might even become eligible for one of the multitude of “competitions” that haunt the web; I might even get my picture on one of their web sites if I’d be willing to pose staring intently into the camera with my hair tousled or staring dreamily upward as if God or a naked woman were floating by up there. Well, fuck ’em.
None of this applies to the stormtrooper editors who snap up Shards like frogs with long tongues snapping up flies, editors who aren’t shackled to a lethargic protocol that reeks of procedural censorship.
I’m the last survivor of the Mimeo Revolution, and I’m out for blood.