Back in 2007 I was sitting at my computer whinging about rejection slips (and who could blame them, when I read those early efforts again, I would like to climb inside myself and give me a good rinse round with a mild bleach solution), when my first born wandered in with a copy of SFX magazine.
“Why, mama dearest, do you not enter one of your short stories in this fine publication’s annual completion?” he said.
Or words to that effect. There was probably something about helping him pay for said magazine, but I forget.
I did a bit of whinging about nothing I did being good enough and being a total failure and would he like to make me a cup of coffee to sooth my blighted hopes?
He gave ne the look.
Seriously, where do kids learn to do that? Do they come out of the womb…
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