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oh praise me praise me praise me
Many months ago Xian asked me how I felt about publicly posting stories about young men I knew. After all, these young men knew I was a writer, were writers themselves - surely they would find the site and have some opinion about being the object of a misty-eyed nostalgia trip or hopeful musing. "Certainly you can't have them reading this stuff," he said. Didn't I worry?
The answer is no, because they don't read this. They don't read anything else I write either. "Did you see my interview last month with that hot new band?" they'll eagerly ask me. "Did you read the liner notes I wrote for my friends' band?" they'll say expectantly. "You should buy the CD, pick up the magazine, visit the site." They'll talk about their new project and plans and assignment, tell me what they wrote recently, what will be out soon that I should get my hands on. Then minutes, if not hours, later: "So. What've you been up to?"
You've got Google, boy. You know my last name. Go be a clever little monkey and figure it out.