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The Internal Monologue Of A Writer On Medium Thinking About The Medium Writers Challenge
It’s going to be a bumpy night.
Is it writer’s challenge, or writers’ challenge? They don’t use an apostrophe at all. That seems wrong. Does it matter? No, it doesn’t matter. Get a grip.
God, I suck. I’m a shitty writer. Everybody’s better than me. I have no prayer in the fucking universe of winning anything. I don’t know why I bother. I entered all four topics, how humiliating. I’m such a toady. A boot licking, sniveling, forelock-tugging toady.
I wish I had some salsa.
Even if I won something, so what. I’d still be a nobody. I mean, a nobody with $50,000, but still. I’d be famous for about five minutes to ten people on here, and then everything would go back to normal. Just a big, grey expanse of nothing.
Plus I’d have to pay taxes on it. Which is okay, I know we need taxes, especially for the infrastructure, which is in very poor shape. I’m terrified to drive over a bridge. The way they make it sound, we’re essentially all driving on styrofoam that could give way at any moment. It’s like driving on Necco wafers.
White space.
Must.
Have.
