where the writers are
Short Stories 365:300

There are wonderful things that come of this modern age of instant communication and modern technology. For example, receiving a text from someone that they're two-thirds done my novel and they're loving it? Awesome, and humbling. A Google alert telling me someone is selling a "rare" copy of my book for double the original price? Brilliant, and -

Hold on. Pardon?

First off - a what copy of my novel? Dude, it came out this freaking month. There are likely more copies of that book available now than ever will be again. Ever. Like, for reals.

Second, in what way could it be possibly considered rare, except perhaps in the barbecue sense. Even then, let's be fair here - all the books are pretty much not burned over charcoal. It's a thing.

So, anyway, good look to you. I'll sell a less rare copy to you if you want it. Heck, I'll even sign it first.

"Do You Want to Burn to Death and Look Like Steak with Hair?" by Greg Kearney

A tale told in the format of a blog, there's a kind of whimsical (and maybe cruel) humour to this story that I found utterly delightful. If that sounds like a contradiction, I understand, but I promise when you delve into this story from Friend. Follow. Text.: #storiesFromLivingOnline that you'll get it.

Helene Savant is a woman blogging about her sobriety, her survival of cancer, and promising "There IS life - thrilling, thrilling L-I-F-E! - after drugs and alcohol and, in my case, real breasts. Read on!"

And oh, I read on. When one is surviving cancer and alcoholism and a husband who is a convicted pedophile on trial and a friend who has found Jesus in a big way and also a date that might just be two souls meeting for the first time (if only he'd understand that) it's hard not to be full of vim and joy. And Helene is full of something, all right. But it's this neurotic and manic joy that suffuses ever line of this story that is just so intensely enjoyable.

In a way that makes you feel like a horrible human being.

Huge props to Kearney. I've rarely read a tale that made me feel so bad about being amused.

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