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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Steve is just this guy, you know.

Well, I changed my profile to show my real name. Hi, I'm Steve and I'm a writer (Hi, Steve). I usually get a few hundred words a week...

That's how I always feel when I introduce myself in a writers group, like I'm in AA or something.

Anyway. I think I'm making more of an arse, I mean, a name for myself and it's time to be proud of that name. Well, for writing I always was proud of my name. By the happy chance of it I'll be shelved next to Steven Brust if I ever get a book out. And that is just way too cool for me.

So here I am. I almost have my decade chip. Someday I'll be paid to publish my writing. On that note, I still haven't heard from the Writer's of the Future Contest about "My Favorite War Stories." So I figure I'll either be a finalist (always a bridesmaid, never a bride, boo hoo), or I might have crossed the barrier. Yesterday I was inexplicably happy. Maybe that was it.

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