One side of the Amazon Ballroom was flooded in the carcasses of the losers in the $1,500 slaughterfest. Call them whatever. Donkeys. Emus. Pigeons. Fish. Pigs. Dogs. Rats. They were casualities and within hours of taking their seats, they ended up on the killing floor. When the survivors trudged through the HORSE area, they tracked donkey blood all over the carpet.
If you're not reading Pauly already (hint: you are), read Pauly. He's shredding it out there on the shores of Lake Wossop. The above quote neatly sums up my big swan song, a first crack at the Sunday Millions that ended when I misread my opponent's calling range and wound up dominated. But I've always wanted to play the Stars Million, and I had an opportunity, so I took my shot for the experience. Same reason all the dead money finds themselves sitting at the felt. The experience. Pay the price and take the ride. I had a good time while it lasted, and a great time railing while LJ went deep deep deep and scored a couple grand. Go congratulate LJ, you jealous so-and-so's, you.
But anyway. Tonight is my last night of poker before jumping full time into taking those energies previously funneled into this silly game and throwing them behind crafting a novel. I toyed with making a Super/System book first after decent interest in the poll (upper left), but ultimately this is the thing I want to do, and I think the System can continue to live here. When I was in college, I thought for sure that I was the best writer of fiction the world had seen, a talent of such brilliance that ladies would swoon, men would hate me, faces would melt before my effulgent perspicasity.
I was an idiot, utterly unaware of the fear and humility necessary to craft good work. I also wrote sentences that ended with words like "effulgent perspicasity." Good thing I'm broken of that one.
Now? I am still an idiot, and a fool. If you think trying to take down an MTT is a fool's quest, might I suggest long fiction? In that arena, the only donkey is you. These days, I just want to write one good story. If I work hard, I think maybe I can. If I accomplish that, I think my next goal will be to write another.
A lot of you have expressed interest in the project, and frankly the idea that people would actually take the time to ask questions and even in some cases read a bit of it is pretty damn flattering. You guys need to watch it. The last thing you want is a flattered writer. A flattered wannabe writer will follow you home like a sad little puppy and roll around on the carpet waiting for his belly to be rubbed. We'll also mooch your food.
The frequently asked question is, what kind of book is it, and what is it about? The short answer is that it's a novel about a street prophet named Julius (I took his name when choosing my screen name) who finds a partially visible man named Gordy. It's also about a whole lot more, but I'd rather write it than try to work through the synopsis, and also to tell some of the things that it is about (or "aboot" for my Canadian readers) would be bad poker. One thing I can promise you now; there will be midgets. If anybody is interested in reading the first 25 pages or so, IM me (see my blogger profile) and tell me your email, or just leave your email in the comments, and I will ship it.
That's it. Hope to see you in Barnes & Nobles.