Remember a couple of weeks ago when I linked to Amanda Palmer's writing contest? My favorite crazy naked musician, held a contest where you could write prose on the subject of her death and possibly win one of 15 copies of her book to be given away as contest prizes. Today I got an email from the publisher of the book. I won a copy.
HOLY.
FUCK.
I never expected to win, and I never necessarily expected what I wrote to be comparably good to what other people would write, but when I saw the contest, I had an urge to write. So I did. I wrote something that I thought was appropriate to my favorite crazy musician/artist and something I was actually proud of. I had no idea it would ever strike someone else as exceptional. I wrote what I wanted to write the exact crazy ass way I wanted to write it, and someone else liked it. Sooo happy!
Here is a taste of the story:
"...To her surprise, she found that, not only could she play the concerto with considerable ease, she could read it. She understood the sheet music intrinsically and played with the passion and fervor of bunnies. When she was finished she smiled softly, for the first time since several hours before her death. 'Wow.' she said. 'Indeed.' said the little man taking up his sheet music. No sooner was it in his hands than he disappeared in a puff of mist or was it smoke or... well, whether or not it was ethereal mist, smoke, or cedar moths on methamphetamine was inconsequential: the fact was, he was gone..."
You should go to the site to read the rest of it.
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