Today’s Challenge: Write a post that is honest and authentic, but at the same time appeals to every single sector of your completely incompatible readership —
1) socially minded, highly educated, overly neurotic mothers whom you can safely flirt with without having to do anything in real life
2) trailer park denizens who loved your numerous dick jokes from 2007-2008, when you were funnier
3) social-climbing “friends” from Ivy League colleges who now live in Manhattan, work in “media,” think personal blogging is a waste of time, read The New Yorker magazine, and love to name drop pretentious shit like a bunch of pampered assholes.
— in an effort to please everyone, like the pussy writer you are, making yourself sound likable and approachable, but ultimately destroying any sense of authority.
“What kind of ridiculous writing challenge is this?” I asked.
“It is an ideal one for you.” answered my Penis.
“Penis, what are you doing here. I haven’t talked to you on this blog for ages!”
“Exactly. And why? Because Veronica said she didn’t like the posts.”
“So, I trust her opinion. Maybe she was right…”
“No… no… no… Fuck Veronica. The reader is never right. You are the writer. You need to listen to THE VOICE.”
“Who’s voice? Yours?”
“I don’t want to do this prompt,” I cried. “Overly-neurotic mothers? Trailer park denizens? Social climbing “friends?” These are my dear readers. The ones who pay the bills”
“Fuck your readers.”
“But everyone is going to hate me.”
“Do it!” demanded my Penis. “Show them who has the cojones!”
Tuesday Writing Challenge
by Neil Kramer
I couldn’t believe my eyes as she stepped into the bedroom. It was my first time seeing her without a stitch of clothing. I admired her full breasts and her long, strong legs.
How lucky was I to have met Melissa at their reading Saturday night at the 92nd Street Y by Russian-American novelist Gary Shteyngart! Not only was Melissa gorgeous, with flowing golden brown hair the color of the finest wheat, but she had a PhD in Molecular Biology, was a noted feminist writer and speaker, a Fellow at the Nieman Lab, an animal rescuer, and the mother of three beautiful, brilliant, well-behaved, healthy young children, all who attended top private schools and could read and write in English, Mandarin, Hebrew, and Portuguese.
When I looked into her eyes, the sensation was so intense. This was the perfect woman.
Here is where I reveal something to you, dear reader. Despite my bravado in print, I am really quite shy and modest. While I was brazen in my gaze at her nakedness, I felt vulnerable and uncovered in my own, and grabbed a magazine from the night stand, spreading it open to cover manly arousal.
As she walked closer and closer to me, her eyes grew hungry as she stared at me. Or rather the issue of The New Yorker which I used as my shield of honor, opened to pages 42-43 of the latest issue. “Oh, a Roz Chast cartoon! I love her,” she cried, as she swiped the magazine off of me and went to read it on the easy chair.
“How was it?” I asked my Penis.
“Eh.” he answered.
“Fuck you!” I finally screamed at my Penis.
“Finally! Eureka! You did it.” he said, laughing with glee. “You passed the test. You fought back against your own Penis! And when a man can finally fight back against the will of his own Penis, the world is his oyster!”
“You know that expression is from Shakespeare.”
“The Merry Wives Of Windsor Act 2, scene 2, 2–5”
“Keep it going! Now you got the mojo!”
(for Kate’s amusement)