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Last night I attended the first annual AWP Costume Parade and Ball. Prizes were given for best-all-around, most creative, and best team costumes. I didn’t win a prize, but I did get a bad burn on my face when a man dressed as George Eliot threw a lit candle at me when I pointed out that George Eliot was actually the pen name of a woman named Mary Ann Evans.

“You think I don’t know that?” the guy said. “I’m a fucking tenured professor at an Ivy League school. It’s in Boston. That’s all I’ll say.”

1.Try revising your draft as if someone who wasn’t a totally worthless, talentless hack was writing it.
2.Relax, remind yourself that no one who ever wrote anything worth a damn ever got blocked, and start researching trade schools in your area.
3.Find a work of literature that really inspires you and throw it in the garbage because you don’t deserve the pleasure of reading and all that inspiration was clearly some kind of illusion.

Jonathan Franzen’s new novel, due in the Fall, will miss its release date after Franzen becomes addicted to the PS Vita he got for Christmas and fails to finish the thing.

Kanye West will win the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, not for his lyrics but for the way he moves through the world.

Jonathan Lethem will be imprisoned after hijacking a city bus and forcing the terrified passengers to endure a nine-hour lecture on Philip K Dick’s use of the word ‘the’ in Valis.

30,000 BP (Before Present)—The first recorded Author Bio is created by a caveman in the Chauvet Caverns who, upon realizing that taking credit for a recently completed tableau depicting a successful hunting expedition might increase his sexual prospects amongst the female members of his tribe, mashes his paint-stained palm against a cave wall.