Missing the Point
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I once wrote a flash fiction involving an immanent train wreck, a half Peri-half human conductor, suitcases, and an unnamed Octavia Butler acting as the metaphorically literal Prophet of God (because I felt embarrassed by coat-tailing on a famous minority author), and sent it to an actual literary magazine.
Possibly because it wasn't as cool as it sounds (despite the characters possibly figuring out how to avert the trainwreck), the piece was not, it seems, literature.
So one very late night, I demoted all of the characters to random LGBT persons and started mocking Harry Potter.
Because that makes sense... if you're a MONKEY.
Disclaimer, because not every one in the universe can read like a snake talks, I more or less identify with Apel. I was poking fun at myself and simultaneously getting imaginary vengence on the jerk editor who didn't like my obviously brilliant, hyperastounding mythopoem.
Ha ha ha ha so there!
I mean. I don't think it was probably that great, all else aside. meh.
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