As it turns out, Thin Mints are preferred to literature, even in a Newspaper office where people actually feed their families on what they earn by attempting to make others read the word drivel they produce. I of course knew this going in, but once again I tried to overcome my cynicism by taking a chance that I was wrong and the silver lining people were right.
I can't take it personally of course; well ok I can but I won't... I spose.... cuz my late mom would tell me that's bad and waggle her index finger at me to reinforce her wishful thinking nonsense, and we all know how grueling it is to feel badly about your mom feeling badly because you feel badly.
On the other hand, the three people that I comically browbeat in advance, telling them they had no choice but to participate even before the tome appeared in the office, did actually participate, no matter how reluctantly, making me feel a little sorry that I'd done the browbeating since then there's no way to tell if they were just afraid I'd go postal if I were disgruntled, or they actually give a shit about the written word beyond that which qualifies as a client contract that would portend a personal commission in progress. I would guess the latter and let's face it, I'm damn near always right, but then there's that same mom finger wag thing I was talkin about before so I won't guess, I'll just assume instead cuz I'd rather admit to being "an ass" than a disappointment to my dear dead mother.
I wonder how high a house of cards I can assemble using books. I bet to the moon. Then the moon could read the story I wrote about it. I'm sure he'd like it, and as everyone would freely say, one should always have the Moon's good graces by their sides. I think that's what they say anyway...