It was a dark and stormy night ... when I received my first rejection notice from the publisher. The reasons stated ..." I do not read stories that begin with ... 'it was a dark and stormy night' ... "
So as the storm set in with horror in its heartbeat and the night grew darker, deeper in its desperation ... I set down beside my raven casting his shadow across my muse, calling me, beckoning me to plot a vengeful fate upon that cruel, cold-hearted publisher who broke my heart and quenched my spirit ... So on that ... on that... light-deprived and rough weathered nocturnal time ... I dipped my pen in the River Styxx.
I brooded over and over as to what I should to do to stop once and for all time this evil assassin of literary dreams. The black ink of the night began its deathly flow through my pen, the thundering storm in my soul began to finds its words, and on and on I wrote as if Dante has just returned from the fiery realms and Poe had risen from the anceint, forgotten tombs.
And so I wrote, no wait, we wrote for I felt the tearful, anguished hearts of a host of fellow writers graoning in my bones and weeping in my flesh. I knew then that of all the dark and stormy nights that had ever known... this was going to be the longest one of all ...