In a word: bland.

This is how I feel about contacting anyone or anything regarding my work. I have been trying and retrying to find some sort of outlet for my work over the past two years and have hit so many roadblocks that I almost feel as if my vehicle is thus shattered, leaving my bones to rot under a desert sun via my Midwest dust bowl of the mind.

I am writing for one reason only and that is that I need professional representation in order to procure or secure or liquor an outlet for my writing. I have now written a novella and two which shall go together in one book like Salinger did with Franny and Zooey, etc. Do I deserve representation? Doubtful and yes, of course. Should I be ganking ideas from past brilliance just to forgo writing a proper novel of novel length? Of course. That is what brilliance does, doesn’t it…it creates from a creation and pulls from the ether a thing of “no one’s done it quite like this.” And so here I am.

I should want to inform you that I am also a musician (primarily, I should say) and have released a multitude of work via the internet (thesupposedso.bandcamp.com) which has already gotten me certain acclaim circa 2012 during Raw:Natural Born Artists in Cleveland, Ohio. And here I am, about a year later, with no such luck to again be noticed by someone worth being noticed by.

I also have an ongoing prose and poetry series on this blog (thesupposedso.tumblr.com) which I update far too regularly for it to be considered all too much to pay attention to. It’s mostly songs I’ve been listening to at this point and the prose and/or the poetry need the blog to be sifted through to be found. I suggest the archive feature (each is entitled, “Good Morning,” “Good Afternoon,” or “Good Evening,” with different taglines for each respectively as the day goes).

And so, good sir or madam, I leave you with a phrase:

None is such that with work shall be praised.
I, a dashing devil can be laid away.
But oh, with haste I send to thee
This, my wonderment
Of how to contact important contacts.

Do you see? It’s all far too forced, this whole thing. I should wrap it up and toss it shyly into the ocean, but I live by the sea.

And so, dear sir or madam…would you care to represent me?

Sincerely Bound,

Michael

p.s.
you may ask;
you may tell;
you may contact me hereto:
the message or
question or
whatever
on this site.
my email is private
and out of sight.
can you spell forced?
ahem.

fuck it.
thesupposedso@gmail.com