Envy

I've been trying to organize an Algonquin Round Table style elitist lit group where we would gather at certain snooty establishments, sip the finest cognac out of gilded snifters, discuss and more importantly deride the current state of literature. Except for the good stuff which (of course) would all be written by us. That would be universally praised, ad nauseum and so forth.

I would be the Edna Ferber of the group, obviously. So far no takers. I'm serious about it too. Most days I want to suck the creativity from other writers' brains and set it in a jar for my own personal use at a later date. This would be a convenient way to surreptitiously accomplish the task, like herding sheep. Not that I'm generally surreptitious but supposing I were I certainly wouldn't be advertising it, if ya know what I mean.

I'm kidding...

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