Newsgroups:  talk.bizarre
Subject:     writer's block

They came in a large caravan of unmarked U-Haul trucks, carrying
shotguns and electric cattle prods. Me they got at the Chicago MLA
meeting, others at poetry workshops or writing seminars all across the
midwest. A couple of poor slobs here claim they got the entire Ohio
State English department, and I believe it. There's a big demand these
days for cheap writers, and that means a pretty price for the slavers.

One thing you got to give the slavers, they are an efficient and
businesslike bunch. Like the way they got me: gunmen were placed at
every exit of the big lecture hall except one, and when they started
firing we stampeded out the unguarded exit right into their trucks.
They must have got about two hundred of us in less than ten minutes.

And another thing: when they took us out of the trucks, they tied our
hands carefully with nylon ropes, not handcuffs or anything like that.
It just wouldn't do to hurt our oh so precious hands.

So now I'm in line, waiting for the block. If I'm lucky, I'll be
bought by one of the Harlequin conglomerates. Sure, they expect the
output of a Stephen King, but they're lax on quality control; I could
pump out drivel for years without firing a neuron. Worst would be copy
editing for some Hyperprint rag. Severe beatings are routine for
shoddy work, to say nothing of what would happen if a typo was
published.

But odds are I'll be bought for technical writing, thrown into a
basement with all the others, and chained to a wordprocessor to
produce manual after dreary manual. An editor in the front of the
room, and a slave master in back, making sure my wpm doesn't fall too
low. After a couple of years of that, you start to dream about getting
CTS. At least then, they would take you out back and kill you quickly
with a shot to the head, like you were a lame horse.

-Thomas C