But then, just as I was finally over my creative writing teacher issues, I noticed that, OMGosh, he actually figured out how to leave a comment in my box. I really didn't think it was possible since he used to play football at BYU back in the 1950's.
So check this out. He accused me of maligning, mocking and misquoting him.
First of all, who uses that word, malign? It's not as bad as precient (which I looked up in Webster and it ain't even a word) but it's pretty TMI. (What does that mean? I've been bending my brain trying to figure it out. I'm going with Too Much Intellect.) Definitely TMI for a football player, anyway.
Second, he's totally trying to impress all my blogger fans with his alliteration skills. He must have a very poor self esteem.
Third, I've been completely up front with my readers about my tendency to stretch the truth like taffy. (Look who's alliterative now, buddy!)
But I will concede on a few points. Though I never intentionally tried to mock or misquote or malign him, I did enjoy a little taffy at his expense. For instance, he never actually said this font was unflattering on me. I made that up so my husband would spring for a blog make-over. What he actually said was that he didn't recognize me anymore. See I was a bit of a downer in college--wasn't quite through with the 12 steps to recovery or the 4 stages of grief or the 7 highly effective habits.
Did anyone notice how he took credit for me blogging my brains out? (I gave him that line, btw). He said I couldn't even address a keyboard when I enrolled in his CW class in 1980. Well, duh! I was in kindergarten in 1980 and the computer hadn't even been invented. Plus you address an audience or an envelope or a subject, but who addresses a keyboard?
Can you see now how he taught me everything I needed to know about lying (in kindergarten).
Here's another example. Whenever I handed in a poem or a story or an essay, he would say things to me like "you can't write this!" and I would say "why?" and he would say "because no one will believe it!" and I would say, "but it's all true" and he would say "it doesn't matter, no one will believe it" and I would say "huh?"
Nevertheless, even though I toilet papered his house a few times, that was a valuable lesson.
From him (and from Harry Potter) I learned that sometimes you have to put a cloak of invisibility over the truth, allowing some to look past it and others to see through it.
Perhaps he's right about one thing--the gratitude factor. I'm not being a very good example of what the blogoshsphere is all about. (Can you believe he said blogoshphere? I think the gosh in the middle is a subliminal message. And guess what else . . . he has a Facebook! You heard me. He's actually almost . . . stinkin' cool. Eww. And check out this picture I found of him as the Homecoming King in 1920. He's actually almost . . . stinkin' hot! Eww!)
(DO NOT TELL HIM I TOLD YOU THIS, but if you want to go to his Facebook page just type in the search words chris crowe and see if he'll add you as his friend. hee hee. I bet I totally have more friends than him.)
I just checked and he only has 78 friends. Orson Scott Card's not even one of them even though they're on a middle name basis. I feel kind of sorry for him. We should all go befriend him and then buy his books. I bet they don't sell very well, even though he's written about a million of them, including one that I edited for him--the one with the come-hither girl at the very bottom of the page. That's his wife. He didn't take any of my advice, but my daughter liked the book anyway. (Hey Pat, you should put him on your stalker list with LaVelle Edward and Jeffery Holland and Me.)
Okay, so what's, uh, the dealio with K-Mart?