Rejection!

Well, sort of, again. My damned article on the thermodynamic characteristics of peanut butter smeared on a beluga whale has been returned to me for revisions. It's never a good outcome when someone says, "So, what's the point?" So, apparently, it's interesting but has no point.

Holy fucking crap. I'm so sick of this article.

It's been back and forth between editors and readers for a year now. FUCK! It's been revised 3 times. FUCK! The first time I submitted it, it was called "potentially seminal." FUCK!

I've decided something. Instead of being a sophisticated writer, I'm going to treat the audience like infants, stick an "In this article, I argue..." sentence in there, and see if the shitheads can get a grip on my brilliance. I'm totally endumbening it, but I feel it has to be done. Maybe my intricate arguments within arguments are just too clever. (Maybe I shouldn't have wrapped them in an enigma.)

And it has to be 1/3 shorter---FUCK! Actually, the last 10 pages of the sucker are my bibliography, so I could cut that. My artsy fartsy opening, which is fucking brilliant, is going to get a circumcision. Don't have space to keep it. Sure, it's an illustrative anecdote that makes the case as solid as granite, but apparently they want to understand what I'm saying. The meanderings into the operation of individual memory and social memory, forgotten. I'm going to leave the obligatory gender-studies tripe, which is as ridiculous as titty-fucking, and get on with it.

What I really want is to get an article accepted before going on the job market in the fall, so I want this off of my desk. Also, I am truly so fucking sick of everything that was related to my dissertation that I could projectile-vomit blood.

HJ

Update: I've decided on the 5-paragraph essay structure. Perhaps they will understand it then. FUCK!