Good morning, Stroock's Books Kibbutzim, and Shona Tova. To put it another way, Happy Yom Kippur, which one really doesn't say. Of course, one doesn't really have one's morning coffee and work on a blog post on Yom Kippur either, yet here we are.
This is the Jewish day of atonement. As we've written may times before, Yom Kippur is like Catholic confession all packed into one long morning in which one puts it all on the table. Insert bad Will Yom Kippur jokes here.
The Things.
There's really only one thing, upon which we've been busting our butt.
The 8,000 word short story due tomorrow is 8,000 words. We'll give it a read through this afternoon and another tomorrow and that will be that. Then it's back to War Night and Morning Rory. Writing that just now, we realize we don't have a title for this story. Editors don't really like that. We're thinking, 'Two Jews walk onto a Gato class submarine.'
We approach story submission with great fear and trepidation. There's lots of rivet counters out there who will say things like, 'Why everyone knows that ComSubPac's plan for New Years 1946 was...' Or, 'That's a Block III Gato class boat, and those didn't have the Mark II periscope with the sonic proportion gage....' Lol, get fucked. We don't care.
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