From: mdhangton@gmail.com   
      
   Once upon a time, there was an online workshop.  Among its members was a   
   fifteen-year-old person who lived in a faraway land, a land whose native   
   language was very peculiar to our own.  When this person wrote short fiction   
   in English, the language was    
   very idiosyncratic and charming, even though the manuscripts were crude.  The   
   members felt much excitement over these manuscripts, gave much praise and   
   typed critiques that were many and thorough.  They remarked in personal emails   
   to one another that    
   this young person was ever so talented, and bemoaned that they themselves were   
   loathed by the muses, who had passed them over for such gifts when they were   
   fifteen.   
      
   Alas, where is this young person now?  In this person's sixteenth year, other   
   activities became more seductive, like going out on the tundra with other   
   sixteen-year-olds to drink beer and watch the musk oxen fuck.  This person was   
   never heard from by the    
   workshop members eager to cultivate this person again.   
      
      
   I have obscured this a bit, because it would not be fair to talk about such a   
   person online.  Let us say that the moral is that talent isn't the most   
   important factor.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)