Subterranean Homesick Blues: Eudora Welty's cover letter to The New Yorker in 1933 -
March 15, 1933
I suppose you’d be more interested in even a sleight-o’-hand trick than you’d be in an application for a position with your magazine, but as usual you can’t have the thing you want most.
I am 23 years old, six weeks on the loose in N.Y. However, I was a New Yorker…
In case any of you need a refresher on how to write a real cover letter. Also, I would like to honor Eudora by using “concubineapple” in casual conversation.
A small watercolor I found nestled in a book. Give it freely. Bananas.
Like my uncles who say they will drive more/waste electricity because they know it will piss me off.
This is the loneliest sketch I have done in a while. I like solitary houses far away on hills. There is something both desolate and secure about the distance. When we do long drives into other states, I always make stories up about those houses we pass in the farmland.
I think when there is too much noise at work, I look at this house and think, I would like to go to there.
I drew this the day that jellyfish-like organisms clogged the intake valves at Diablo Canyon nuclear plant — effectively making California nuke-free. Go, blobs of goo.
Lonely turtle or koopa troopa?
On the rocks.