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Apr 18, 2007 
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Nadia sent me this (which amused me), and with no conscious intention I ended up writing the following:
Q: How many literary agents does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None; agents don’t make changes for you. If you make the change, though, I think we can sell this sucker.
Q: How many magical realist writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None: the light bulb just changes, for no apparent reason, into a baby. The baby is calling your name. It’s still snowing.
Q: How many thriller writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Stop! Don’t touch the lightbulb! It’s wired to a bomb! And my god: it’s ticking! Duck, they’re shooting at us for no apparent reason! It’s a good thing they always miss!
Q: How many mystery writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Just one, and–wait! Someone smashed it!
Q: How many YA writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: You can’t change a light bulb: the light bulb has to decide to change itself, and it probably isn’t going to want to do that. Anyway, who cares?
Q: How many non-fiction writers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: One.
Q: How many journalists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Depends on how slow a news day it is and whose light is involved
Q: How many free verse poets does it take to change a light bulb?
A: One, always and only one, to reach unbalanced toward the empty socket, like a sleeping child’s mouth, round and dark, silent.
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humor, lightbulbs, reidwrite, writing