I linked this site, with reference to my Faulkner piece, and sent it to Jodi Kantor at Slate.com along with a bitchy little note where I said it was shitty on their part to start a contest and then just say "Fuck it." He responds:

Rodney, the winners were picked a few weeks ago, and their club is starting on Monday! (I'm writing up an announcement, but their names are Andrew Rosenblum, Andrew Chignell, and David Goldberg). We had anticipated a couple dozen entries, but we got over 600-- that is, 600 long, articulate ones that deserved careful reading, which took months and months to do.

Leaving me to wonder, as I commonly do on these occasions, whether my little piece on Faulkner was too out of it, or too conciliatory, or uninteresting, or bone-headed, or if, to recall Dorothy Parker's phrase, it was set aside lightly or thrown with great force.

Every year I judge a short story contest for the Free-Times and every year it's a pain because most the entries are terrible. I make up three piles: "Shitty," "Not as Shitty as It Could Be," and "Maybe." I'm usually happy if there's even one in the "Maybe" pile.

Well, whatever. My little article at least has a home here and can stay forever or until he finds work elsewhere.