We've had some exciting responses to the writing challenge so far: each one has taken a completely different approach to the prompt. Nadine C. Keels wrote a poem that works with the image of the prompt but also incorporates a bit of free association. James Abel started with a more literal interpretation: "I took the approach of wondering in what context a wedding cake would ever be in a road." He came up with two possible conclusions and then used one for his story, which takes us into the contemporary art world. And a reader who asked to be known as JMS submitted a chilling modern-day fairy tale, which explains the image in a completely different way.

Take some time this Monday morning to read and comment on the submissions so far, and consider sending in your own story. (The challenge is open until February 28.) Thanks to all the writers who have submitted work so far. A few other responses have come in: I hope to have them up shortly.

As self-publishing becomes easier and more acceptable -- and traditional publishing contracts become ever more elusive -- many people are choosing to circumvent the traditional publishing industry. However, with so many companies to choose from, it's actually harder these days to tell the difference between legit presses and opportunistic ones.

It occurred to me that the best way to help writers who are considering print-on-demand or self-publishing is to provide stories from people who have done it. If you've self-published, or used a print-on-demand service, please review the company you used. What did you think of your experience? What would you do differently? Let other readers know what they can expect from the various companies out there.

The writing prompt for this month comes from an exercise created by NPR host Susan Stamberg and novelist George Garrett for a radio series in the early 1990s. For the series, they charged six authors with the task of writing a short story using the image "the wedding cake in the middle of the road." The stories were read on Weekend Edition, and then anthologized, along with 17 others, in a book called The Wedding Cake in the Middle of the Road: 23 Variations on a Theme. We'll essentially be creating our own anthology this month, though with any luck, we'll have more than 23 variations.

The theme appealed to me at this time since Valentine's Day looms large in February here in the United States. The image clearly offers love-wary cynics opportunities for inspiration, but creative romantics should find many possibilities as well.

To participate, write a short story of 2,000 words or fewer using the wedding cake image and submit them by February 28. (For those who took to last month's exercise, prose poems are also perfectly acceptable.) Submissions must follow these guidelines to be included. If you'd like an immediate response, or would like a response on some other piece of writing, please post your story in the forum under "Share Work." Either way, thanks for sharing your work, and happy writing.

Like most people, I first discovered J. D. Salinger through The Catcher in the Rye. And while I related to the character and enjoyed the writing style, it was Franny and Zooey, admittedly a lesser work, that I fell prey to. I read it repeatedly throughout college, and further into adulthood than I should admit. Sitting down to write about his death, here on this site, I realized why that was. My first impulse, before writing a word, was to grab my 1964 Bantam Book version of Franny and Zooey -- my mother's before mine -- and flip to the book's climax, in which Zooey tells Franny how to be an artist in a flawed world: "Somewhere along the line -- in one damn incarnation or another, if you like -- you not only had a hankering to be an actor or an actress but to be a good one. You're stuck with it now. You can't just walk out on the results of your own hankerings. . . . An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's. You have no right to think about those things, I swear to you. Not in any real sense, anyway."

From there, I revisited Seymour's Fat Lady: "'I remember about the fifth time I ever went on "Wise Child." I subbed for Walt a few times when he was in a cast -- remember when he was in that cast? Anyway, I started bitching one night before the broadcast. Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. . . . He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. . . . He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again."

Though the many obits that appeared today reveal Salinger as a very flawed man (echoing earlier revelations by his daughter and Joyce Maynard), we can admire the example he set as an artist, the way that he embodied these words. For instance, he apparently spent ten years on Catcher, and even withdrew a 90-page version that had been accepted for publication because it wasn't good enough. Perhaps this perfectionism, along with his need for privacy, contributed to his decision to stop publishing altogether. In a rare interview, he said, "There is a marvelous peace in not publishing. It's peaceful. Still. Publishing is a terrible invasion of my privacy. I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure." Perhaps there's something to be learned from this, even for those of us who have neither his talent nor his success. It's good to remember, especially if we are trying to publish, that the writing is the important thing. We have to keep writing for the Fat Lady. Don't stop revising until it's the best it can be. Don't just hope no one will notice that bit of awkward dialogue or the logical problems in the second to last chapter. Fix them, or set the work aside until you can.

But this is all very serious stuff. When the real question on all our minds is, had he been writing? Booklist has compiled compelling evidence that there are more Salinger novels and stories in wait for curious fans. In the meantime, The New Yorker has generously posted twelve of his archived stories online for us to enjoy.