Dear Novel:

We have some things to discuss. You see, I love you, but it’s time that we be candid with each other on a few points.

It’s past time you grew up. You know, that you stopped eating my food, drinking my beer, making whole days of my life disappear.

I’m getting kinda tired of your issues. Really. I mean, can’t you at least clean up your own typos? What’s so hard to ask about that? While I’m on the subject, maybe you could suggest revisions to the lines that are hard to understand. You could do that if you aren’t going to get out and get a job.




Ok, I get the point. I’m going to have to do it all by myself. Fine, but I’m going to give your butt one last, final, good, solid editing that will make it so you can’t sit down for a week. Then I’m going to smooth out your wrinkles, put you in a nice suit and tie, pack your bags, and dump you in front of the employment office. I have other novels to write.

Glad we came to this agreement.

With Affection,

Your Writer.


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