In my family, we write letters…

Dear Universe,

I am going to be a real writer someday, in the sense that I will write to feed myself. We’ve discussed this before, so it should come as no surprise to you that I have a plan. I will get short fiction published until you see fit to send me an agent. Then I will sell the novels that I’m already writing. And I will live happily ever after. And keep writing novels.

This plan has a flaw, Universe. Don’t be coy, now. We both know what I’m talking about.

ALL OF MY SHORT STORIES WANT TO BE NOVELS.

WTF, Universe?

Will you let me get on with the plan, already?

Sincerely,

Caitlyn

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3 thoughts on “In my family, we write letters…

    • If the Universe was a Victorian lady, it would have a big fan. And it would sit in the Writer’s Ballroom by the edge of the dance floor and make eyes at all the writers, but then when they come to ask it to dance, it flutters its eyelashes and hides behind its fan and makes up some excuse about vapors.

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