a letter to your novel is a fun thing to do! Even if it is a dear John. It's a book I started writing
when I was twelve and now I can't stand to look at it. So here it is,
you guys ought to try it sometime.
Dear A Room For Lost Souls,
Life is tough with you.
I remember you started off as a dream, literally. I woke up and wrote
down the idea that started you on a random old bill sitting in the
house and eye liner (for lack of a better writing utensil.) I was too
excited to get started, I was immature, and I didn't know any better. I
started off with you, and I didn't see any flaws, you were my first
novel after all. I wrote and wrote and wrote, we had such good times.
I remember that flush of excitement I would get when a new idea for
you sparked, every time I was with you, you were what seemed like my
soul mate (see title above, hint play on words ;) )
I began to
grow too attached to you, still too young to see your flaws. But, my
ideas seemed to grow longer and longer and because they grew I began to
grow as well. When I reached thirteen I was slowly starting to realize that I was sorely inexperienced. And when I took a better look at you, began to see what was wrong. I worked through it though, told myself we would come out of this
We never did.
I began to see every one of
your flaws, from the sloppy inexperienced writing towards the beginning,
and the odd ending beginning to start. Not to mention when we started
this whole ordeal your font was 18 (don't know what I was
thinking), and when I tried to change you you were suddenly 200 pages
less, leaving me with a measly 100 pages.
Many months passed, I told
myself I just needed time alone, time to think about you. I dabbled in
some short stories, but never returned to you. I tried to give you one
last shot and pulled up the dusty file you were under in my flash drive.
When I saw you again after so long I'd thought I'd be happier to see
you, but you had grown even more odd. I
could have fixed you. But that would have been a long lengthy process
that I just wasn't ready for.
And then I met Manipulated. He came along
in the June of 2011, a bright day, I was trying to get over you, his
new shiny idea was too much to overlook. I'm sorry A Room For Lost
Souls, but it's time to say goodbye. I won't dispose of you, I may even
return to you one day, but don't get your hopes up. Manipulated is just so much
more attractive. He's flexible, compatible, something you weren't.
And so you lay in that dusty old file, unfinished, unedited, unreliable.
I am sorry for this harsh Dear John letter but it is true. Don't lose
self confidence though, you have a good premise working out for you. I
might rewrite you, if I ever feel like it. Remember the good times we
had together, and don't think about what we could have been, it will
only make the separation harder. Goodbye!
Aaah... the imaginary world we writers live in where we send break up letters to our novels. It's a pleasant place isn't it?