Letter to my Novel

  Writing 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 rough patch. 

  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?