To the so-called work in progress taking up space on my hard drive and laughing at me with one annoyingly raised eyebrow and the words check mate on its tongue,
I am on to you.
You think you’re real funny whispering about poor character development and sparse settings while I fumble through paragraphs and scenes you say are pure … excrement. I see how you refer me my favorite novels: Look, see! That’s how you write a complicated mystery! That’s how you create characters readers love! Listen to those words. Those are words people will want to read. Not like yours.
And I get it, I do. I’m 30,000 words in and you’re getting scared and so you’re trying to scare me. But I’m done pouting. I’m done hiding from you, nose in someone else’s book.
From now on, I’m the Supreme Ruler of All That Is Written* and you are the story that must do as I say lest I delete you out of existence and write Sad Bella fanfiction in your place.
Hugs and kisses and unicorns,
*On My Laptop