It was about time I contacted you. We’ve been colleagues for, how long now? A year? Is ‘colleagues’ even the right word? Maybe you can answer that question because you call yourself a writer, but that doesn’t matter right now.
You need to get your act together and finish your pathetic excuse of a manuscript.
You’ve re-written it that many times I’ve lost count of all the interests and personalities I’ve had. I’ve been a two-dimensional miner with little-to-no depth, a book-loving miner with brothers that I cared for—more than most sisters are willing to admit—and I’ve been the special girl with bat wings and the ability to manipulate shadows with a simple thought.
Then you took it away and stripped me down to nothing. No magic, no pizzazz—nothing. Living and breathing in that new world, where silver is cherished and gold is useless, can be infuriating. You’ve made me one of the top female assassins and I wonder why that is.
Is it because of those other young adult heroines I’m meant to take after? The chosen one with a destiny full of power, a touch of romance and a dramatic adventure? It’s easy for you to create characters that are copies of another. Take it from someone who’s been there—being a replica is boring, tiresome. Instead of pushing your boundaries you fall back into your comfort zone.
And you need to get out.
Break it. Shoot at it. Read more, write more. Even try plotting or doing whatever it is fantasy writers do. Force the words out if you must. Don’t do what others before you have accomplished—you will never be like them. Find the creativity you lost and work through it.
Without you, I don’t exist. I’d rather live in a world of overused clichés then not exist at all. Finish the draft by that festive holiday at the end of the year. Have it edited and ready for submissions by the day of romance in February. Submit and be done with it for a while.
Then see your name in silver letters on the book spine at your local bookshop—perhaps there’s a picture of me on the cover as well. You celebrate and drink too much wine on my behalf. Then you start the process again, maybe with another book starring yours truly. Regardless of what you do after this, you did it.
You wrote our story and got it published.
But this won’t happen if you screw me over again. Do that and I’ll blow you a kiss then shoot you in the back.
See you soon darling,