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More Letter Thingummys
Jun. 3rd, 2006 12:03 amDear Muse,
I'm really very sorry about ignoring you. I am sorry for refusing to let you have any of my cookies. I am extremely sorry for siccing the cat on you when you tried to jostle me awake at two in the morning with one of your propositions. Even if the cat didn't actually do anything but sit limply on your stomach. Which is about all he's ever been capable of doing anyway. Okay. Fine. Throwing the cat was wrong. I admit it. But you were bothering me. Again. Except that your bothering almost always ends up as pretty decent fic, although it's occasionally interrupted by Mum coming in to find me scribbling away and stealing my pen by way of forcing me to go to bed. (In which case I go against my moral judgement and use a pencil. Ugh.)
Since I have been all nice and apologised and whatnot, and kept my commas in order, and everything, won't you please come back from wherever it is you've decided to go on holiday this time? (If you are in Boston, England, or Scotland, I shall hate you, or would, if you were not entirely integral to my writing process.)
- - -
Dear Remus,
Look, I'm sorry about lobbing Webster's Third Edition Unabridged at you. And The Oxford Book of American Poetry. And The Harper Dictionary of Contemporary Usage 1975. [Ohmygosh. I just realised that Remus could have owned that book, except for the fact that it's probably too American. Probably. I don't know. Then again, Dad bought it yonks ago, and if my completely irrational theory is correct--um. Okay. Yes. I am KEEPING MY SANITY tonight.] I am also very sorry for inserting parenthetical comments into your letter. (FINE. BRACKETED. STOP BEING ALL PUNCTUATIONY AT ME AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT.) Er. And perhaps shining the white light at you wasn't the best move. Because interrogating people is almost never going to get them to let you inside their heads. And I may have possibly been really bothersome with all those hints about things you should be doing and certain people you should be reconciling with properly. (I did this with Abramm, too, and he nearly threw me off a parapet. Especially as Maddie was going red. I suppose if you hang out in the Character Lounge, which I know must exist somewhere, you would know this. I'm sure they tell ghastly stories about me there.)
Anyway. Um. It being too late at night, I have lost all sense of sense and punctuation. Er. Just shape up and stop refusing to be written, or I swear I will find the OED and chuck that at you too. Which won't help matters at all, but it will feel nice.
...Sweet Arda. I've been talking to imaginary people again! *flees in shame*
I'm really very sorry about ignoring you. I am sorry for refusing to let you have any of my cookies. I am extremely sorry for siccing the cat on you when you tried to jostle me awake at two in the morning with one of your propositions. Even if the cat didn't actually do anything but sit limply on your stomach. Which is about all he's ever been capable of doing anyway. Okay. Fine. Throwing the cat was wrong. I admit it. But you were bothering me. Again. Except that your bothering almost always ends up as pretty decent fic, although it's occasionally interrupted by Mum coming in to find me scribbling away and stealing my pen by way of forcing me to go to bed. (In which case I go against my moral judgement and use a pencil. Ugh.)
Since I have been all nice and apologised and whatnot, and kept my commas in order, and everything, won't you please come back from wherever it is you've decided to go on holiday this time? (If you are in Boston, England, or Scotland, I shall hate you, or would, if you were not entirely integral to my writing process.)
- - -
Dear Remus,
Look, I'm sorry about lobbing Webster's Third Edition Unabridged at you. And The Oxford Book of American Poetry. And The Harper Dictionary of Contemporary Usage 1975. [Ohmygosh. I just realised that Remus could have owned that book, except for the fact that it's probably too American. Probably. I don't know. Then again, Dad bought it yonks ago, and if my completely irrational theory is correct--um. Okay. Yes. I am KEEPING MY SANITY tonight.] I am also very sorry for inserting parenthetical comments into your letter. (FINE. BRACKETED. STOP BEING ALL PUNCTUATIONY AT ME AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT.) Er. And perhaps shining the white light at you wasn't the best move. Because interrogating people is almost never going to get them to let you inside their heads. And I may have possibly been really bothersome with all those hints about things you should be doing and certain people you should be reconciling with properly. (I did this with Abramm, too, and he nearly threw me off a parapet. Especially as Maddie was going red. I suppose if you hang out in the Character Lounge, which I know must exist somewhere, you would know this. I'm sure they tell ghastly stories about me there.)
Anyway. Um. It being too late at night, I have lost all sense of sense and punctuation. Er. Just shape up and stop refusing to be written, or I swear I will find the OED and chuck that at you too. Which won't help matters at all, but it will feel nice.
...Sweet Arda. I've been talking to imaginary people again! *flees in shame*
