Getting bored... 26, 691

Today I just wasn't feeling it so I stole about 600 words from a Cosmo quiz entitled, 'Do you go after what you want?' Apparently Nicky took this quiz and left it lying around with her letters so it got put into the book. Other than that, Seth made a brief reappearance (she is currently staying in a bed and breakfast with Miss Pettigrew and making lots of Rosy Stationery), and Kiefer wrote another smarmy letter to Nicky. I think you'll like it because you all now know what a dbag he is. I won't include the whole letter, just a little snippet. I'm finding it strange that Kiefer is the only person I'm interested in posting about...

Like you, Jill, I am not too interested in my main character. She doesn't have much personality. I was trying to fill out the Cosmo quiz from her perspective but struggled because I still don't really know what she's like. Kiefer, on the other hand, is a duplicitous and self-important asshole. Molly is more complicated... Anyway. Here is the excerpt, from Kiefer to Nicky:


You asked about my current book and I am pleased to report that the editing is finished and Flowery Oilcloth Coasters of my Heart will be ready to proof sometime in September. As always, I forgot about the business side of publishing and regret to inform you that my time is no longer spent studying human nature and transposing my yearning and longing into delicate stanzas. Instead, I spend my days posing for dustjacket photos (thus becoming ever more familiar with various shades of bronzer, blusher, and mascara) and fielding phone calls from various news outlets eager for an exclusive interview. I suppose I should be grateful; these mundane activities do not require a muse and so the pain of your absence from my life has grown somewhat less acute. I can only hope that the upcoming book tour helps as well, since I will be spending all of my time meeting innumerable new people, other auteurs, poetry fans, bookstore employees, and of course public relations staff. Perhaps the hubbub will continue to erase your memory…

I was about to write “I can only hope.” But I cannot write a lie, not to you. I do not hope. I am without hope. My muse has chosen a life that is distant from me, and I must respect her choice. Grateful as I am for the crumbs you let me snack on (yes, dear, I consider your letters as if they were ‘snackskies for the heart’) I will continue to hunger for a full meal. And hope does not lessen hunger.