Dear Author of my book,
My tale you tell,
with words you weave,
My past you sew
while I yet grieve,
my soul forlorn
and torn apart
while I mourn
you bare my heart
to those who read
you write my soul
for those who need
to hear my cry
to taste my tears
to feel my pain
lest they forget theirs.
And so I pray you, author mine,
if sorrow and woe be my design
then I wish to make of them a gift
for those who hear my story,
to lighten the load and heal the rift,
to unburden the weary,
to motivate the broken,
to unbind and make free,
to give hope and give peace,
to strengthen and to embolden...
Sharpen your pencil
write with new fervor,
make my agonies excruciating
and my heart fill with suffering
but in the end leave me not
to rot in my despair.
Write into my tired soul
the tiniest of flames
to consume the bitterness
and make me whole
and fill my heart with hope again.
With love, the master of distruction
To the wretched author of my book,
We really have got to talk about some issues, that have developed over time.
Now, I am a decent devil and have a high level of courtesy in me.
Let's say that... and through my long existence, I have learned that the most
important person in my "life" is ME.
I will be honest with you. The beginning was really good.
You started well. Kidnapping a completely innocent girl (or as so it seemed
at the time) in an attempt at defeating my enemies and global domination. By having the first "dibs" on the apocalypse. I did what I was told. I snatched her from her
mundane human life and took her away, way down to the deepest darkness imaginable. It was a "hoot". She was scared, I did a little torture activities (not too much, I knew that she had to live to the end of OUR little book.
And that was fine, you gave me healing powers, I could have some fun when she showed insubordinate... which happened a lot, I am afraid. You made her so feisty and standing up to me... nobody did that before. I was the great ruler, the master of all evil. The destruction planner... and let's face I did it with charm and spectacular grace. Why did you choose her? What were you thinking?
I mean, I was perfectly fine... bringing menace and punishing the sinners... all the
while doing so with impeccable taste and stylish sense. I had no feelings, no dreadful
emotions... no sweet and confusing sensations... Then you brought that girl along
for the ride. Do you know what she did to me? She... she.. I can't even say it without
flinching. She made me feel... she made LOVE. You destroyed me, woman. You made
me weak. How am I supposed to kill this little airborne by blood?
This... woman that I now care for and feel the things that I have never felt before... And now... you have written 3/4 of "your" book and suddenly you just stopped? How rude, author. So now just tell me this... and you owe me this for sure... Is she going to live... will my mission be complete?
Or will I fail in the sweetest of ways... and she gets to live?
Sa May-AKDA ng Aklat ng aking Buhay (To the Author of the book of my life)
My DEAREST Author,
Hi! How are you?
Really I don't know how to start this letter.
I am here in front of my laptop, probably YOU are wrting this scene in the book I am living in. There are hundreds of things I want to say to You, to ask You, and to ask of YOU.
You have given me emotions, feelings, family, way of thinking. I don't know if my thoughts are mine or You placed it inside my head.
The family You have given me is not perfect, though there is no one perfece except YOU. For You created everything.
This feeling towards him, the admiration, the anger, the shyness I am feeling I don't know if these are mine. If the thoughts I am thinking towards him, what would happen to it? If I am willing to let go, not of him but of my self would it be of my self or it would be you? If I have a freewill please help me to let this feeling go away. If he would not be a constant companion or thing in my life, AUTHOR please help me get rid of him.
I don't know what's your plan for me except to prosper me and give me hope, which is a line I've read from the books I am reading inside this book. Then please. Just please give me a sign or probably it is already written in the book.
The feelings I am feeling towards everyone, I wonder if they would stay as it is, if it does, I wonder when would it end, because I don't want to feel those anymore.
My attitude, I hate it. Please change me, my character, attitude, way of thinking, even the way I speak. Author, there are times when I hate my self. I don't know if it is just like this, but I want YOU to know I sometimes hate me! I hate that there are times I act rude when all I want to do is to be nice.
I have changed! I know You know it.
There are times when I look back on my past and then think of the things, and then I would just realize that I was not the me before. I hate me now. This is not who I was before. Before I was sensitive, full of emotions, of love, compassion and forgiveness. Then, I was full of energy, laughter and happiness, I always laugh before in simple little things, I appreciate every little thing, but now? Now I don't know who I am anymore.
As I grew up and as You continue to write my life, as you renew my thoughts, I realized that I lost the things, feelings, attitudes I have before. The bad thing, is those lost things were the good ones. There are times that I wish I have Hermione's time turner so I can travel back in time and change the things I hate, to repeat the things I wish I can, and to right my wrongs. But life, thought me to just move on. You thought me not to dwell in the past for YOU are doing new things.
I am thinking if I am just another character in the book You are writing, uhm when there are things I know that I'm gonna say then forget it suddenly, is it You who is backspacing my lines? haahahaha
Author, I don't know what is in store for me in this book called life that you are currently writing. I know that You know what I want, I pray that You would grant my prayers. I am afraid of tomorrow, but You taught me that there is nothing to be afraid of, for You are alredy in my tomorrow, and never as in never in my life have you forsken me. So whatever it is please be there in my tomorrow.
I don't know what to say anymore. Thank You author for my family, like I've said no-one is perfect but they are enough for me. For giving me the lifestyle I am living thank you I love it. Thank You author for giving me a family in this book who taught me to fear the Lord. For teaching them to fear Him too and for giving us the belief and faith of living with God after this.
For my personal opinions, thank you. For the feelings that hurts thank You for making me able to feel emotions. For my future I still don't know it please give me my own family, a husband who fears the Lord above all, a husband who would honor me and our marriage, a husband who would lead me to the Lord even more. A husband who would give me children to spoil. I know my book is already done or halfway there already, I hope I'll have a happy ever after. And my parents too.
I'll end this here, my Author, my Lord.
Your daughter, character, believer.
Dear author of my book,
Look, I don't know what I did to you, but you need to stop.
I'm convinced that you are a sadist. These past few months that you've so generously written for me have been actual torture--and you know that, of course, because you're the author. You wrote all that fun stuff in for some reason. I don't know why exactly you like to see me suffer, but I'd just like to let you know that it isn't very nice. In fact, it kind of makes me hate you. A lot.
I know I should be grateful that you didn't write me into some terrible plague-ridden apocalyptic state or whatever; however, there was no need for you to write me into a dramatically angsty small-town high school, either. Furthermore, you did not need to make me a codependent mess of a person, nor did you need to make the only person I trusted enough to love leave me. You also didn't have to make him start going out with one of the girls he repeatedly told me not to worry about in our relationship. At the very least, you could've made me not care.
And author, even if you did have to do all that, why did you force all those helpless thoughts and feelings into my head that I couldn't do anything about? What did that even accomplish? I'm sorry, but did making me cry myself to sleep every night progress the plot in any way? Did making me search desperately for someone to help me move on do anything to my character arc? How about the crippling loneliness that made me incapable of getting out of bed most mornings? How about the pit of anxiety in my stomach that grew every time I saw him in the halls? How about the inability to let go of feelings that will never be returned to me? What did that even do other than cause me unnecessary pain and suffering?
I don't understand you, author. I don't know why you hate me so much, and I don't know why you want everyone else to hate me, too, but I'm begging you: please tell me you're going to twist things eventually so I have an unexpected happy ending.
Or, at least, please don't tell me I have a bad one, because then I'll be able to figure it out on my own just a little too late. Just how you like it!
Forever your toy,
Hi. I'm writing to you with gratitude. I want to thank you for making me so beautiful! You have given me self control and wisdom! You let me shine in the face of my enemies! I eventually won every battle I faced while finding love. You made others wonder about my life and what direction it would take. I have been given physical perfection and health because of you!
Because you are so talented, it seems like everyone wants to hear more about me.
Thank you for my best friend and my awesome dog. Thank you for all the lucky breaks.
I love being held in the hands of people sitting at the poolside taking me in, hardly able to put me down only to return to their own realities.
Oh, this good romantic life of fame cannot stop. Please, keep writing and again,
I’m the writer of my own life story -- unfortunately
Your writing is as cliched as roses are red. As your main character, I feel compelled to tell you that you're sticking to old tropes and it's boring for everyone involved. Damaged girl from a rocky upbringing, marries young, lives in misery, has a kid, blah blah blah. It's been written before and with more artistic flair than your sardonic drivel.
Your readers are giving up early -- they know how books like this end. Even you are bored of making decisions, editing, starting again. Look, we're all exhausted. So either put up the pen and toss me into the fire or write something real. Have me live a life that means something.
I feel as though we've gotten off to the wrong start here. I really don't know what I did to you that you felt the need to make me the protagonist of a book that is this bad. I mean... it isn't "bad." Not "bad" in the sense that you have no creativity for plot or sense of dynamic characters (or I wouldn't be writing you this letter now, am I right?) I just mean... I really don't want to be an alocholic clown. It doesn't seem fair that all of my family members in this book are either lawyers or private detectives who lead adventurous lives that I just seem to stumble into and make a mess of. I don't know who your target audience is here, buddy, but I'm telling you: they aren't going to laugh at this. Because really now, I don't want to do this anymore. I've picked up a bunch of pamphlets for vet schools in Hawaii. I think we should get the story going over there. You know, the sandy beaches and the girls in bikinis would really help improve readership. I could be an ex-clown vet who solves crimes with my loyal companion, Wayne. Oh yeah, did I tell you I adopted a dog? I guess you didn't notice while you were writing me into AA meetings where elderly women hit on me... but yeah, Wayne is a cool little Chihuahua. He's only got three legs (please, don't think I'm inviting you to write him into one of my clown acts here) but he's got a lot of spunk so I really think he'd make a great sidekick. Anyways, that's all I really wanted to say. So yeah, to summarize this letter for you (because I know you're a big important Real World Writer and all):
1) Please change my career from clown to vet or vet student,
2) Let's give Wayne a chance to be my sidekick, and
3) Let's move this story over to Hawaii, maybe even give me a girlfriend whose name isn't another word for laughter.
Boo Boo the Clown (for now!)
I write you because I have questions I long to know the answer to. Who am I really? Am I someone you just threw together, just a series of quick random decisions? Am I a friend of yours? Am I a lover? Why do you write me to be this way? You created me for a reason. You created me with imperfections. You gave me feelings, thoughts, and dreams. I guess through this rant I realized something. I'm a piece of you, right?
My Dearest Author
Dear my author,
I understand you to be the author of the book in which I am currently living; even though we have neither met nor ever seen each other's faces I must confess that you are the only person I can now confide in. Even though we have never been introduced in a socially acceptable way, I feel that you and I know each other better than any other two people may ever know each other. You brought me into existence when your life seemed to be spiraling down into everlasting darkness; but, through me, you were able to convey your innermost emotions which couldn't be voiced in any other way. When your wife left you and when your daughter was diagnosed with cancer you were able to stay grounded by inventing a world where a character, a seemingly fake person, had to go through the same trials in which life was currently putting you through. Through your pain, emotions, imagination and your pen I was forced to endure a car wreck in which all of my family was torn away from me while you were going through the same pain of losing your only daughter to the Grimm reaper and your wife to another man and another life. While I was stuck in the hospital and going through therapy for attempted suicide you were at home and you surrounded yourself in the comfort of alcohol and drugs to drown out your own pain. While I sat in the corner of my school bathroom crying and sobbing when I was supposed to be in class you passed your time by smoking and sleeping when you should have been trying to start a new life again. You and I have been together through our darkest moments when it seemed like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. However, I also accompanied you along your journey when you met your new wife and you gave me my soulmate. When you were made the father of a beautiful baby boy and I was walked down the isle by my best friend; we shared some of our happiest moments together. So what I am trying to say, is that you and I complete each other and share the same sorrows and joys of life; I am begging you not to put an end to my journey, I am asking you to write me a full happy life with my new husband just as you were able to receive happiness with your new partner. I am begging you not to end my story and my life. You are my author and just as I was there for you when life seemed impossible, I am begging you to be there for me when my life is possible. Please don't stop writing and let me reach my happily ever after.
Sincerely, Your Character
Dear Jane Austen,
teens falling in love with literature idealize me and then they grow up and find out I'm a pretentious little shit. But at least you also gave them Wickham, so thank you, I guess.