I don’t believe in the outside world anymore. There’s this book. And more of this book. That’s all.
Dear Tertiary Character Who Was Created With Somewhat Mocking Intentions,
One of the surprises of this book is that your primary purpose is not to be amusing in your flakiness.
You’re not flaky at all, but a legitimate and compassionate and real character.
I love you for that.
You don’t even seem to hold it against me, that I almost got it wrong. Because that’s just who you are.
Dear All Characters,
What’s with all the smiling? Seriously, this isn’t that happy a book.
It could be worse. You could be trying to breathe, or something.
P.S. Ditto the laughing. What’s with the laughing?
(Wanders off to ponder the personalities of rivers and the plot arcs of Cheetos.)