My daughter called, she’s been reading my latest stories and outlines, and she’s concerned.
“Where’s all this headed, it’s gone beyond dark, it’s bleak.”
“I think I’ve found my voice.”
“You’re not that guy, why can’t you do funny stuff anymore, I liked it better when you were whimsical, and the satires you did were nice.”
“Behind every smile is a frown.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, are you depressed or something?”
My daughter is a mental health counselor with degrees and awards plastered against her office walls, and her concern for me is genuine.
“I know who those people are you write about, I’ll never be able to look at them the same way again.”
“Maybe you were just looking at them the wrong way to begin with.”
“Don’t send me anymore stuff unless it’s uplifting, I’m bombarded by fear and guilt all day by my clients, and now you.”
“Bad news then.”
“What?”
“An agent reached out to me, she’s interested in doing a collection, and she likes the bleak stuff.”
“Goodbye then.”
“Are you coming for Christmas?”
And there was no answer. Guess I’ll have to find a new beta reader.
(I think my comment disappeared as I was writing it!) It's an unfortunate reality for many writers. People seem shocked when we write our truths here. My best mate unsubscribed from my meanderings this week 😅
1) Send your story-daughter your note about the 3 facts people didn't know about you :P
2) OMG this story is bleak! I love the final line about the beta-reader. How cold it is completely fits with the piece. Great job.
I'm torn between wanting to ask if you are okay and saying I know the difference between reality and fiction ;) This is a wonderful satire.