How's that novel of yours going? Pretty good, yeah? You must be almost finished by now, I bet. Since you've been working on it for...boy, how long's it been?...four, five, sixteen years?
Well, I'm sure it's gonna be lovely. And I'm really glad you shared some of it with your coworkers. You don't remember sharing it with us, you say? Well here, have a look:
You know that moment when you rip off a band-aid where your face scrunches up all tight and the air gets sucked in through your teeth? That moment is frozen on his face. It looks painful and terrific.
I compress his wrist even more, proving that my lack of muscles won't hinder my ability to inflict seismic amounts of pain on his limbs. I try to restrain a smile as I watch him writhe in just the right amount of agony, but it's impossible to stop.
"Now, I'll let you up as soon as you apologize to my friend over there and promise to behave yourself for the rest of the night."
I should be wearing a cape right now.
That, my friend, was taken from the attachment you sent out to everyone on your work mailing list. I'm assuming from the title "Youth By TKO" that this is that young adult novel you're working on a la "The Outsiders" or something. But I think what you meant to send to everyone was the census spreadsheet for Youth Population by Area. Because, unless your novel also contains key demographic information for where we should be selling our products, I don't particularly care whether your protagonist breaks somebody's wrist.
Besides, that sounds sadistic. Who writes shit like that?
All the best,
**Special thanks to Jenn Thorson for this blog idea.