Not an update, updated, with a letter to a nearly intolerable Writer who, who knew, I'm not liking.
Saturday, Apr. 09, 2005 - 15:11

(This is not an update. The guest is still here. The guest annoys me terribly. I will post all my poems for this week after the guest has left, tomorrow. In the meantime, here's my letter to J.D. Salinger.)

(Nevermind about all that, because when I tried to post this my internet connection was all wonky so I couldn't. And now that paragraph up above is irrelevant. Also, I didn't know, but it turns out that I have "plans" all weekend, so I'll post my poettes and other things whenever I get around to it, which might or might not be tomorrow night.) (The guest finally left yesterday.) (And Zooey finally got out of the bathroom, but now he's in the living room talking dramatically with his sister. So it's still sucking. But anyway, now here's my letter to J.D. Salinger.)

Dear J.D. Salinger,

I really hate your book Franny and Zooey. Why did you write it? What's the point? I've been reading it for three days and Zooey's still in the god damn bathroom yelling at his mother! Is the kid ever going to get out of there? And the narrator, my god! The italics are just too much to bear! And does he have to describe everything? I've read about the activities of 315 cigarettes in the last three days and I'm probably going to get lung cancer from it. And the letter from Buddy was the worst longest most boring thing ever -- totally obnoxious.

Here, read this, suffer through this:

"Zooey," Mrs. Glass said patiently. "I'm holding a clean washrag in my hand. Do you or don't you want it? Just yes or no, please."

"Oh, my God! Yes. Yes. Yes. More than anything in the world. Throw it over."

"I won't throw it over, I'll hand it to you. Always throw everything, in this family." Mrs. Glass got up, took three steps over to the shower curtain, and waited for a disembodied hand to claim the washcloth.

"Thanks a million. Clear out of here now, please. I've lost about ten pounds already."

"It's no wonder! You sit there in that tub till you're practically blue in the face, and then you -- What's this?" With immense interest, Mrs. Glass bent down and picked up the manuscript Zooey had been reading before she made her entrance into the room. "Is this the new script Mr. LeSage sent over?" she asked. "On the floor?" She didn't get an answer. It was as if Eve had asked Cain whether that wasn't his lovely new hoe lying out there in the rain. "That's a marvellous place to put a manuscript, I must say." She transported the manuscript over to the window and placed it with care on the radiator. She looked down at it, appearing to inspect it for BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH IT GOES ON AND ON LIKE THIS FOR DAYS AND DAYS AND DAYS.

Basically I think your narrator sucks ass and your plot is boring as hell. Holden Caulfield was a good narrator and the only complaint I have about him regards the word 'crumby' which he used quite frequently and which I think, etymology or not, should be spelled 'crummy'. Also, it's just perfect, he's gay but hasn't admitted it to himself, or even considered it, and it's so complex, man.

Yes Holden was a great narrator and was probably a very innovative literary voice and you probably got a lot of compliments about him and they probably went to your head and you became self-satisfied and delighted by your writing and narration skills and then you wrote this and used a narrator who was self-satisfied and delighted by his writing and narration skills. And it sucks! I hate it! I'm not done with it! There better be a point to it! Zooey better get out of the stupid bathroom! Argghh!

Sincerely,

Regina Toowomba, esq.'s clerk