February 4, 2013 Aunt Patrice to Job
Dear Job,
After receiving two letters from you in one week, I wanted to get one off to you ASAP. I was too conflicted by your story to talk about it then. I can’t assume that you’re coming from an emotional place remotely similar to mine. But I was right about your storytelling talent.
I said I have nearly as many demons as you do. That’s not even close to true. In fact, I realize after more than a week of thinking about and reading and rereading you story that I’ve led a charmed, remarkably demon-free life compared to yours. These are my thoughts in no particular order:
1. Job doesn’t believe I have the stomach for the truth. He’s telling me to put up or shut up. This is a dare.
2. Are you trying to understand the split in your personality? Were you two people—one kind and the other demonic? Are you still two people?
3. Do you believe women are fools—Carrie, your wife, Chrissy, Molly, Archie, me? Are they more foolish by nature than men? Do you hate women?
4. Is Carrie a ministering angel sent to comfort you or one of numerous girls gone wild “with low self esteem”?
5. I can’t visualize going from talking about college and Jesus almost straight to your unzipping your pants and positioning the pillow and her getting her cumbersome bulk into proper and plausibly discreet fellating position. What did you say/do in those “fifteen minutes”? You must be one seductive MF. I sent your story to a lifelong friend who’s a professional writer. Her comment was, “Brutal. I don’t buy the blow job.” I buy the blow job—because I have similar stories from the bad old days of sex, drugs and rock-n-roll—but few folks can relate.
6. Why this story? Why is it the first one?
What is your process? Do you make rough drafts of your letters/stories and then rewrite them? (I’m a compulsive rewriter.) I wonder because your writing is so nearly error free. You did spell “huge” “hugh” which is an odd mistake I used to make too. Judging by the way your sister and brothers talk and write, I expected Ebonics to be your native tongue.
Anyway, I’m serious about wanting more. I’ve transcribed your first story and I’m sending it to you double-spaced so you can edit between the lines if you wish. I don’t know whether it will help you or stifle you to make comments. Tell me. One of my first thoughts was that you should confine misogyny (fat ass, bitch, etc.) solely to direct quotations. In other words, the Job you present to the outside (in quotation marks) is distinctly different from the Job inside. Do you catch my drift?
Love,
Aunt Patrice
After receiving two letters from you in one week, I wanted to get one off to you ASAP. I was too conflicted by your story to talk about it then. I can’t assume that you’re coming from an emotional place remotely similar to mine. But I was right about your storytelling talent.
I said I have nearly as many demons as you do. That’s not even close to true. In fact, I realize after more than a week of thinking about and reading and rereading you story that I’ve led a charmed, remarkably demon-free life compared to yours. These are my thoughts in no particular order:
1. Job doesn’t believe I have the stomach for the truth. He’s telling me to put up or shut up. This is a dare.
2. Are you trying to understand the split in your personality? Were you two people—one kind and the other demonic? Are you still two people?
3. Do you believe women are fools—Carrie, your wife, Chrissy, Molly, Archie, me? Are they more foolish by nature than men? Do you hate women?
4. Is Carrie a ministering angel sent to comfort you or one of numerous girls gone wild “with low self esteem”?
5. I can’t visualize going from talking about college and Jesus almost straight to your unzipping your pants and positioning the pillow and her getting her cumbersome bulk into proper and plausibly discreet fellating position. What did you say/do in those “fifteen minutes”? You must be one seductive MF. I sent your story to a lifelong friend who’s a professional writer. Her comment was, “Brutal. I don’t buy the blow job.” I buy the blow job—because I have similar stories from the bad old days of sex, drugs and rock-n-roll—but few folks can relate.
6. Why this story? Why is it the first one?
What is your process? Do you make rough drafts of your letters/stories and then rewrite them? (I’m a compulsive rewriter.) I wonder because your writing is so nearly error free. You did spell “huge” “hugh” which is an odd mistake I used to make too. Judging by the way your sister and brothers talk and write, I expected Ebonics to be your native tongue.
Anyway, I’m serious about wanting more. I’ve transcribed your first story and I’m sending it to you double-spaced so you can edit between the lines if you wish. I don’t know whether it will help you or stifle you to make comments. Tell me. One of my first thoughts was that you should confine misogyny (fat ass, bitch, etc.) solely to direct quotations. In other words, the Job you present to the outside (in quotation marks) is distinctly different from the Job inside. Do you catch my drift?
Love,
Aunt Patrice
