What a Gutless, Spineless Critic. Your Reporter’s Confessional
This just in: sinister envelope arrives from NYC. Name of Literary Agency neatly printed on back. Casually, I open the envelope. I use a weedwhacker for speed.
Great gobs of gopher guts, it’s a request! I know it is not cool to react with utter astonishment. The mouse family from under the porch has moved into the living room, and you know what? I don’t care.