How To Fuck Up All Chances Of Becoming A Professional Writer

Dear Stranger,

You recently sent me an email asking if I would be interested in doing some columns for you which got me very excited as I’m completely flattered whenever anyone reads me, let alone when someone thinks my writing is worth sharing with anyone else, especially on a professional level because hey, let’s be honest, I’m no pro and if you read closely you’ll likely find spelling and grammar errors, flow problems (Ha! Flow! Sounds like my period) and realistically, most of what I talk or write about is absolute nonsensical bullshit (I should trademark that phrase) and half the time, I write these things in under 15 minutes and don’t proofread or edit, anyway, as I said, I got excited, so I reached for some chocolate because, yum, am I right, and it’s way too early in the day to drink, but of course, in this house there is never any fucking chocolate when you need it as I make it disappear down my gullet every night before bed, so I found some Doritos, which I haven’t had in 4 years as I’m getting super old (fuck) and the main ingredient in chips is salt, which raises my blood pressure and I am decidedly too stubborn to die young (I have too many people left to piss off, namely my husband, and if he thinks I’m kicking off so he can find himself a younger, hotter woman, that prick is delusional as he knows I’m nothing if not spiteful, which is why we’re both still in this marriage to begin with) and the Doritos made me even happier, salt be damned, but the old blood pressure did rise rather quickly, which made me goofy and I sent you back a nice email that I signed with “Love, Leanne”.

While I’m certain you are loveable, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with my forward and entirely uncalled for proclamation of love, I mean, come on, we don’t even know each other, and it’s true I do love a lot of people but as you are a complete stranger I thought I should clarify that “love” as I don’t want you thinking that if we ever meet in person that I’ll expect you to sleep with me or anything, not saying it wouldn’t be nice, as this is in no way a denigration of your probable sexiness and prowess, but I am married and aside from all the contempt, I do love my husband and am faithful to him, so I was thinking maybe we might just want to form a friendship and if that goes well then we’ll throw in some hand-holding and cuddling but seriously, no pressure.

Sincerely,

Leanne

p.s. If you can get me a book deal, I will love and totally sleep with you. Just so you know.

p.p.s. I feel really tall right now. Is that one of the signs of stroke?

25 thoughts on “How To Fuck Up All Chances Of Becoming A Professional Writer

  1. lol. This is what I feel like writing back to this stalker I’ve had on FB who didn’t seem to see in my profile that I’m “married.” And as much as I do have, yes, nightly hot dreams of falling back in love when I was younger, I’m still glued to the man snoring next to me, even though he himself can raise my blood pressure.

  2. At least you get emails. I get Spam. Which I’m starting to think isn’t on the up and up.
    Even if they do tell me I have well-intentioned blog which they are thinking is right on and can they start a site to get rid of man boobs.

    • I think you might be right. It must be Spam. Anyone that knows you knows you are not well intentioned. (And I don’t see any man boobs. And I stare at your picture all the damn time.)

  3. Ba ha! Did they write back? You got the book deal, right? If they DIDN’T write back with an offer, signed off “love you too” then I don’t think you want to work for them. Oh, and I fucking love you Mama Duck!

  4. aw. i’ll sleep with them too – for your book deal… as long as I get a nice bit in the front that’s all detrimentalbeauty was so helpful and I couldn’t have scored this deal without her. because my name would be in a book (and I may be a little slutty)…

    Nonsensical Bullshit may even be a great title. I think you’re on to something here. xo.

  5. I don’t know–I found every bit of your train of thought completely reasonable, because truly marriage is love with a dash of contempt! Hooray! OH right–like everyone else doesn’t get all caught up in how their main hasn’t scooped cat turd mountain in five days.
    Ooop…
    Still, it is exciting when people read us, isn’t it?

  6. Type me sweet whispers, run your cursor up and down my webpage and tell me you love me. Funny stuff Duck, I’m feeling the love.

Go on. Talk to Mama Duck.

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