a one hundred and twenty sixth story...'norman's sixteenth love letter'

Dear dreamy Rosalind:

My vision, my marvel, my picture perfect – how are you keeping?

Please forgive my silence these last few days, I have, it will come as little surprise, been up to my eyeballs in work - when I say work I mean edits, re-edits of my book. 

Charley (my editor) is a scrupulous man, and seems determined to whittle away at my already polished prose to the nth degree.  He is, like me, a man of letters, and (also like me) particularly well-read, but I do find some of his meddling irksome.  If he fancied the book so greatly in the first place, why the need to change so much of it?!  I can cope with structural edits, I suppose, but am not so keen on his sentence reconstruction.  Oh well, I guess my name will still be in lights (so to speak) on the front cover (is that all that matters?).

Yes, the front cover.  I can sense I shall also have next to no come back on this either.  Collins boast a team of so-called ‘excellent’ designers, but will they be able to intuit what the book is about?  I suggested an illustration of a heart being blown apart by a Tommy gun, which I thought dramatic, eye-catching and relevant – Charley, however, won’t comment on whether my recommendation has been heeded.  Perhaps for my second novel I shall hold more sway in these kinds of negotiations! (And get more money for writing it).

Anyway, enough talking shop otherwise I shall bore you senseless (apropos: you do read my letters don’t you Rosalind?).

So then, how much ink is there left in that four-colour biro I gave you?  I hope there is plenty, otherwise it would suggest to me you are writing to someone else; I dread to think (I know you’re not).  Then again, temptation is always but a stone’s throw away (sometimes even closer!).  When I was a boy in my Salad Days, I used to be the one with his nose pressed up against the sweet-shop window after school, goggling at all the goodies, row upon row – rhubarb custard lollipops, sugar mice, Everton mints, toffee fudge.  It’s a shame sweets are so vulgar nowadays. 

Where does temptation lie for you? (You are allowed to be sincere here)…

…Hmm, this has been quite a dull letter, hasn’t it? – Have just read it back.

Thoughts of impending fame can blunt the brain!

Yours expectantly,

Norman.

… on the cusp of success.