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Daniel Brown Webster (labete) wrote in bellumletale,

[This email skips the usual cycle. There's a much longer wait, and the division he mentions interrupted it. For attending parties at the hospital, they had to clean the tear in his chest, and he was not a cooperative patient, since the night before (when the first paragraph was written) they adjusted the dose of painkillers and it wasn't a good time. They upped it again, but it took him time to steady out, and here he is trying to write the same email. Enjoy.]

Touché. I have to point out that you often say you'll attempt to inquire but never actually broach the question, so you can't scold me for not answering. I'm not a crossword to fill out, and as you so aptly discovered in one of my prior emails--I forget which--I just don't trust you. It certainly would not damage your professional opportunities to forward my emails verbatim if you chose, though, for some reason, I doubt you would go that far. I hardly get along with Quinn, much less a new copy editor from a publisher that doesn't care for my disappearing act. Considering the absolute fiasco that happened on the forums of my website some months ago, when half my personal history ended up on the internet, you'll forgive me if I guard my privacy with teeth. I sincerely doubt that you are over sixty, because over sixty women do not bother to take jobs with cantankerous reclusive authors who do not like being copy edited, so you may take that as a compliment if


Sorry, I am coming back again to this email which I think I didn't send, since I was interrupted, though I probably would have changed my mind on whether or not to send it eventually, I don't remember my train of thought and I feel your sally about queries should be returned, and even if I was an ass about it yesterday, I can't think of any better way to phrase it now, phrasing is eluding me, for some reason, today.

I have no idea why I should be jealous of your poetic phrasing of your parents relationship. If I was to find some similar example, it would probably something truly horrific, like Macbeth. Then what would you think of me? No worse, I think, than what you would of thought if I'd have just sent the above.

I'm sorry I couldn't find the time to send you your requested paragraph. When I get home I'm sure I'll dig something up at some point. I won't say anything else about Joy, other than my sympathy doesn't extend farther than sympathy. I feel sorry for her, but I don't like her. That kind of caring makes sense.

I shouldn't send this. I'm

I wasn't going to send this, but something has come up and I don't have time to make another, so it is as it is.

D.B.W.