Close, but no banana! Can you really call this a rejection?

Dear James,

It's a pleasure, in a horrifying, dystopic twitching kind of way to read your submissions. You must keep scratching it out, keep folding your paper airplanes and directing them straight into the cracked windows of TQR.

I almost LOVED this latest, your Fruits! Oh man, how I wanted to send it upward. You got the goodstuff, James. You know it. I know it. We know it.

Can you please tone down the foreshadowing though, James. Big-armed, loveable Molly tells us too much too soon. We know Jeb's a madman. He's so perfect...couldn't he stay that way in her rollypolly love-seeking mind----and therefore in ours, too----until that little creep inside who knows the truth pecks until there's a hole in her conscience and the blinding truth blazes through? Huh?

Merde, James. You're so close to everything the Monkey dances his ritual dance for, he can probably sniff it.

Read it through and see if what I'm talking about makes sense. Honestly. I want this one...I just don't want to know from the beginning that everything's a nightmare. Molly. Maybe she needs more lovestruck injection to keep her less suspicious so we, the readers, don't know so soon the extent of what she's gotten herself entangled in with Jeb boy. We need to wince at her predicament, writhe with her conflict.

I hope you know what I mean, James, because this one's got to find its way back here. And whether it's Doomey or me who reads it next time, it will soar.

With flatterous but genuine applause,

Gabrielle DePlancher / The Floor / TQR

Sent while levitating from my own Bright Cloud.