An Author’s Lament by Warren Bull
Image by Austin Distel on Upsplash
My Dear Katrina Maria Harvey,
Oh, how you must have laughed to
see me lay my uncorrected proof of love in your inbox. I made an exclusive
submission for your heart, not knowing you were accepting simultaneous
submissions from so many others. How acquisitive you are.
Had I but known of your checkered
provenance, I would have been wiser. But, no. I was merely aspiring. I offered
you my sole Advanced Readers Copy unaware that the offered in return, at best,
one of your numerous first edition, first print runs. The errata was mine
alone, Dummy that I was.
Now my soul is gauffered with
agony, like a leather book cover branded with designs by hot steel. My love is
remaindered. My hope has been pulped. My advanced trust was unearned.
You, who I thought a bibliophile,
are truly a biblioklept.
I remove my shelf-worn self from
your life. My opus is full of wormholes. Yet I hope to be rebound someday.
Farewell, you counterfeit muse. Despite your disguise, I see the hindrance you really
are.
Ps. I have nearly finished a new
work. Imagine Gilbert & Sullivan meet Scarlet O’Hara in a dystopian,
post-apocalypse Atlantis with zombies. I’ll be in touch soon.
Yours truly
(We can still be friends)
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