A year ago, I completed the first draft of my second novel. I’m still rewriting it, and while doing so, I had an idea to write it a letter.
Dear Love Love,
Yesterday, you were born. You were not an easy delivery, for the ink on my laser printer was ready to give out. I fed thirty sheets of you at a time so I could take out the toner and shake it, to make sure the words on your pages printed solid and streak-free. I carried you from the output tray to the stack. I watched you grow. I picked you up. You were as warm as a blanket in my hands. Bound with a long rubber band, you were my hefty, luminous bundle.