Dearest Family

Always, it seems, the three of you are trying to force me to stop writing, forcing me to come to drastic measures.

            Many authors do not achieve the success I have. Think this over. I’ve been an honorable mention by the Upper West Side Christian Journal three times. If that is not success, what is?

            At the very least, your demands of me as both a father and a husband are unreasonable. For the kids, I must cook meals, help with homework, read bedtime stories. I like to do these things, but time should be made for my writing, as well.

            Wilma, my loving wife of twelve years, you also have demands of me. For you, I must clean, watch Dancing with the Stars and make bubble baths 24/7. How can I write the Great American Novel when I must focus on Tom Bergeron asking America to vote for their favorite?

            Really, I must wash the dog, take out the trash, mow the lawn; wash the car…the list goes on. Henry, you are of age that you can begin to assist your old man with some of these things.

            Instead of demanding I do certain things, listen to my demands. I want unconditional love, support, and cases of grape-flavored soda, like I used to have when I was a kid. Forget what Dr. Trundle says, this mild-mannered author throws caution (and blood sugar) to the wind!

            Time for me to write should be a given, I think. Please, my demands are very reasonable, I believe. With all that I do for this family, Daddy needs alone time. And Wilma, you have to stay with the kids in this rare, literary instance.

            Even geniuses can’t produce masterpieces all the time. My massive brain needs rest, which is my final demand. Then, I will write the Great American Novel, make loads of money and live comfortably for the rest of our lives.

            Read the first letter of each section, dearest family, and you will finally understand how I feel. It’s a secret message, like my beautiful little daughter Greta loves. You can force me to do these chores, you can try to take time away from my writing, but you cannot force me to quit doing what I love. Read my demands carefully, think them over. I’ll be at the grocery store, because I’m about to begin my first chapter. And we’re all out of grape soda.

            Love,

Daddy/Milton