"Good," Betelbaum said. "It's not easy to beat an addiction, but we'll get through it."
STATUS: Plowing through the slush that built up while I was off at yet another conference. Currently reading yours.
What's playing on the iPod: KEEP YOUR DAY JOB, by The Grateful Dead.
We apologize in advance for this form letter. Best of luck elsewhere."
"Getting back to you, Miss Sn--"
"Even when she's submitting her clients' manuscripts to publishers, she manages to work in what's playing on her fucking iPod. Christ."
"Are you finished?"
"Look, Betelbaum, I've made a mistake. What's more satisfying? One of my Snarklings hitting it big, or unloading one of my clients' crappy books on some clueless publisher?"
"Has one of your Snarklings ever hit it big?"
"Of course not. They're all nitwits. But they're my nitwits." She sighed. "If I could just find a client capable of putting out a mega-seller, I could afford to retire and go back to blogging."
"Have I mentioned to you that I've written--"
"Quiet, Betelbaum, I'm thinking. I wonder if Evil Editor's planning Novel Deviations 3." She grabbed her purse. "See you next week. I got an email to send."
"Good," Betelbaum said. "It's not easy to beat an addiction, but we'll get through it."
STATUS: Plowing through the slush that built up while I was off at yet another conference. Currently reading yours.
What's playing on the iPod: KEEP YOUR DAY JOB, by The Grateful Dead.
We apologize in advance for this form letter. Best of luck elsewhere."
"Getting back to you, Miss Sn--"
"Even when she's submitting her clients' manuscripts to publishers, she manages to work in what's playing on her fucking iPod. Christ."
"Are you finished?"
"Look, Betelbaum, I've made a mistake. What's more satisfying? One of my Snarklings hitting it big, or unloading one of my clients' crappy books on some clueless publisher?"
"Has one of your Snarklings ever hit it big?"
"Of course not. They're all nitwits. But they're my nitwits." She sighed. "If I could just find a client capable of putting out a mega-seller, I could afford to retire and go back to blogging."
"Have I mentioned to you that I've written--"
"Quiet, Betelbaum, I'm thinking. I wonder if Evil Editor's planning Novel Deviations 3." She grabbed her purse. "See you next week. I got an email to send."
2. "I did as you suggested in our last session, doctor. I quit blogging." Miss Snark kicked off her stilettos to avoid gouging another hole in the couch.
"Good," Betelbaum said. "It's not easy to beat an addiction, but we'll get through it."
"I don't know," Miss Snark sighed. "The outpouring from the Snarklings was tremendous! I feel as if I've abandoned them. Have I done the right thing?"
"Absolutely," Betelbaum replied. "Your readers will be stronger for it. Many of them had formed a dangerous dependence on you, an anonymous blogger. That sort of thing can become very unhealthy. And the experience wasn't doing you much good, either."
"The stress was killing me," she agreed, "but now I feel so empty, somehow. Have I betrayed them all?"
"I'm sure we'll work through this," he said. "With time."
--foggidawn
3. "I did as you suggested in our last session, doctor. I quit blogging." Miss Snark kicked off her stilettos to avoid gouging another hole in the couch.
"Good," Betelbaum said. "It's not easy to beat an addiction, but we'll get through it. It's just a matter of finding something as rewarding as blogging."
Smiling, Miss Snark stepped over Beterbaum's clueless body to make her way out of his office. The police wouldn't know who'd done the deed--clueguns didn't have to be registered.
"Good," Betelbaum said. "It's not easy to beat an addiction, but we'll get through it."
"But Dr. Betelbaum, something doesn't feel right. I don't feel . . . discrete. It's as though I'm losing my sense of self." She glanced nervously at an old painting of New York City on the wall.
"That's normal. You see, Miss Snark, you are a fiction. A composite of the ordinary and the spectacular from the life of another, with a dose of the unreal. The feeling of addiction that you have felt was the projection of another. Being cut loose, you begin to exist only in memories, which are unreliable."
Miss Snark reached down and picked up Killer Yapp. As she stroked his head, her hand reached deep into his fur -- too deep, seeming to pass through his skin. "I'm afraid."
"Don't be. It's part of the natural order. We grow, we change, and parts of us are lost in the process." He pushed a plate of toffee toward her, but she refused. "Even as you pass on, just picture all of the lives that you touched. Will that let you smile on your way out?"
Miss Snark stared at her hands, slowly passing them through one another. Little sparkles of light flitted about inside like faeries. She forced a smile. "Yes. Thank you, Dr. Betelbaum." She rose, drifted over to the painting with Yapp in her arms, and faded out through its cracked surface.
--Rei