Fourteen Year Old Writer said...
HOLY CRAP! I'm next. I'm trying not to hyperventilate.
Fourteen? We just did one from an eighteen-year-old. What's next, Life Here in the Womb, by the future Jane Doe, as dictated to my prison walls, aka my mother's gargantuan stomach?
This has to be the dullest place on the face of the Earth. I been in here eight months and I'm perfectly healthy. Would it kill you to drink a half glass of wine? Something to take the edge off? Christ.
Did you get that, or am I going too fast for you? ANSWER ME! Answer me, or I'll kick you in the spleen, and yes, I know where it is.
Did you send out that query I dictated yesterday? I want that three-book contract waiting for me when I get outta here, and I mean the minute I get outta here. Otherwise you're gonna be dealing with colic. Is that clear? I said, IS THAT CLEAR?! And if my agent can't be bothered to be in the birthing room, she's gone, understood?