July 25th, 2022 - Elmhurst

Dear TNY,

This Monday finds me in Omaha, NE, with about two weeks to go and I wrapped up “Elmhurst”.

And I gotta say, it’s pure fucking trash.

It’s over 7000 words and nothing fucking happens.  In fact, this story is the quintessential story that the MFA student in “Peking Duck” was shitting on.  And that’s funny because you published that shit in your last issue.

I mean, the main character is nothing.  A fucking hollow character.  The mom is a stereotype.  Wait, ALL the fucking characters are stereotypes.  And we have this meandering narrative that does little to put something at risk or make us, the reader, care about anything.  I don’t care about Shara.  I don’t care about the boy.  I don’t care about the goldfish.  I don’t care about the protesters (other than with mild dislike because their purpose is fucked).  I don’t care about the homeless, especially David.  I don’t care about possible telepathy. I don’t care about the grandpa.  I started to care about the VCR and the kung fu movies, but nope.  Didn’t care about that shit either.

You printed 7000 words that do absolutely nothing.  They create nothing.  They are nothing.  That’s fucking brilliant, TNY.  You’re really earning that paycheck.

You know, I was about to write a long section about this big trip I’m on and my kids and love and struggle and ego and…I’m just not interested in doing that, at least not to you.  You don’t fucking care.  Maybe I’ll write an essay later or something.

Anyway, I’m gonna get back to this life.  A couple weeks ago we went to the National Quilting Museum.  I think today we are going to one-up that…the International Quilting Museum!

Fuck off, twats.  Publish literature again.  Or leave the fucking pages blank.  Stop giving everyone a participation award.

Nick

P.S. The pretentiousness of the word “aslant” made me dry heave a little.  Douche. And it’s not lost on me the subtle racism there either. Baller douche.