August 1st, 2022 - You Tell Me

Dear TNY,

This week’s critique of “You Tell Me” is an easy one because I didn’t finish the piece of shit.

And I have my normal things to say.  I don’t care about these characters.  The interiority of this piece is a nagging garbage pile that actually ejects the reader instead of drawing them in.  A bunch of nothing happens.  Just some lady chewing her own pointless fat inside her head.  All contributing to a big ol’ no one fucking cares about this stupid TNY “literary” bullshit.

I swear to God, you might be the most inept magazine on the planet.

Speaking of inept, I’m really feeling that this week.  Which is strange.  The boys are home safe.  Early, but safe.  I believe I have a fucking book deal in the works, which is crazy.  Things should be going well in my brainhole.  But, on our little roadtrip, somewhere in Iowa, the van lost cylinder one.  We limped it to Lincoln, NE, loading it up onto a U-Haul and dragging it to CO.  And a fucking tire on the trailer blew up on the way.  Good shit.  And here I sit, in a town I hate.  A town I hate for my children as well.  Living in a super hot van that needs a new engine (yeah, it’s just rings, but this engine in this vehicle, it’s way easier to just put a junkyard engine in than do a ring job).  Sleeping in an RV park next to a guy who lives in a shed and has a GIGANTIC swastika tattooed on his chest.  Driving my ex-wife’s spare car around (thankfully).  Feeling like my fucking life is falling apart.  The trip has nearly come to an end.  A little more things to do this week.  But this is basically it.

So, inept.  On one hand, we did it.  We made all the states we wanted to (CO, KS, TX, LA, MS, AL, FL, GA, TN, NC, VA, WV, DC, MD, DE, KY, IN, IL, MO, IA, and NE) over a two month period.  It was hard.  Hot (no A/C, baby!).  Buggy.  Rashes.  Sickness.  A few breakdowns that we did resolve.  But on the other hand, I still feel like a fucking failure.  Like, I let everyone down somehow.

And I just feel stuck.  And I don’t want to do anything.  I’m exhausted from this summer and I still have so much to do.  I just got off the phone with a mechanic for a quote, which I’m not going to pay because while it’s fair, it’s just so much money, for the engine swap.  So I’ll be doing it myself.  But he did offer me a job, though. So that’s pretty fucking great for someone that considers himself a shitty mechanic.

I don’t know.  Just feeling a little lost.  I don’t know what to do with my life without the boys.  There’s so much adventure to be had but they choose school and A/C and videogames and TV and phones and I get it.  I get it, guys.  But fuck is it heartbreaking.

We watched Nope today.  Some pretty good writing in that.  Storytelling.  Attention to tension.  It’s nice to see that there are other avenues out there to experience good quality writing.  Because your magazine sucks lice infested horsecock.  You know, a real throat ream to the death from you guys.

So, you know, for those of us out here doing the real work, keep eating that dick.

Oh, I did not sell a compilation of FTNY letters.  But know that that shit is coming one day.  I’m coming for your ass!

Maybe offer me that job?

Fuck it.

Nick