Dear Mr. Pinkwater, as in Dear Mr. Pinkwater, you crack me up.
As a forty-plus something, it is my duty to educate the youth (or, if you are downstate, ‘yooot’) of the earth. I know a young female writer. Tell me please, if this is a promising premise: a 14th century fairy travels in time and has adventures with, of all people, James Joyce. At first I had misgivings, but her sweet lucid style won me over (no, I’m quite happily married and am not sleeping with her…) I rhink it could be a good premise for children’s books, a sort of historical novel with a twist.
This poor girl is being dumbed – down by her accountant boyfriend. Help me save her! Please!
Of course, everyone is quite tired of hearing me imitate you: “My father spoke no known language…”
Sincerely,
Charles J. Dinger – a fan, though I’m sure you have many.
And yet, I love every fan, and have bought tunafish sandwiches for many of them. Except possibly female writers, who are very nice, as a rule, but tuna sandwiches on whole wheat, even with with ruffled potato chips and a couple pickle slices and a coke, are never sufficient. Certainly the premise is promising, but I have explained many times that ideas aren't enough.
