My manuscript is almost complete. The result of five long months is almost coming to an end and with it, one of my most pristine works. Bleeding fingers and an exhausted mind day after day have led to my Mona Lisa; a culmination that will deliver my beauty as a writer. While writing this I’m aware of how this must sound. Another writer with something to prove, and works that, to them, are perfect. Well, this is perfect. Publishing companies will flock by the dozens to be the lucky one I choose. They will share this piece with the world. I’m not some grand schemer who has just another boring job, this -- this is my masterpiece. A breathtaking cast, a mind-twisting plot, that is what I bring with my horror colossus, that is what I reveal to the world. For months I’ve done nothing but type away. My home has been nothing more than a cage, trapping me inside, but no longer. The wait, the struggle, it will all be worth it as my final sentence finds its home, and a period, in the end, stamps the finished project. The journey is at an end and my work is art. 

Dear Mr. Shaw,

Thank you for your interest in our summer lineup. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we will be proceeding without your works. As enthusiastic as it may be, we believe this style of writing wouldn’t fit our company’s summer lineup. The plot itself was interesting and with some extra polishing, there are no doubts that your story will find an eager audience. 

We do wish to inform you that we don’t condone or accept any content we feel to be unethical, especially one that glorifies violence. With this being said we did feel your story does just that and this cannot be allowed. I do recommend you work on better phrasing and wording your scenes to make this story more friendly to any given audience.

If you can, I recommend re-examining your content and taking it back to the drawing board to give it another look over, I do feel you will accomplish much. I wish you good luck on your creative journey. 

-Best of Luck, 

Adrian Goodman, The Golden Publisher Company 

I don’t understand. They don’t understand. FIVE other letters circled back to me, all like this one. Five fucking disappointing letters. There is nothing in my writings that glorify violence, nothing that isn’t true. Insults after insults they mock me, they break my pride and rip at my very soul. The story is nothing short of marvelous and nothing, nobody can convince me otherwise. I am John fucking Shaw, the greatest writer of this decade, how could they say my story is anything but an absolute marvel? I scanned the drafts, collected it all myself, and re-edited my work; my precious work. They made me second guess my very own craft. Even then, my work is ‘too violent,’ they say, when violence is so heavily praised in this country. Hypocrites, failures to true culture. Swine monkeys typing at their desks, so eager to insult talent when they themselves hold none. 

I need to write more. I need to show them just how wrong they are. 

Today is July 17th, a full week after the company has released its summer lineup. A catalog of twelve writings which includes novels, comics, and an anthology. The writings themselves are nothing special, not anything remotely close to my level of skill, but alas, they are not horrible. The Golden Publisher Company has been my favorite publishing company for many years, their stories have only gotten better over time. They should see how much I have dedicated. They should have recognized my potential. I was willing to accept the rejections, truly I was. That was until I found a problem in the lineup, one in the shape of a horror novel. The company has released an atrocity of a novel, one that I happened to pick up after my morning walk. The novel’s plot lines, characters, settings, even dialogue so closely if not blatantly copies the very work I submitted to them. If they wished to profit off such a promising story like mine, I would have happily sold the rights of the story for a fraction of what they must have paid for this filth. I bring a refreshing tale and yet they chose something as vile as this. Needless to say, the book went into my firepit, I couldn’t bear another word of it, seeing as it was all mine to begin with. There is nothing special in what I have read and the same can be said for the rest of the lineup, all of which I will be burning.

Weeks have gone by since I sent my letter of disgust to that dreadful company. That troll bastard Adrian Goodman must have received my letter by now, and if not, has at the very least glimpsed at my many emails. The addresses were correct and written so very clearly that it cannot possibly be mistaken for anybody else’s complaints but my own. After multiple threats and talk of getting the authorities involved, I was certain that the Golden Publisher would have at least replied by now. Decency is hard to find these days, even in corporate companies, I suppose.  No matter the issue, I have come into contact with a very talented lawyer and have discussed the issues. I await their reply patiently. 

-Dear. Mr. Shaw

After processing your claim and digging a little deeper myself, I find your claim to be insufficient and too weak to be brought to the court of law. The story written by you and the story published by the Golden Publisher are remarkably different and I spotted very few, if any, similarities. I understand that this must be frustrating for you and I apologize for the inconvenience but with the current evidence and information, I have deemed it unnecessary to take legal action. I do not recommend proceeding further and wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. 

-Chris Earp

I found it. It took almost an arm and a leg to find but I finally found the address of that filth Goodman and his accomplice Chris Earp. To think the Golden Publisher, such a well-known and prestigious company would stoop so low as to pay off every lawyer I contact. Nobody would accept my claim. Nobody would stand by my side and I mean the writing is plain as fucking day. THEY STOLE FROM ME. And now, now I want to steal from them. My life for months has been nothing but hardship, but did I complain? No. That’s not what genius minds do, instead, we persevere and go push against the odds, become the pioneers of the world with our work. My work. My work is nothing but legendary and my stories are timeless, precious artifacts that can be celebrated by generations. The Golden Publisher, what a fucking joke. I have already packed the things needed to complete the job, and have been waiting for Goodman to arrive home. I see headlights up ahead; I believe our man is here.