An Open Letter To Me At 17 Or, Twilight Sucks. Come On, Guys. Admit It.

Hey there 17-Year-Old Me!

So, you’re probably wondering why your decade older self is getting in touch with you and as per usual, it’s to crack an egg of knowledge.

You’re a writer and take great pride in this fact. I know you want to write something meaningful, important and clever, but dude — take a hit for the team and write a novel about an idiot girl who falls in love with an overbearing, borderline abusive, sparkly vampire.

Yes, sparkly.
Seriously.
No, I’m not fucking with you. He sparkles in sunlight.
Yes, I know sunlight turns vampires to dust. What, you think because a girl is ten years older, she’ll stop watching Buffy marathons on Logo?

Every instinct and writing teacher will tell you that bland writing and cliches are to be avoided like the plague (ah ha — you see what I did there?) but these instincts are wrong and your teachers are wrong (Sorry, Kay and Oliga).

Make it bad. Hell, make it boring. Oh and moralize, moralize, moralize. Every chance you get.

Look, I know this sounds ridiculous but trust me — you will make a metric shit ton of money.

Self respect? That’s for suckers and poor people.

Think it over, kid.

Lots of love:

27-Year-Old Me

P.S. — Flat iron + volumizing spray + anti-frizz serum. Meet your new holy trinity. Now, get to worshipping.

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