Dear Fiction Editor,
Please consider the enclosed story, âSnake Bite,â for publication in a future issue of ______ Review! Allow me to tell you a little bit about myself: Iâm 5â4, have blue eyes, and guys say I resemble Jessica Simpson.
Iâm joking! Thatâs not at all what I meant when I said âLet me tell you a little bit about myself.â Silly goose! What I meant was, let me tell you who I am as a writer. And, truth be told, I look nothing like Jessica Simpson, although my friends say I look like the hypothetical offspring of Tom Hanks, Sigourney Weaver and a jar of expired mayonnaise. My friends are so funny!
Hereâs what I really want to tell you about myself: I graduated from the University of _________ with an MFA in Creative Writing degree. The lessons learned there were invaluable and the workshops were as enlightening as they were reason enough for my psychiatrist/mentor/occasional lover to recommend a âscript for Zoloftâa prescription made affordable thanks to my Warren S. Hadley Scholarship.
And how exhilarating it was, receiving my diploma! My parents never thought theyâd see the day I graduated with a Masterâs degree, which I suppose was a correct prediction, considering how, a few months before I defended my thesis, they died (helicopter/piano mishap). Some might say they saw me graduate from heaven or something like that, but thatâs not for me. I donât believe in God. My cousin play pokies games Joelâs a real Jesus freak and he asked me one day, âWhen did you lose your faith?â and I told him, âI donât know, one minute I had it in my pocket and the next minute it was gone.â Then he called me a fucking skank-whore. I asked him if he accepted the body of Christ with that mouth. We havenât really spoken since.
I should mention my publishing credits, of which I have none. Iâve been told that this is okay, to not have any publishing credits. Weâll see about that, wonât we?
Anyway, itâs about time I wrap this thing up. I know cover letters arenât supposed to be more than one page, but I already blew that, didnât I? Oh well, itâs like what father said to mother and me the day after he told his boss to suck it: âYou canât turn back the clock!â Mother corrected him the day he said that, explaining how, actually, it was the end of Daylight Savings Time and you could turn back the clocks. Thatâs when father cried and stabbed himself in the leg with a pen.
Please note Iâve submitted the enclosed story to other publications for their review.
Every night I cry myself to sleep.
Whoops. Sorry about that. It just came out. What I meant to say was, Thank you for your time and consideration.