To some, being labelled a ‘nation nobody has ever heard of’ is like snagging a seat in the back row of the spectator stands at a football match and being smacked square in the face by a stray ball.
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To Paul Baumer,
Suppose I told you that you are a threadbare olive drab green army tunic, hued by the reds and browns of the soil that muddies the land between the Belgian coast and the Swiss border.
Dear watchers of The WOT,
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Dear whichever character from the show finds this letter first (I am betting on you Rick),
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Dear Olive Smith
There’s this scene at the beginning of Ali Hazelwood’s The Love Hypothesis where you slump inelegantly against the tiled wall of the Stanford biology department restroom and weep. You woefully admit to having been using expired contact lenses. Then, you tell a concerned stranger (who we now know to be Adam) that “expiration dates are for the weak” and let me tell you, my entire world went off its axis.
That, Ms. Smith, is the line in the book that got me writing again.
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For Mr. Bilbo Baggins…
No longer do hobbit-holes emerge from the side of hills, within tunnels and on the other side of circular front doors painted green. In our modern world, these dwellings exist as ordinary humans’ places of residence, supplemented by meals and television programs waiting to be watched. No longer are hobbits rare nor “shy of big people” (Tolkien 15). Modern day hobbits are the big people.
No longer are hobbits rare nor “shy of big people”. Modern day hobbits are the big people.
-Kananelo Tsuene
So, nearly on an equal footing with author J.R.R Tolkien’s own admission, I myself, am in fact a hobbit in all but size and smoking habits, yet in incredible contrast, am perpetually desirous of an adventure.
Dear Beatrice Achike
Dear Nicholas Sparks
If I were to run into you on the corner of the street somewhere, I would start by first expressing my unwavering loyalty to the love stories you have created during your many years of writing.
Pocket Envelope 