Letter of wreckommendation

I write to you as your hardly humble, former protégé. A writer, a wordman. Yesterday, you released a vague letter of recommendation for me to use at a later date. It was a reference that I had hoped to cultivate in the future, just as a farmer carefully caresses their dirt. Digging for worms, praying for rain, yelling for sun. Like a rotted-out elm tree with the Keeblers hollering inside during another late afternoon bull session, your words rang hollow. You said I was a “great man and a better writer.” While both are demonstrably true, without comparing me to other great men of history, this sentence lacks context. Who’s going to understand it? What about Homer? Twain? One of the Keeblers? From there, things only got worse. 

In the very next sentence, you write that I possess “all the skills and talents to have a successful career.” In what? Magic? I donated my wand to charity years ago. You know that. You bought packing tape because the Postal Service has a bias against duct. Then my rabbit hitched a ride on a passing train. You know that, too. You drove him to the station. His name was Gerald and he wasn’t ready for the hobo life. But you had to tell him that there’s no hobo-equivalent on planes. Yes, people do stowaway from time-to-time, but that’s different. Where’s the culture in that? The guitars, moonshine and such. And I haven’t worn a tuxedo in a decade. It’s still at the dry cleaners. When I asked Whitman for a reco, he said I contained multitudes. At least that was poetic. 

You did worse than the bare minimum. The stakes are too high to justify a letter with this lack of substance. The closing sent me flying. You write, “Is he the best writer I’ve ever met? Perhaps. But we haven’t technically met. Not yet. I look forward to that day. Maybe at a book signing or a barbecue.” I hate (love) to keep harping on the same thing. But here too, you could’ve made reference to the Keebler family and all their good works. They’ve met me. They know me. Why’d you have to say we don’t know each other? I know we don’t know each other. But they don’t know that. You have a lot to learn.

Thanks for nothin’.