This is the fourth segment of the Jasper chronicles. Jasper Foie-Gras is a peculiar soul with a fascinatingly sad, yet adventurous, life. James Barnes, an editor at Random House, has convinced Jasper to tell his story. 29 days ago, while James was on vacation, Jasper directed some passages of his memoir to a junior editor named April Higgins. Though previously briefed on the project, April was unaware of Jasper’s insecurities about his own writing, so when she gave the reluctant author some “constructive criticism,” she lit a fire that James scurried to extinguish. Continue…
Jasper Foie-Gras is writing a memoir and he’s very insecure about it. He emailed his editor James a portion of chapter 1, but received an “out of office” reply. Jasper believed getting feedback was indeed an emergency, so he contacted April Higgins, a junior editor at the same publishing house. You can read previous correspondence as well as bits of the memoir here and here.
Subject: Your Manuscript
It’s a bit out of the ordinary for more than one editor to provide feedback on a manuscript, but since you feel it is an emergency situation and cannot continue without constructive criticism, I will oblige. Continue…
This is a continuation of yesterdays post, The Memoir of Jasper Foie-Gras
Subject: Re: Re: This is all I have so far. I suck.
I still believe in the subject of this email. Until I have more confidence, I’d appreciate if we agreed to leave it untouched. I’ve addressed your notes below, and I’ve included a start to chapter 1.
To your first note about describing the dog more. I don’t think anyone gives a shit what the dog looked like if it was dead. Continue…
Subject: This is all I have so far. I suck.
James, I have no clue what I’m doing here. This is probably awful.
Prologue (might be the wrong name)
I had an auspicious start. My parents’ dog died the same day I was born. He wasn’t old, just neglected. There were 12 of them in “The Tribe” and according to my mother, everyone thought someone else was feeding Mr. Bonjangles. Florencio remembers the dog’s hunger barks getting weaker and weaker until they were finally drowned out by the laboring wails of my Mother. Continue…