“How’re you doing?” it says.
“Been a long time,” says I.
“You’ll never guess what I found,” says the novel. “A plot.”
“You mean you want to be buried in the garden?”
“No. Beginning, middle, end, plot points, conflict, all that stuff. What you had before wasn’t all bad, but there was way too much of it, all over the place. Why don’t you sit down and let me tell you about it?”
“But you were dead. Everybody said so. I said so. The experts –“
“Experts schmexperts. What do they know about what’s in your head. I had problems, issues. I had to take some time to get to know myself.”
“But I’m working on this other one now.”
“Yeah. Quiet, thoughtful. Deep if you can pull it off. Listen. I kick butt.”
And I think maybe it does.