SUNDAY MAIL | Dear Mr. Wayne

lil wayne stamp150Dear Mr. Wayne,

I am writing to inform you that we have resolved the issue of whether or not there can be an outdoor concert at the end of the women’s songwriting retreat next month. We have fixed the electricity issue, and so the cameras will come on, there will be big lights and much action, so everyone will be able to see you on stage and will welcome you to the retreat, because, after all, you are the main attraction! The week-long retreat will be held in the lush hills of Durham, NC. We have also replaced the grass behind the main building with AstroTurf, so your concern about the possibility of grass stains will not be an issue, though we do suggest you bring a lawn chair.

 

As far as the participants go, these women already know life is deep, but they still dig your ability to stretch the boundaries of rhythm and metaphor in the context of song writing. One more thing you should know is that these young women may not have had any formal education with grammar, and so you may have to explain how to use a subject and a predicate within each sentence. Furthermore, there have been a few requests from some participants, specifically from a group of African-Americans, who are interested in testing if their voices can be skewed in such a way that their singing sounds like that of a Caucasian woman.

 

As you have been informed, most of the participants will be young women whose original interests were in poetry, but who want to branch out to other fields. I am certain they will want to hear everything you have to say. Most certainly they will not only be eager to take in all that you have to offer and will also yearn to have more of your powerful advice. And in regards to your concern about any of our lovely ladies stealing the key to your room and entering it at night, we will change your locks on a daily basis. That said, if women do by chance enter into your quarters, we cannot take responsibility for these actions. We all know that it is in a woman’s nature to be manipulative and/or conniving, and regardless of what measures we put in place in order to help protect you, women will be women! Furthermore, our participants do admire you very much, so who can blame them for wanting to reach out to you during the rest hours of the retreat?

 

As far as transportation goes, your itinerary is attached to this email. The young women were a little disappointed that they would not be able to ride with you, but instead will be car pooling. Due to the fact that each day during the retreat workshops will start at 7am, complimentary coffee will be served. Please be aware that in past years, songwriters have brought their coffee with them into the main event hall in which there are no cup holders attached to the chairs and have spilled it on their laps, which unfortunately burned them. Therefore, we encourage participants to blow on their coffee until it is at an acceptable temperature. In the afternoons there will snacks provided, especially lollipops to give everyone that needed 4pm sugar rush! The first night of the retreat, there will be a wine and dine with many different hor’ duerves to eat.

 

In regards to activities that will take place between the workshops, in previous years we have had women argue for a scheduled time that they can go fish out at the beautiful rainbow trout lake behind the building. The schedule last year  had some holes in it to provide some free time, however, the breaks were not long enough to accommodate for fishing. Our board decided against the fishing expeditions. This year, one of our sponsors is Fixodent and they have graciously provided us with an organizer who has over seventy years of experience in planning events and who has made this year’s schedule very tight.

 

We would like to thank you for your commitment to these women and their desire to be professional songwriters. And we would also like to thank you for your offer to be the interim president of our company. Decisions will be made next week.

 

Sincerely yours,

Wheetzy F. Brawd

CEO of The Hills Will Sing Praises of Women’s Empowerment, Inc.

 


Chelsey Clammer received her MA in Women’s Studies from Loyola University Chicago, and is currently enrolled in the Rainier Writing Workshop MFA program. She has been published in The Rumpus, Atticus Review, and The Nervous Breakdown among many others. She has won many awards, most recently the Owl of Minerva Award 2014 from the women’s literary journal Minerva Rising. Clammer is the Managing Editor and Nonfiction Editor for The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review, as well as a columnist and workshop instructor for the journal. Her first collection of essays, There is Nothing Else to See Here, is forthcoming from The Lit Pub, Fall 2014. You can read more of her writing at: www.chelseyclammer.com.


Suddenly Some Sunday Mail

corgis

 

Dear Suddenly,

I was kickin’ it on my couch with my laptop stationed on my lap and reading some essays I have been requested to edit and suddenly I realized how much I hate you. Suddenly, I saw how often writers use you as a transition and I suddenly despised every sentence in which you have ever been included. I got to thinking about my own writing and suddenly realized how lucky I have been to have slowly distanced myself from you.

This separation wasn’t intentional, but at some point in my writing career I did, indeed, suddenly stop including you in the collection of words I use to create sentences. As in, there was an essay I wrote with you in it, and then suddenly there were no more essays I wrote with you in them. I got to thinking more about my past writing and considered how at one point, Suddenly, I considered you the paragon of transition. How else can the reader be so suddenly surprised if not for you?

Suddenly, my partner returned home from work, breaking the tirade I was having about you in my head. I wasn’t startled by his entrance, but a second ago I was the only person home and then suddenly I wasn’t any more. My mental rant was so suddenly halted by the entrance of another person into my apartment, I was jolted away from my subjective opinion of you and became curious about your definition.

As I’m writing this, I suddenly put my pen down to look up your definition.

Suddenly: (adj) something occurring without warning or without transition from the previous form, state, etc.

And then suddenly my mother called me. We talked for a while until I suddenly didn’t feel like talking to her, said I had to go, hung up the phone and returned my attention to you.

Even after reading your definition and the ways in which you can be used, the fact that I suddenly hated you that had hit me while I was kickin’ it on my couch still stands. So, Suddenly, I now find myself looking up your synonyms. Abruptly, quickly, swiftly all sound better to me than suddenly inserting you into a sentence. And so now, Suddenly, I have officially banned you from my writing.

Sorry if this feels so sudden,

Chelsey

 


Chelsey Clammer received her MA in Women’s Studies from Loyola University Chicago, and is currently enrolled in the Rainier Writing Workshop MFA program. She has been published in The Rumpus, Atticus Review, and The Nervous Breakdown among many others. She has won many awards, most recently the Owl of Minerva Award 2014 from the women’s literary journal Minerva Rising. Clammer is the Managing Editor and Nonfiction Editor for The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review, as well as a columnist and workshop instructor for the journal. Her first collection of essays, There is Nothing Else to See Here, is forthcoming from The Lit Pub, Fall 2014. You can read more of her writing at: www.chelseyclammer.com.


 

SUNDAY MAIL | In Case You Were Wondering

mailboxesDear Mom,

In case you were wondering, the check you wrote me for $200 in order to pay for therapy has just been deposited, exchanged for goods, and now whiskey swishes around in my stomach. So in case you wondering, I’m writing this drunk.

Thanks,

Chelsey

 

 

Dear Dad,

In case you were wondering, I do at times speculate on what my life would be like if you were still alive. Miserable, most likely. Though maybe we would bond while smoking cigarettes together on the back porch. But aside from that, yes, miserable.

No Thanks,

Chelsey

 

Dear Elizabeth Gilbert,

Drink. Hate. Die.

Please,

Chelsey

 

Dear Kate,

In case you were wondering, back in 2009 when I stayed at your house to go to a friend’s wedding nearby and the next morning you woke me up as everyone in the house was leaving except for the baby and myself, it was I who made and ate all four packages of the Betty Crocker Chocolate Chip cookie dough with your large wooden spoon that I didn’t feel like washing and so I buried it in your trash can. I blame the hangover.

Whoops,

Chelsey

 

Dear Freud,

I wanted to inform you that a spoon and a lighter are not two random objects. And furthermore, I am not envious.

From a Pussy Lovin’ Lady,

Chelsey

 

Dear Therapist,

Sorry I was drunk last week.

Sincerely,

Chelsey

 

Dear Ex-Girlfriend,

In case you were wondering, I haven’t given up on a reunion.

‘Til Then,

Chelsey

 

Dear Norman Mailer,

Please stop raping and killing women in the first twenty-five pages of your novels.

No respect,

Chelsey

 

Dear Next Person Who Will Sit in This Window Seat, 12 A,

In case you were wondering, the stewardess with the platinum blonde hair and cherry red lipstick smudged on her bleached sparkling teeth threw up during our flight, and so you do not have a barf bag tucked into the pocket in front of you.

Good Luck,

Chelsey

 

Dear Ayn Rand,

If you write another speech for a character in your next book, please read it out loud and time yourself in order to get an idea of how long it is. John Galt’s speech, for instance, is three hours long. I know John Galt is important to the plot, but over 100 pages devoted to his speech is the definition of superfluous. If you are struggling with this, anyone who knows how to read can help you out.

Much Appreciated,

Chelsey

 

Dear Aunt D,

In case you were wondering, my heart rate increased by 9 more beats per minute when, after I told you I was getting married, you said “Well isn’t that cute?”

Well aren’t you an asshole,

Chelsey

 

Dear the Asshole Jerkface Assclown Fuckface Who Stole My Bike From the Stop Sign at Farragut and Clark While I was Working a Sixteen-Hour Shift Across the Street,

In case you were wondering I hope you are a straight, homophobic dude and are unsuccessful at removing the “I Heart my Cunt” sticker wheatpasted to the bar underneath the seat. And the gay pride one, too.

Loser,

Chelsey

 

Dear Emily Dickinson—

Please revisit the proper use of dashes—

Thanks—

Chelsey

 

Dear Brown Blanket,

In case you were wondering I have no intentions of washing you anytime soon even though there is a mountain range of cum stains all over you. My reason for this is that you have a confusing texture going on—a texture that somehow feels soft and pillowy when against a naked back, but feels scratchy and stiff when grasped in a non-sexual context. I get shivers when I hold you in my hands.

Thanks for Your Understanding,

Chelsey

 

Dear Girl Scout Who Sold 117 Boxes of Girl Scout Cookies within Two Hours as You Set Up Your Table Outside of a Marijuana Dispensary,

I’m wondering if you could help me learn how to find my place in the world where I will serve my purpose and succeed.

Many Thanks,

Chelsey

 


Chelsey Clammer received her MA in Women’s Studies from Loyola University Chicago, and is currently enrolled in the Rainier Writing Workshop MFA program. She has been published in The Rumpus, Atticus Review, and The Nervous Breakdown among many others. She is an award-winning and Pushcart Prize nominated essayist. Clammer is the Managing Editor and Nonfiction Editor for The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review, as well as a columnist and workshop instructor for the journal. She is also the Nonfiction Editor for The Dying Goose. Her first collection of essays, There is Nothing Else to See Here, is forthcoming from The Lit Pub, Fall 2014. You can read more of her writing at: www.chelseyclammer.com.