Untitled novel desperately seeking everything

Here it is, since you have *begged* for it. ;)

*drumroll, por favor*

MY NOVEL! A part of it; that part being a kind of prologue in the form of a letter to the readers from my FMC. This is written like an afterthought, after she's forever embittered by the experiences to be rambled about in the real novel, which means she basically (unintentionally) adopted a pretty bizznitchy tone. It is fun to write like a bizznitch. And it bumps the word count up by a bit.

The rest of it is more lighthearted, as the characters themselves are more naive, but I felt like an explanation was needed, almost like an apology on my behalf, but I couldn't stick "Hey, this novel sucks and I know it. Signed: Brain-Explodedy Author" in the beginning without sounding pathetic. Here's what I came up with in place of that:



BEWARE OF DOGS IN PURSES
(or, if you are reading this: A very simple introduction)

Dear Readers, (hah, readers...),
Before I go off on a completely nonsensical rant, (involving, among other things: love, loss, rebellion, Thought Trains, hypothetical babies, quite a bit of food, the purchasing of an island, a heated debate about pizza toppings and the meaning of life, and the formation of us.) here are some very basic things you should know:

1. My full name, given to me by the people who once were my biological parents-- the super famous Hollywood director Samuel N. James and super famous for no good reason model/ talk show host loved by all of the United States and beyond, Lily Adrienne Franklin-James-- is February Ceks (yes, SEX. Giggle like 11 year olds in public school required, gym teacher taught Health at that one.) Frames. (because the hyphenated last name would have just been over the top...)
Let that sink in, and then you can laugh your ass off. Go ahead. I would too if it weren’t me.

2. There are many more like me. The children of the super famous, fantastic, tabloid foddering, paparazzi loving, publicity craving, who’s only method of obtaining it in their verging on C-list stages of fame is procreating with someone of an equal fame level and naming their unfortunate offspring whatever “unique” thing they can come up with. And then, when the kids have been sculpted into the perfect Hollywood stardom cash cows, making them investments. Pet projects. To live vicariously through the fame they have cruelly forced upon us. Not taking into account that we are HUMAN BEINGS. With feelings and thoughts and dreams. And an abundance of green gummi bears. And POWER. Let’s not forget that.

All of this may sound extremely far fetched, cliche, terrible, melodramatic, et cetera... to you. This is REAL. Real lives were royally fucked up in this process and therefore I forbid you to laugh. Reality is real. Reality is not funny. As a wise man once said, “Life sucks then you die.” So true.

You now are wondering why we even cared, why we couldn’t just change our names and disown our parents and continue our lives, like that would make everything normal and forget what we went through. Yes, I know what you are wondering. That is precisely how you are writing off our entire existence with your filthy cynicism. You should be ashamed of yourself. It is all much, much deeper than that. We cannot be brainwashed by money and a simple change of what we are called. Sure, we all thought that in the beginning, when we were young and naive. Through the island we learned about ourselves, and we learned we were wrong. Such is life.

3. Together, we can do anything. No matter who “we” is, everyone is part of a “we”. This is probably an empowering statement, but let’s not get philosophical. My particular “we” is the Band of Rudolphs-- (you will figure that out later, trust me.) the group of rebellious “Celebritots” I helped assemble over the Internet, multiple tacos, and a trip to the circus.

This is our story.

Sincerely yours,
The misfit/hedgehog tamer’s assistant/queen/taco chef extraordinaire/heartbroken regular teenage girl formerly known as February Ceks Frames.