August 10th, 2026 - The Promise
Dear TNY,
“The Promise” is, um, how do the French say? Un gros tas de merde.
First, the positives. It’s under 4,500 words, so that’s a big win. I think this is the second week in a row such “brevity” has appeared. The story is also rich in description. Almost nothing in this story appears without being thoroughly described…
And that’s the end of the positives. Mainly, because the descriptions are too many and too over the top. It’s very clear in the first paragraph that we are wading into a story the author has decided needs this level of richness to be understood. But, it does not. So much description of almost everything is cumbersome to read and actually tips the balance away from focusing on the narrative, instead forcing us to read each thick sentence at a slower pace. This pulls me out of the story, keeps me from forming any empathy, and becomes annoying very quickly. So, you know, cut it the fuck out.
And, one of my biggest issues is that almost none of the characters are described with such richness. The Devil gets his due. And we get some situational description for Birdie, i.e. the physicality of her pants pissing and fever dream. But we don’t get any description of what she looks like. And it’s the same for the rest of the other characters who don’t fucking matter at all.
I was inclined to wonder about the intended audience for this as well, as if it was intentionally written from someone’s daft perspective (remember, the gal is 8 years old and not a fucking child prodigy). So, if the author was trying to characterize the protagonist by having her focus so deeply on her surroundings but not other people, then that was successful…in that it made me think that this kid was dumb. But not all the way dumb because the descriptions were beyond the capability of an 8-year-old, so then it felt like it wasn’t really about the little girl at all. Instead, I think it was about the author wanting to write like this. Using third person POV with a psychic distance this close shows the reader that we are all the way in this kid, but the discord between the age and the narrative voice is very present. Even though it’s all past tense, and some is written from very far in the future, it still feels like we are right in the pocket with little Birdie while all of this is happening. Which don’t jive, turkey.
And folks, because of that, I don’t believe it.
And if I don’t believe it, then I don’t emote.
So what the fuck, guys? I guess it’s another Monday and the same old shit from you. Except last time you told a story like this, which was “Hansa and Gretyl and Piece of Shit,” it was goodish. This one is not.
In my world, I worked. That seems to be what I do now. I built a bookshelf and am in the process of putting on the finish. I tiled a wall and am deep into that thicket. And all the wood came back from the planer so I’m ready to start the ski rack business. It has to be planed down because it used to be tabletops at a ski resort. Now it’s all my ¾” pretties; the flavors being white oak, aged cherry, and birch. I watched the new Spider-man and cried A LOT (as you’ll see further down in this document, that makes me unlovable on Tinder). I took one whole day off. I got ditched by a friend for a meetup. I talked to both my kids, one of which had a birthday. I briefly played a Mario Kart game. I watched a lot of YouTube. Oh, and I walked to a priory nearby; I was dabbling in some mushrooms and the place felt like it was breathing and was very calming.
I’ve been thinking a lot about dating. Stability. Finding partners nowadays. It’s all fucked. The therapist recently pointed out that I’m likely not going to find a partner on Tinder because that’s where the rabble goes. I’m not much better obviously because I’m on there too. But he was quick to point out that I’m not one of the rabble, to which I retorted that if I’m on there and not part of the rabble then there must be some of the “inny” sexed counterparts to my “outie”. Which has to be true because there are no absolutes. But in spirit, he’s not wrong.
In the world of Tinder, I have been very unsuccessful at getting likes, as that is the way of men on these platforms. But of the matches that were made, I approached them as myself, no game in play, no agenda at large, just chatting it up with people being my full weird self. And if we were to imagine it like baseball stats, I don’t get to the plate often, but when I do I almost always get multi-base hits and/or homeruns.
I think people have just left me behind. They are embracing being selfish NPCs, and that’s okay I guess. I found a former partner on Tinder some time back and was astounded to see the commercial of her, still in full bloom, the unsuspecting swipers having no idea what awaits them past the commercial. And that’s what dating has become. Which was something I never had the power to do in the first place. It’s a place to sell a false story of yourself to trick people into liking you, possibly even loving you, such that later, when you show your true gremlin nature, they will be too emotionally invested to leave. Yet, you can leave whenever you want, because that’s the nature of a selfish NPC. And you don’t have to feel bad about it!
I can sum up at least 80% of what it’s like shopping for women on Tinder these days:
“I deserve to be treated like a princess.”
“If you can’t handle me at my worst you don’t deserve me at my best.”
“ENM.”
“If don’t love Jesus…” or “Fully left liberal, ACAB, free Palestine…”
“I want a man that’s emotionally available. No crybabies, though.”
“If you aren’t over XX tall, don’t bother.”
“I have my shit together; you should too.” (I think this one, of all of these, is the most laughable because I don’t know a single person that has their shit together; telling people that you have your shit together is akin to saying you are a good person (it’s a key indicator that you aren’t a good person and that you don’t have your shit together)).
Now, I'm neither pro nor against any of the above quotes. I just think they say more about the person than the issue is all.
And that’s it. I’m sure the men sound similar to the women, but different in their own way. The rabble way.
Anyway, I don’t know where I’m going with this.
I also edited a paper for a friend’s daughter. I got two long texts to work with (not a document). And then I had an evening to work it over. And it was by no means done and she sent it off anyway, not correcting the items I highlighted nor adding any material that I deemed necessary to the cohesiveness of the piece. Her reasoning? “It’s already better than anything I could write and I’m just going to send it along as is.”
I forget that people don’t care, at least about words.
Or, really, anything. Mostly people just care about themselves.
I’ve been thinking about a strategy lately, to win at life. I think if I give up on everything that I want or need, and deeply focus on the fact that this isn’t my story and that I’m here just to help others, I might find happiness. Anytime I wholeheartedly wanted something and it didn’t come to pass, I struggled with that. So, if I stop wanting and I stay dialed into the needs of others, then at least other people can have things they want. And I won’t hurt so much anymore.
So use me, cunts. I don’t even care if it’s for good anymore. You want to know something? I know every single time when it’s not for good. All you slick shits out there thinking that you are tricking me into doing something that I’d deem as good, I see through it eventually. And I do the work anyway. Why? Because I want to be a good person. And if I do enough good, and work hard enough, maybe I can buy my way back into heaven. So I want my work and my selflessness to reflect well upon me. You? The bad users? Your work reflects on you thusly. And the people that actually matter (non-NPCs) notice.
Fuck it. This is a terrible letter. Not one for the books. Un gros tas de merde. Guess I didn’t feel inspired. They can’t all be amazing. I’m sorry.
Nick
