Dear YA Novels,
Recently I have turned sixteen. Since it has been awhile since the two of us have been caught together amidst the skew of things, I should probably disregard any assumption you have formulating in the back of your mind: no, the world has not yet turned into a dystopia with a surge of technology, ruined coastlines, and egregious systems of government. No fantasy back world has been uncovered along the shadows of the world, with sparkling creatures or runes. Although, if either events occurred, I'm unsure that I'll be able to send you this letter in the first place. Restrictions may be placed on communication at that point, and besides, there won't be enough time to check email since I'll be outside doing, you know, "Chosen One" stuff, with my powers gained at the peak of adolescence.
Another assumption I want to debunk from your mind immediately: no, I have not been sulking around in my room, mentally crafting long monologues as to how why life ultimately stinks or as to why people don't understand me. I'm aware I come off as quiet, reserved, and on occasion whimsical, (this all depends on how a person perceives). Much times is spent in my room, engaging in introverted activities, but that doesn't necessarily hinder me from being able to talk to people, thank you very much. My life may be small in comparison to your numerous relayed tales, but I have a life that is lived.
Currently, I have been involved with strength training, since the last time we met, you said it's majorly important to be strong. Physical strength is not easily attainable-- in the last softball match, I slid into home place, face first, with sand covering my teeth, and this was one of many attempts at physical training. A softball hardly gets thrown ten feet away, running a mile exhausts all energy. This is not me condemning sports, but rather saying that unlike you, YA Novels, athletic gifts do not ring my bones. My strength is of the quiet kind: strong, resilient, sticking to morals through and through. Athletics are one thing, but another aspect you retain is your impeccable beauty standards you're often so modest about...
Until not one, but two boys come around the corner. The sweet, thoughtful boy and the kick butt no-nonsense guy battle each other out, and for awhile, you were too busy bickering with both of them to actually notice how one of them smells like slightly burnt oatmeal cookies, or how the other's hair bounces perfectly into place to the point you question why he wasn't hired by L'oreal, Pantene, or any other shampoo company. They both tell you you're beautiful, and you finally realize it yourself. Let me spare you the trouble of having to choose between the two boys: usually the first one, or the one who has been more prominent with you life recently, is the one you will choose. No need to thank me-- I just saved you much time.
Anyways, can't wait to hear your response, even if it ends up being roughly three books long.
A/N: Lately, I've been craving an immense craze about trying my hand at satire, or at least, producing something similar to the craft. Sarcasm and irony have been crazy themes repeating themselves in my life. That, alongside the process of editing my novel (finally, the six-week period wait is over), have birthed this post, which I hope you enjoy. Are there any other clichés I forgot to mention?