Dear Jay Gatsby,
I am pleased to inform you that if you are receiving this letter than the typewriter has done its job. I am The Novelist. Generally, I would receive the following questions so I will answer them forthwith. Am I human? At one point I may have been considered such, but now I am a being that exists outside of time and space. Where do I come from? I remember nothing before the library. That is what I call my world. The shelves stretch for eternity. Filled with tales of heroes, villains, and more specifically the lost. Every day, or rather each time I wake up, I grab a book off the shelves and I read the tales within. Why am I writing you? Well, that is the million dollar question isn’t it. For some reason, as early as the earthly man dare conceive, I have read tales and written letters. It started as a way to pass the time. After I heard the pleas and sorrows of the people in the books I would write to them. I would use lessons from other stories. I would try my best to help. Never had I conceived that they would receive the letters. That’s where the typewriter comes in. It came with the library. After some experimentation I realized that the letters only send when I write them with the typewriter. Second, I could change the point a character would receive the letter by putting it on a certain page. I could even have it sent before the story starts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help you before your troubles started. In case you are wary to trust me, let me demonstrate my power. Open your copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s A Tell Tale Heart. You have the one with pictures, yes? Look at when the narrator panics. See the envelope beneath the coffee table? Do you see the insignia on it? Look at your envelope. Is it not the same? I could not stop him from killing the old man. I did manage to drive him mad with my seemingly prophetic abilities. Do not try to go against my warnings. It can only go badly.
You are aware of what ails you, as are most in this tale. I apologize for not being powerful or wise enough to help you sooner. You should be receiving this letter soon after you meet a woman named Daisy. I am fully aware of your swooning over her but beware, for loving her will cause you great harm. I know you believe her unattainability is a charm but it is truly a curse. I know what you would do otherwise. You will take her under false pretenses. You will feel betrayed when you find she has moved on, and you will grasp onto what little remnants you can find of her. This is not love Jay, it is an infatuation that you twist into obsession. Heed my warning. Go to war, you will not only survive but thrive. Finish your schooling at Oxford. Take the money you have left from the war and invest in business. Use that natural charm of yours and become a businessman. Meet another “nice” girl. One even nicer than Daisy. Teach your children that money doesn’t matter in affairs of life and of love. You will live a good life. But before it is possible you must say goodbye to Daisy. Let her make her decisions in life and you can make yours. Perhaps you don’t have to say goodbye forever. If you do decide to move to West Egg, Long Island, New York, than you will see Daisy again. If she asks you for help than be the friend she needs. But I warn you, do not obsess over her. If you do, it will lead to a life of crime, of pain, of sadness. I have seen other like you fail. Let your story end happily.
Sincerely,
The Novelist
P.S. If you manage to mess up again than I’ll help, but do not treat me as your failsafe. Keep me in the back of your mind and mention me to no one. Goodbye, Great Gatsby and good luck.
I am pleased to inform you that if you are receiving this letter than the typewriter has done its job. I am The Novelist. Generally, I would receive the following questions so I will answer them forthwith. Am I human? At one point I may have been considered such, but now I am a being that exists outside of time and space. Where do I come from? I remember nothing before the library. That is what I call my world. The shelves stretch for eternity. Filled with tales of heroes, villains, and more specifically the lost. Every day, or rather each time I wake up, I grab a book off the shelves and I read the tales within. Why am I writing you? Well, that is the million dollar question isn’t it. For some reason, as early as the earthly man dare conceive, I have read tales and written letters. It started as a way to pass the time. After I heard the pleas and sorrows of the people in the books I would write to them. I would use lessons from other stories. I would try my best to help. Never had I conceived that they would receive the letters. That’s where the typewriter comes in. It came with the library. After some experimentation I realized that the letters only send when I write them with the typewriter. Second, I could change the point a character would receive the letter by putting it on a certain page. I could even have it sent before the story starts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help you before your troubles started. In case you are wary to trust me, let me demonstrate my power. Open your copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s A Tell Tale Heart. You have the one with pictures, yes? Look at when the narrator panics. See the envelope beneath the coffee table? Do you see the insignia on it? Look at your envelope. Is it not the same? I could not stop him from killing the old man. I did manage to drive him mad with my seemingly prophetic abilities. Do not try to go against my warnings. It can only go badly.
You are aware of what ails you, as are most in this tale. I apologize for not being powerful or wise enough to help you sooner. You should be receiving this letter soon after you meet a woman named Daisy. I am fully aware of your swooning over her but beware, for loving her will cause you great harm. I know you believe her unattainability is a charm but it is truly a curse. I know what you would do otherwise. You will take her under false pretenses. You will feel betrayed when you find she has moved on, and you will grasp onto what little remnants you can find of her. This is not love Jay, it is an infatuation that you twist into obsession. Heed my warning. Go to war, you will not only survive but thrive. Finish your schooling at Oxford. Take the money you have left from the war and invest in business. Use that natural charm of yours and become a businessman. Meet another “nice” girl. One even nicer than Daisy. Teach your children that money doesn’t matter in affairs of life and of love. You will live a good life. But before it is possible you must say goodbye to Daisy. Let her make her decisions in life and you can make yours. Perhaps you don’t have to say goodbye forever. If you do decide to move to West Egg, Long Island, New York, than you will see Daisy again. If she asks you for help than be the friend she needs. But I warn you, do not obsess over her. If you do, it will lead to a life of crime, of pain, of sadness. I have seen other like you fail. Let your story end happily.
Sincerely,
The Novelist
P.S. If you manage to mess up again than I’ll help, but do not treat me as your failsafe. Keep me in the back of your mind and mention me to no one. Goodbye, Great Gatsby and good luck.