Just because you got a bit of a cameo in the book that I'm waiting to hear back from the publisher about does not mean I have to write about the whole past thirty years that brought you to that point. Really.
Dear Gil and Araveth,
Yes, I do know the meaning of the phrase "coitus interruptus." I'm sorry. I promise I'll get back to the two of you as soon as I can.
No, I don't blame you for hating your life, your family, and your author.
If you don't tell me what you've been doing, I'm going to toss you into bed with Kamala, just for the heck of it. Yes, I know you can't stand her, but your sniping at each other is all kinds of subtexty, and let's not forget the backrub.
I understand that Paul's killed you twice and you've only killed him once, and you're eager to settle the score, but do you mind if I at least get an agent for the first book before you unleash your mayhem on an unsuspecting world.
Dear Everybody Else,
WAIT YOUR TURN!
(I'd say no love, but you all would know I was lying.)