my sisters uncanny ability to take after her best mentor (none other than, NOR comparable to, me) never ceases to amaze me. its like the michael of 11th or 12th grade is the gail of 9th and 10th grade. its this kind of subtlety and satire in humor that i miss most-- and have yet to discover here. oh well, no biggie, i look back and im glad i havent changed....that much. heres what i mean:

the assignment was to write a letter to an author of a book youve read (or sparknoted) during the year. gail decided to utilize the freedom of the assignment and write a satirical letter to jack london. enjoy!

Wednesday, May 21st, 2003
My dearest Jack London,
The moment I discovered I was required to read your amazing and incredible novel White Fang the summer before my freshman year in high school, I fell in love. Before I knew it, I was head over heels in love with a man I’d never met but knew inside and out through his writing.
Some ask me how I know I’m in love. I let myself become vulnerable and pour out words of love for you, but words are not enough. My love is so strong that none could ever understand by simply listening to my love; one feel the same love in order to fully grasp the nature of this funny feeling inside.
It matters not that I cannot remain in an active, conscious state while you tell your stories of your beloved doggies, and could not even manage to read either White Fang or To Build a Fire in their entirety; I still cherish every word you ever so carefully choose. I admire your natural ability to create lullabies of your works. I forced myself to complete Call of the Wild and you never failed me once—I slept like a baby. It is not often that I can be put to sleep just fifteen minutes after every time I awake from my sweet slumber.
You captivate me. Each piece of literature can be called unique because you can write so much about so many different topics. I am fascinated by your creativity, your diction, your appreciation of my imagination. It is when I read your books that my mind wanders most, creating its own fantasy world. I get lost in my thoughts of you. Your presence surrounds me and I can feel your warmth beside me. When I lose my way, I close my eyes and you have found me in my dreams.
I lust for you when you are being romantic—in a contemporary, rather than literary, sense—with your writing. I was touched when the main character of To Build a Fire was just about ready to slash open his companion to keep his hands warm; digging into animal corpses has always been arousing. I can see why the character remained unnamed, as the account of his story was so personal and inviting.
I hope this letter has touched you the way you always touch me. Your fingers of words caress the skin of my mind. I honestly believe we are soul mates. But I know you would never accept me into your heart. I have been born in the form of a female human being. It would be my ultimate wish to be reborn as a canine, your forever faithful companion. I would be by your side, inspiring you to continue writing your adventures with various wolves and doggies. Perhaps, one day we will be together. I look forward to the day I meet you and profess my love to you.
Sincerely yours,
Gail Hernandez