Imagine this. You’re sitting at your desk, toiling away on your latest manuscript. It’s been a frustrating few hours (or days, or weeks, or years) and the words aren’t coming together the way you’d like. You decide to take a break just as the doorbell rings. It’s the mail carrier with a registered letter for you! You accept it, and then stare.
The letter is addressed to you in your own handwriting, with the title “writer” in big bold letters before your name. And the postmark is from five years in the future.
You tear the envelope open with trembling hands. What advice is your future self sending you? Is it the name of the agent or publisher certain to accept your work? The plot for a best-seller? A slice of your future royalties?
None of the above. Yet the words are still important — perhaps the most important you can send yourself.
What does the letter say?