Imaginary Letters from Mynniesue (To: Google)

Dearest Google,

How did you know when I woke up this morning that thatched roofs were on my mind? Not simply thatched roofs, but little cottages with thatched roofs? And how did you know that I was wondering how a person would go about thatching a roof if they were inclined to do so? It’s almost unbelievable that you’d know I was wondering how a person would go about doing it without any proper tools. But you must have known, because all I did was ask. And you, loyal friend that you are, answered.

Photographs, examples, blogs, descriptions, websites and step-by-step DIY ideas for thatching roofs – with or without tools. All within a matter of mere moments.

I remember the days of the encyclopedia back when I was a kid. Those bleak days when the definitive knowledge on anything was at least five years old. Our encyclopedia was never in tune with me. Had I needed this info back then, I would have been screwed. I’m pretty sure our letter ‘T’ volume was on extended vacay somewhere exotic, like, under the couch or behind the fridge.

And then where would I be? The hero of my story wouldn’t be thatching a roof to try and mend his broken heart, and that would just be wrong.

Crap, Google. I just read that last sentence. Is the hero of my book really trying to mend his broken heart by thatching a roof? Did I really just write that junk?

New Google search (don’t let me down!): How to turn crappy writing into good writing.

New Google search (really don’t let me down!): How to drown your editing woes in a bottle of Kraken.

Thank you, Google, for being so good at your job, and keeping your trap shut when I suck at mine.



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