Page 51 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

I’ve been at work four days now and I love it. It’s hard—McDermott’s tough, but fair, not too far from Johnson. I edited a piece of his yesterday and he wasn’t pleased.

“Moore, you changed the tone. You check my facts, you check my grammar, you can add fluff if you want, I don’t care. But do not mess with the integrity of my tone. Ever. It’s gone from declarative to inquisitive. Read your verbs. Fix this.”

He was right. I made his work sound tentative, robbing its authority.

Of course, that’s the tone to which I naturally gravitate.

Do you think that’s my issue with Johnson?

He’s never said it; it would be my job to notice it.

And the timidity is there, in all my work—except for the pieces about children.

Those are more confident. My voice is stronger and more declarative.

Maybe McDermott will let me develop some of my ideas along those lines.

They feel natural for me and I come up with new angles each evening.

Yes, Alex’s “sleepy suburb” quip was accurate, and thinking up articles is the most excitement I see.

Josh is back in town, but he works late most nights and I don’t want to wait downtown in hopes that he might have dinner with me. Lately I feel he only calls when he’s bored. I’d like to mean more to him than that.

Alex hasn’t called or come up to the house either.

At first I thought I hurt his feelings with my careless comments and questions.

And I may have. But I also don’t think Alex would visit a young woman alone.

Is twenty-four very young? (Yes, birthday a couple weeks ago.

Fairly unmemorable.) I’m not sure, and there’s something so “old school” about Alex.

I do know he wasn’t pleased to find the Muirs gone.

I thought he was going to decamp the front steps that first night without getting past hello.

He’s a lot like his hero, Cole, I think.

Both could exist quite comfortably in a Jane Austen novel—except for the violence.

“Why, Emma, Mr. Weston has been stabbed in the stables and trussed up like a goose.”

“Goodness, Father. Do lock the windows tonight. Prowlers are about.”

“You are right, my dear. Oh . . . Goodness, Mr. Knightley, it is much too dangerous for you to walk home this evening. You may catch a chill—or your death .”

Hey, it’s no worse than Pride and Prejudice and Zombies .

Good night . . .

Sam