True or False?: Hemingway's Unusual Writing Habit

A curious tale about Agatha Christie's mysterious disappearance

Query sent: January. Response: December. Full text of response: "Pass." Four letters. Twelve months. Ratio: Three letters per quarter. Efficient agency. Respecting everyone's time.

"Your opening needs a hook." Added hook. "Not a literal— why is chapter one entirely about fishing?" "You said hook." "Metaphorical hook." "Page two is about metaphors. Also fishing metaphors."

Author bio: "Lives with cat." Cat's version: "I live alone. He exists nearby. Occasionally brings food. Acceptable arrangement. Will not be acknowledging him in my memoir."

Workshop critique: "Deus ex machina! Lazy writing!" Fine. Revised. Made god's appearance earned. God appeared in chapter 19. Looked around. Pulled out paperwork. "I've unionized," he said. "Speaking fee is 3000. Miracle fee is 8000. Saving protagonist from poor planning is 15000 plus residuals." Protagonist died. Workshop approved.

Book signing day. Arrived early. Table: ready. Pens: uncapped. Books: stacked. Two hours later. Table: ready. Pens: still uncapped. Books: still stacked. No people came. Except the chair. The chair came. The chair stayed. The chair saw everything. I don't use that chair anymore. It knows too much.