Dear James, you're a pansy.

It is embarrassing enough that you had to call your fiction a memoir in order to get it published. Why did you have to roll over on Oprah, too? You couldn’t even defend your choices as a writer of fiction. It was like watching Principal Oprah discuss an eleven-year-old’s misbehavior with his parents. (You actually did go on national television with your Momma recently, didn’t you?) You hunched there sad sack like a child who knew he was supposed to look remorseful, but couldn’t entirely hide his confusion and resentment. Like a child counting the minutes until he could run back to the playground and pull Suzy’s pigtails again.

If you don’t think you’re a liar and you don’t think your actions need justification, then why go on TV at all? To sell more books, perhaps? But wouldn’t sincere, unqualified apology or—conversely—fierce defiance generate more sales? Your… I don’t know what else to call it… your pansy yammering served no purpose.

-Lee

* Send letters for James to jamesfreyowesmemoney@gmail.com.