To Henry: I'm sorry that you lost your band, your ex said there was no way in hell she'd ever get back together with you, your good friend fucked her, you keep getting drunk and throwing up in every story I write, and that you're going to die in a future story. Oh, and that I never get back to your story thread these days. But you've at least got some fun out of it--and if you'd stayed sober enough to check out what Lee's cousin had to say, you'd've made a new start in the big city. And, dude, you really have got to learn that losing your temper in front of customers, especially to the point where you destroy their personal property, is just not a good thing. Mmkay?
To Diane: I'm sorry that your ex is an alcoholic dork, that I got you engaged and impregnated by a mean jerk, that I started a story with your arrest for arson, and that you came into my mind solely as a way to explore someone going absolutely insane over time. But be thankful that I've changed my stories and scrapped the original arcs. And hey, at least I never fully detail the bad things that I put you into--after all, for all you or the readers know, you're just fine and well adjusted and enjoyably single and childless.
To Scrib: I'm sorry I made your writing career so hopeless and that you died while shooting a whole bunch of innocent people. But you also have to recognize when you're about to be run over by the plot device truck--particularly when it's being driven by the writer's anger and depression. And you're going to be famous, or at least notorious, after your death. So it's all good in the long run.
To Stephen: I'm sorry I made you betray your friend and angst over it. But you got a fun night and a damn booty call out of it, so quit bitching. At least you're not perpetually drunk, obsessing over an ex, jobless, and soon-to-be-dead.
To Whitson: I'm sorry that I made you into a one-dimensional shrill paranoid evangelical fear-mongering gun nut. But on the other hand, you are a one-dimensional shrill paranoid evangelical fear-mongering gun nut.
To Brian: I'm sorry your students are such wooden-heads, and that your colleagues are far more concerned about their little cliques and reputations than advancing the cause of literary knowledge. ......Have a cookie.