I would like to take this opportunity to point out how dumb we are

You guys! We didn't write an author letter to Elizabeth Crane! Let's do it now(ish)! It will make us happy!

Lydia, oh Lydia, say have you met Lydia?

Here's what I sent to McSweeney's:

Dear Editors,

Please forward the following letter to Lydia Davis.

Thanks and smooches!
Venom Literati

Dear Lydia Davis,

Venom Literati would like to invite you to our meeting tonight at Ginger's Ale House where we will be discussing Samuel Johnson is Indignant, as well as the hotly-debated theme of pee in literature. Have you written any pee stories lately? If not, could you please write one that we can post on our blog?

Actually, we might not get around to discussing SJII because we're all pretty much helpless in the face of the smoking ban. In other words, we will be turning to alcohol. Know this, Lydia: We will share with you our Skinny Bitches. When you share a Skinny Bitch, you are bonded for life.

Also, if we were the girl that turned into a tree that then turned into a stone, we would totally be the girl that turned into a gimlet that then turned into a cigarette butt.

Venom Literati loves you.

It is too late for Lydia Davis

Well, we haven't written an author letter to Lydia Davis inviting her to our meeting tonight, so it is highly unlikely that she will attend.

Oh well.

I like this photo of her because she looks startled.

And here is a link to McSweeney's Lydia Davis week, so we can all be up on our trivia--that way, maybe we'll actually talk about the book. Or not. You know, whatevs.

So Many Mirandas

Friday, we meet.

In preparation, we must choose a ridiculous and somewhat awesome celebrity (or demi-celebrity) to invite to the meeting, and we must write a letter to Miranda Mellis.

My vote for ridiculous demi-celebrity is the recently ousted Domenico from A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila. He probably doesn't have much else to do.

Here's a beginning to the letter:

Hey Miranda,

Do people ever call you Randy? Somehow I doubt it. But who am I to think I know you just because I read your book?

Please continue in the comments.

Dear Novelist

Hiya David Markson,

You are invited to our meeting.
So said Venom Literati, just before they tried to leave the internet through the fireplace.

We have questions only you can answer. If you like, you can bring many notecards filled with quotes from other people and answer our questions evasively--or even at random. That could be fun.

We just want to see your sunshine-y face.

Smoochers,
VL

Edit and add at will, ladies.

I'm so insecure: He was just in Berlin

Dear Venom Literari--

Sorry for my delay in responding. I was in Berlin.

Questions #1 and #2 stump me. [Question #1: Why do people clap in movie theaters? Do they think the actors can hear them? Question #2: Why do old ladies make orgasmic noises while whale watching?]

Question #3: "Convolute" (or: "Konvolut") is the word Walter Benjamin used for the subdivisions in his Arcades Project. I take "Konvolut" to be a synonym for "dossier," which was Joseph Cornell's word for his files. I think that, in German, "Konvolut" also means "faggot" (as in a bundle of kindling). If I were to picture a Konvolut: it looks like the cone of cheap paper used for wrapping (or sustaining) cotton candy.

Question #4: I just finished reading David Markson's The Last Novel. I love his work. It's full of hotel (wo)men: he seems to suggest that all true artists are hotel women at heart.

Yours truly,
Wayne

[Sarah]: Sigh. I just love that Wayne Koestenbaum. And looks like we have our next book.

Did we go too far?

Encouraged by the query at the end of Wayne Koestenbaum's letter to us, we decided to write to him and let him know how our discussion went. Penned beautifully by Megan, the letter was a synopsis of our meeting and also contained a request for a book recommendation.

Wayne has not written back; whereas, the last time we wrote him, he wrote back in, like, 10 minutes. I am in the throes of caffeine withdrawal right now, which makes me think nobody likes me, but in the case of Wayne, I am afraid it might be true.

My impulse is to bombard him with more letters and drive him away permanently. I wish it mattered to him how hot we all are.

The Hotel Women Gently Stalk Wayne Koestenbaum

Dear Wayne Koestenbaum,

Whoa--Hotel Theory--whoa--we are waaaay smarter now, Wayne. We have also all devolved into Hotel Women.

You're invited to come to our meeting at which we will discuss it. We will ask you questions, like: Which column did you write first? Or was it all higgledy-piggledy?

Liberace will be at meeting, too. Or if he is not, there will be blowup doll in his likeness. Also, there will be vats of suntan oil we can rub on his ass in unison.

Missy was disappointed that Cheryl was lame in book. In real life Cheryl stabbed that guy named Johnny Stompanato with kitchen knife, which actually makes her awesome.

Megan is certain that you were her agent at Apartment People in Chicago when she first moved here. You tried to rip her off with studio by lake for like 900 bucks per month. You were wearing that same pinstriped suit and smartypants glasses you're wearing in your Hotel Theory photo. She thought you were lying about your name being Wayne. We still believe you may be lying about it.

Come to our meeting to prove you're not.

Your friends,

Venom Literati

Is it possible to be a hotel woman in today's day and age?

Guess what, my sweet bitches? It's time to write another letter, this time to our soon-to-be new-best-friend Wayne Kostenbaum.

I will start. Also, I will make a rule: You may not use any articles (a, an, the), like in Hotel Women.

Dear Wayne Kostenbaum,

Which column did you write first? Or was it all higgledy-piggledy?

If anyone knows Alan, please tell him this letter awaits him here.

Dear Alan Moore,

You seem reclusive. You have bangin' hair. We are also reclusives with bangin' hair, which is why we would like to invite you to the next meeting of our literary collective, Venom Literati.

We will be discussing Watchmen. Also, we are totally a gang of awesome female superheroes: Subtle Sabotage, The Interruptor, The Voice, The Blade and The Lovernator.

We will throw a cream pie at you, promise and forget to pay your mobile phone bill, sing you to sleep, derail you mid-speech, and make what you suspect to be--but can't quite confirm is--a really cutting remark.

Did I mention that we're super-hot? And not just ComicCon hot. Actual hot.

If you do not show, you will spend the rest of your life fearing Awkward Silence.

Your friends,

Venom Literati

Don't feel sad, Tao Lin. We'll write to you, too.

It's time to write to our favorite terrifyingly bearded graphic novelist, Alan Moore.

By the way, I like the idea of giving the authors of our book club books short-notice invitations. Maybe in 25 years, every author around the globe will feel a tingling anticipation twice a month: Will this time be the one? Will they receive the VL invite? Just think, all of that potential for joy or devastation resting in our hot little hands. The power!

Also, I don't like that we're a "book club." It makes me feel simultaneously like a second grader and a suburban mom. Let's be a collective or something instead.

I'll start:

Dear Alan Moore,

You seem like you're reclusive.

Tao Lin's superpower is being awesome.

In preparation for our foray into the world of graphic novels with The Watchmen, I think each of us should identify our superpower, and come up with a superhero name.

We will be able to use this information when we write to Alan Moore.

This is my superpower: I can take a lot of information and synthesize it quickly. I can also read really, really fast. Thus, I am The Librarian. (So, in direct opposition to tradition, my glasses are part of my costume, rather than part of my disguise.)

Abby is The Interruptor. This is useful when trying to deflect people from giving you news you don't want to hear, for example.

What are your powers, fellow Literati?