J. Treacy Cole is a failure. The last time she had any measure of writing success was when she wrote a story about a thunderstorm. Her father was impressed. “You know, most eight-year-olds don’t do that. They don’t spontaneously write stories about weather events.” Her next serious writing task was at the age of nineteen—a novel about the death of her parents titled The Fog that Ate Robin Donnelly’s Mind. The novel showed promise, but the author understood it to be that crappy novel you have to write before you learn to write a good one—which isn’t fair—it was pretty decent writing. Even so, its fundamental value was cheap therapy for the author. Post parental-deaths, Cole became a much better writer. She took classes at The New School and Harvard Extension and was always a favorite of the professors. Her Harvard Prof assured her that she would rise above the slush piles, but so far that hasn’t happened. Cole admires actress Vera Farmiga and wrote two screenplays meant for her. These won quite a few awards which stroked her ego and made money for the film festivals that sponsored the contests. Then she turned her attention to a friend's novella which she adapted into the screenplay Helen Hires a Hitman. Sometimes she uses adverbs, and rarely parentheses, but she genuinely worships the em dash.
