Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Dearest Mummy

Dearest Mummy, a letter from your son Reginald William Hempshaw III;
I am writing this letter upon advice of counsel, camp counsel that is, not legal (a little humor from your son). Mummy although I do miss you I must confess I miss Mayfield more, yes I know this is to be a learning experience for me but honestly how does one get by without his manservant. However, as I promised you I am giving it my best and I'm pushing on no matter how rudimentary the surroundings are.

Even though I am staying out here on the edge of civilization in the Lesser Hamptons, I have so far seen no effects on my health, except for sleep. Mummy I feel I can 'rough' it with the best of them and I hate to complain but let's be honest here there is a fine line between camping and just plain uncivilized, and I believe that trying to sleep between sheets with a thread count below 800 crosses that very line. As for the meals, let us just say they are truly different and yet somehow strangely tasteful. My usual summer morning repast consisting of croissants with clotted cream and fresh berries is not something they 'do here' I was told by the chef. In its place I was served some eggs and strips of meat that they called bacon. Mummy I have no idea what kind of animal this tasty food comes from but I strongly suggest you tell father to invest heavily in them.

The lads in my cabin are nice enough but if I ran this camp, I would do a more thorough investigation into attendees, you won't believe this, but two of my fellow bunkmates have parents who actually work for a living. I have met one fellow and we have become quite close, his name is Leonard Snodgrass (From the Connecticut Snodgrass' not the New York ones). We have become fast friends and allies as we try to fend off all the ruffians who insist on calling us Reggie and Lenny.

Well Mummy I must now sign off as it is time for afternoon activities. Leonard and I have signed up for sailing class even though we both are expert sailors. We think it will be a hoot to see the rubes try to teach us how to sail. So have no fear I will survive this camp and somehow come out the other side a better man and thus a better Hempshaw.
Your loving son,
Reginald William Hempshaw III

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