Camp Plot-a-Wanna: Postcards Home
CAMP PLOT-A-WANNA is a weekly 8-part series where Quirk Books staffers reimagine famous authors as pre-teens, stuck together at summer camp. Check out the rest of the posts here. It is also an entirely fictional place. Please don't have your parents drop you off at our offices with sleeping bags.
Camper J. Austen
My dearest Cassandra,
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted. We reached the top of the mountain trail yesterday, I do not (know) when, without suffering so much from the heat as I had hoped to do, and am already filled to the brim with the delectable nectar of bug juice and the curious confection they call "GORP." Ashamedly, I am returned with my hem six inches deep in mud, but no worse otherwise.
With best love, &c., I am affectionately yours,
Camper G. Chaucer
To myne owne most best parentes—
Whan that Jullie with his heat-waves hotte
The drought of Iune hath chasèd at a trot
And bathèd ev'ry camper in swych grosse swette—
Then i' the poole we clamor to get wette.
Amor vincit omnia,
Camper B. Potter
Dearest Mother & Father,
Once upon a time there was a little squirrel and her name was Beatrix. She was sent to a far-away wood at the edge of a lake full of children who yelled and whooped and said cruel things like "you aren't actually a squirrel, you weirdo." Beatrix made little rafts out of twigs and gathered nuts from the nut-bushes and slept under the leaves. The end.
Camper G. Stein
Campers camp and camp so do queens. Campers camp and campers and so campers camp and campers and so and so campers and so campers camp and so campers camp and campers and so. And so campers camp and so and also. And also and so and so and also.
P.S. Please send more underpants, please send send morepants please.
Camper M. Wollstonecraft
Camp Plot-A-Wanna, August 5th, 20—
TO Mistress Wollstonecraft, England
You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. The other children are the noblest and most innocent creatures, so much so that I cannot persuade a single comrade to dabble among the unhallowed damps of the grave or torture living animals to animate the lifeless clay. Alas! I have, however, made you a beautiful lanyard out of plastique cords (enclosed).