Hey Nicholas Sparks,

Yeah, you, the doughboy in the polo. Hi.

Look, Nick, can I call you Nick? Nick, let’s be real here. You goofed up. You know it. I know it. The whole publishing industry knows it. Yes, you blatantly discriminated against LGBTQ+ students at the Christian school you founded. Sure, you aggressively attempted to suppress children who wanted to protest the hatred directed towards them within your hallowed halls. And fine, you tried to sabotage and slander faculty members who spoke out against your draconian logic. Also, you said some pretty gross things about black people.

But come on, who hasn’t made mistakes? Maybe not to the same extent you have (we aren’t all monsters), but no need to beat a dead horse. A man who wrote an entire novel about a hunky cowboy and titled it The Longest Ride can’t be that homophobic, right?

So here’s my pitch, Nick: It’s not too late for you to save your public image. All you need to do is write a gay romance. And here’s the best part. You’re already an expert!

How many men can say they’ve spent the better part of their lives dreaming up perfect, sexy, hunky boys to sweep readers off their feet? Nick, you sat down and thought, “You know what would be hot? A rippling young lad in a tam hat, hanging off a ferris wheel to get someone to notice him, his muscles bulging ever so slightly.” You gave me the image of Noah Calhoun from The Notebook thrusting me down on the kitchen table, his powerful thumb digging into my hairy lower back as he rips off my jock strap. Your brain created that.

You also birthed popular bad boy Landon Carter in A Walk to Remember, damaged marine Logan Thibault in The Lucky One, and beach boy/aquarium volunteer Will Blakelee in The Last Song. You’re batting 100. You have a rare gift for imagining sexy men.

And let’s be honest here: The female characters you write are all self-inserts. Your women are indisputably the weakest parts of all your novels, generic stock characters who boil down to a single character trait like “rebellious” or “sickly” or “nice.” I’m not saying this to knock you down, Nick. Self-insert characters work wonders for the breed of romance you concoct, because they allow anyone––female, male, or otherwise––to picture themselves being held by the manly-man arms you’ve crafted with your words.

All I’m getting at is that, clearly, your talents lie in your ability to imagine hot boys. So why not double down? Instead of writing up another pesky, self-insert lady to be romanced, you could try coming up with two hot boys who romance each other. For instance, maybe your next novel could be about a passionate love affair between a troubled oil rig worker and a successful surgeon (both men). They can perform grand gestures for one another, like sending overblown, sappy love letters at the same time and each giving up their respective coin collections to save each other’s dying mothers. I’m not saying you need to use these ideas exactly; you’re the expert here. I’m just riffing to help you get started.

As for the sex scenes, my main suggestion would be to take the ones you already have and just imagine a little more chest hair, or maybe think about all the things you could do with two screwdrivers or a pair of corn dogs. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

I sincerely hope you’ll consider my suggestion, Nick. Considering how badly you goofed, I just don’t see another way out of this for you. You either need to write a gay romance or accept the fact that you’re a homophobic, discriminatory villain. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.

Sincerely,

A reader who easily pictures himself having sex with your already believably gay male characters

P.S. Maybe make one of them black to try fixing your new racist image, too. Because jeez, Nick, you’re super racist.