By Miss Malaclara Weatherfax
Children,
If you are reading this, then congratulations: your soul still itches. The Clacks found you. Or you found the Clacks. Either way, it means you haven’t yet succumbed to the mass-induced stupor of polite society, decorative outrage, and those abominable oat milk lattes they sell in cities that no longer sleep — just scroll.
Allow me to introduce myself properly, as decorum demands — though I make no promises to keep it.
I am Miss Malaclara Weatherfax, senior correspondent emeritus of the Weather, the Wyrd, and the Why-the-Hell-Not. I have outlived husbands, empires, six editors, and at least one god. I do not write advice. I dispense it like arsenic in a teacup: prettily, pointedly, and only if you deserve it.
This column — Dear Maraclara — is not a place for the weak of spirit, the flaccid of spine, or those who require trigger warnings before encountering the unvarnished truth. I will not hug your feelings. I will not coddle your outrage. I will not pander to your self-diagnosed crises unless they come with footnotes, a map, and a letter from your ancestors apologizing for letting the bloodline decline.
Instead, I offer:
- Answers to questions you were too afraid to ask in therapy.
- Refutations of nonsense you’ve internalized from mediocre lovers.
- And the occasional recipe for hexing landlords using only rice, despair, and expired laundry soap.
So go on. Write in. Send your crumbling morals, your tangled family dramas, your “situationships,” your clandestine revolutions, and your clumsily coded clacks. I don’t care if it’s real or fictional or somewhere in between. Neither does the tower.
The world is cracked. The lines are humming. And I have ink enough for all of you.
Affectionately and abrasively yours,
Miss Malaclara Weatherfax
Still kicking. Still clacking. Still dangerous in corduroy.
Got a mess you can’t mop up?
A betrayal festering like bad cheese in a summer cellar?
A question so ugly even your friends wince when you ask?
Good. Write to me.
📨 Submit your letter to Miss Maraclara here:
👉 https://clacksleak.com/📨-leaks-submissions/
Anonymity not guaranteed. Dignity neither. But catharsis? Almost certain.
All submissions are subject to scorched rebuttal, unsolicited wisdom, and mild public shaming — with love, of course.