Helen, I'd start off by praising what you like--the creativity, the funny--and praising it highly. Then I'd pick one or two areas for improvement, preferably ones that are concrete and easy to explain, and say something along the lines of, "If you want to make your writing stronger for future works..." and give specific ideas of how to fix the problems.

Helena Handbasket

Oh, yay! Love the name. (We used to joke, "I been looking all over hell 'n' creation!" "And I bet Helen smacked you, didn't she?")

What to do about a bad essay? It being completed, suggesting edits is out the window. It's still possible to say, "I wonder if your prof will take it in the way you intend it," and other long-view advice, though.

Also, you've already said something nice about it:

it is creative and incredibly amusing

Tell her that, first.

There's always, "My, what an essay!"

Allyson, there's a quote by you in the BRQG about how you refer to all romance novel heroes as Lance Steelcock.

Huh.

Anyone who can come up with Lance Steelcock deserves cookies.

Helena, I edit a fair bit and I've ended up with a few of those moments (mercifully few). They're never fun. I'm nodding along with Nutty and Susan, but if this was me, I'd probably add something along the lines of "truthfully, I'm not sure the way you've executed the premise is going to get you the result you're hoping for".

Thanks so much for all of the advice. I'm feeling more like I can talk to my friend (whom I have been carefully avoiding) again and, more importantly, like I can actually help her to improve her writing without offending or causing needless angst.

"I been looking all over hell 'n' creation!" "And I bet Helen smacked you, didn't she?"

heh I've never heard that one but I'm always in favour of Helen puns (there are so many -- I once met a Helen who insisted on being called "Helen Wheels").

Out of the closet drabble:

The darkness had swallowed them whole. It was uncomfortably warm, and it smelled like damp wool and forgotten things, and faintly of beer. She heard him breathing beside her. He's too close. No—not close enough.

His hand, when it came, was rough and hot. His mouth was a surprise—smooth and wet and tart—and so were his fingers, tangled in her hair.

This is what boys taste like. Or was it just this boy?

When the door opened, she blinked into the curious faces waiting on the other side.

One answer now, but a dozen new questions.

GoddAYUM, I love that, amy.

Oh, yes. That's a wonderful one. Very much a reminder of days past, Halloween parties at 17. Fun!

Thanks, ma'am! Just channeling my inner teen today, I suppose.