Here is a little something I have been toying with, just for fun, comment away!
CHAPTER ONE
It seemed like only a few days had passed, he sat in front of his computer monitor with his eyes burning from the dryness of the hot summer sun, which beamed into his 3rd bedroom through a window that was only exposed from 5 to sundown (the hours he wasn’t at his regular job), it was nightfall now, and soon there would be relief through the cooler night air. With sweat beading down his brow, he reached for the glass of iced tea his wife had brought him only moments ago. She was here for the big moment.
Over one year. Had it been that long? Is it even possible? Truthfully it didn’t matter; this was a work of love. He sat back with great satisfaction, with his eyes scanning the 342 pages he had worked on for close to 13 months. It contained mystery, romance, and betrayal. Truly this was a testament to personal growth.
His wife had sat back and observed as he spent every waking hour on the story that started as a way to pass time during his lunch breaks and the evenings when his wife would be busy with the kinds of duties a teacher takes home with her regularly. It was summer now and she had a few months of relaxation time before the beginning of the fall semester. She had been very patient to this point, but was looking forward to the finished product, and the return of the man she knew to their nest in front of the television. He didn’t particularly like her programs but suffered through it because it allowed for more liberties when it came to his pastimes, which, he would now be able to become re-acquainted with.
With a deep satisfaction apparent in his voice and a glimmer in his eye he turned and told her: “It’s done”.
She approached the desk which had acted as a backstop for his conjurations with scrap paper and notes strewn about. It resembled what an accomplished writer might sit at day after day. He of course was far less of an accomplished writer, and more of a moonlighter, in his eyes he could never keep pace with the likes of Dean Koontz, or John Grisham; his all time favorite story teller.
After reading the first several pages, she slumped back onto the futon she had inhabited occasionally as he furiously pounded on the keys, for what seemed like forever to a pair of newlyweds.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s good. I’m just tired.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah, It’s 11:30, I’ve done a lot today and I just want to sit and relax.”
“Relax?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way honey, I’ll read it when I get a chance.”
“But this is kind of a big moment for me, I just wrote a novel for Christ’s sake!”
“I know honey, and I can tell from the beginning that it is going to be great, but I want to be clear when I sit down to read it so I can fully appreciate it.”
This would be the closest thing to an acceptable explanation he would hear, and it was enough. He didn’t feel like starting a 3 hour session of bickering over her lack of enthusiasm, not today, this was special.
She gave him a hug and a kiss and whispered a congratulatory word in his ear and made her way downstairs. Soon he could hear the buzz of the television, the white noise he had grown accustomed to. It was time for one of her favorite reality shows. As he focused on the screen looking for ways to improve his masterpiece, the noise from the lower level faded into a murmur. He was back in the zone, but he wouldn’t change anything that wouldn’t be changed back immediately. This was a work that had been scrutinized and re-read over a hundred times; in his mind it was perfect.
“Honey, are you coming to bed?”
He was shaken out of his trance.
“Yes.”
“Well come on.”
“I’m going to have a shower.”
“Okay” (Yawning)
He saved the novel to his computer and made two copies on a thumb drive and a disk. He placed the disk in his fire safe, and the thumb drive on the chain around his neck, he followed his wife down the stairs and kissed her goodnight. She would be fast asleep by the time he got there.
In the shower his mind raced with thoughts of the following days.
“Who should I see about this?”
“Should I see anyone?”
“Is it good enough to show?”
Unbeknownst to him all these questions would be answered; it was just a matter of time.
He crawled into bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin as he had done since childhood.
“Good night.” A faint voice muttered from the opposing side of the bed.
“Good night sweetheart.”
It seemed like only a few days had passed, he sat in front of his computer monitor with his eyes burning from the dryness of the hot summer sun, which beamed into his 3rd bedroom through a window that was only exposed from 5 to sundown (the hours he wasn’t at his regular job), it was nightfall now, and soon there would be relief through the cooler night air. With sweat beading down his brow, he reached for the glass of iced tea his wife had brought him only moments ago. She was here for the big moment.
Over one year. Had it been that long? Is it even possible? Truthfully it didn’t matter; this was a work of love. He sat back with great satisfaction, with his eyes scanning the 342 pages he had worked on for close to 13 months. It contained mystery, romance, and betrayal. Truly this was a testament to personal growth.
His wife had sat back and observed as he spent every waking hour on the story that started as a way to pass time during his lunch breaks and the evenings when his wife would be busy with the kinds of duties a teacher takes home with her regularly. It was summer now and she had a few months of relaxation time before the beginning of the fall semester. She had been very patient to this point, but was looking forward to the finished product, and the return of the man she knew to their nest in front of the television. He didn’t particularly like her programs but suffered through it because it allowed for more liberties when it came to his pastimes, which, he would now be able to become re-acquainted with.
With a deep satisfaction apparent in his voice and a glimmer in his eye he turned and told her: “It’s done”.
She approached the desk which had acted as a backstop for his conjurations with scrap paper and notes strewn about. It resembled what an accomplished writer might sit at day after day. He of course was far less of an accomplished writer, and more of a moonlighter, in his eyes he could never keep pace with the likes of Dean Koontz, or John Grisham; his all time favorite story teller.
After reading the first several pages, she slumped back onto the futon she had inhabited occasionally as he furiously pounded on the keys, for what seemed like forever to a pair of newlyweds.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s good. I’m just tired.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah, It’s 11:30, I’ve done a lot today and I just want to sit and relax.”
“Relax?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way honey, I’ll read it when I get a chance.”
“But this is kind of a big moment for me, I just wrote a novel for Christ’s sake!”
“I know honey, and I can tell from the beginning that it is going to be great, but I want to be clear when I sit down to read it so I can fully appreciate it.”
This would be the closest thing to an acceptable explanation he would hear, and it was enough. He didn’t feel like starting a 3 hour session of bickering over her lack of enthusiasm, not today, this was special.
She gave him a hug and a kiss and whispered a congratulatory word in his ear and made her way downstairs. Soon he could hear the buzz of the television, the white noise he had grown accustomed to. It was time for one of her favorite reality shows. As he focused on the screen looking for ways to improve his masterpiece, the noise from the lower level faded into a murmur. He was back in the zone, but he wouldn’t change anything that wouldn’t be changed back immediately. This was a work that had been scrutinized and re-read over a hundred times; in his mind it was perfect.
“Honey, are you coming to bed?”
He was shaken out of his trance.
“Yes.”
“Well come on.”
“I’m going to have a shower.”
“Okay” (Yawning)
He saved the novel to his computer and made two copies on a thumb drive and a disk. He placed the disk in his fire safe, and the thumb drive on the chain around his neck, he followed his wife down the stairs and kissed her goodnight. She would be fast asleep by the time he got there.
In the shower his mind raced with thoughts of the following days.
“Who should I see about this?”
“Should I see anyone?”
“Is it good enough to show?”
Unbeknownst to him all these questions would be answered; it was just a matter of time.
He crawled into bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin as he had done since childhood.
“Good night.” A faint voice muttered from the opposing side of the bed.
“Good night sweetheart.”
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