Something Frustrating
This was extremely unlike Edward. It had taken him more than an hour just to decide on the colour of his tie. His long hair had been combed back. His facial hair had been trimmed and shaven in the right places, and he actually applied moisturising cream to his hands and arms -- something he had grown up doing, but haven't done in a couple of years.
After standing in front of the humungous, floor-to-ceiling mirror wall in his room, trying to compare the differences between a red tie he had acquired for his prom back in the day, and a red tie he had acquired for the relaunch and rebranding party for the technology blog he served as Editor In Chief for, Edward finally let out a disappointed sigh and sat down on his bed.
He looked over to the bedside alarm clock and then fell down on his back, wishing that he had never sent his manuscript - unfinished and unedited - to the publisher.
"Now you're just being a sissy," he told himself and turned his face so that he could see himself in the mirror, "get up, you p-"
"-Hey man" was all Edward could make out as JR burst through his door.
Edward sat upright and closed his eyes, secretly wishing that JR could still be out cold, and in his own bedroom. He didn't have any need whatsoever to talk to anyone. At least not until after his meeting with the publisher and after he had downed at least one full glass of clean whiskey.
"Hello?" JR exclaimed brightly, and waved his hand awkwardly in front of Edward's face.
Sucking up his own frustration, Edward opened his eyes, forced a grin and said: "Hey man..."
"Hey!"
And as quickly as that, the frustration came back. "What do you want, dude?"
"You have that meeting today!"
"That, I do."
"Do you think they'll accept it? Your book."
"I hope so," Edward replied and got up from the bed. "Do me a favour?"
"Anything, man. You know me!"
Yes I do... "Can you feed my cat while I'm out? It's Friday and I usually feed her a bit earlier than usual on Fridays." ...And please don't feed her anything but the canned food...
"Of course, dude! You feed her those cans in the cupboard, yeah?"
"Since there's only one cat in this household, yeah. Those belong to her."
"Yes sir! But I gotta run -- got a phone call. Been speaking with that girl from the other night. Apparently she's not Berrie's type!"
And as fast as Edward could think the words: thank you, JR was already out the door and down the hallway.
Letting out another sigh, Edward walked over to his drawer, put both of the ties back, and instead grabbed a plain black tie that he couldn't even remember buying before he slowly made his way to the door, closed it and headed downstairs. Ed stopped in the kitchen to grab an apple, then looked at his watch and figured that he still had some time to make some coffee, so he put the kettle on and got his travel mug ready. It was only after he made coffee that he noticed a little blue sticky note on the island counter.
Ed walked over to it, leaned onto the counter and looked at the note, which read: 'Don't eat apples! Didn't have time to throw them out before leaving.'
As soon as he read the note, he threw the already-bitten apple over his head, into the dustbin behind him. He didn't want to worry himself too much with bad apples, so he didn't bother spitting the piece that he had been busy chewing out, and swallowed it instead before taking a big gulp of the coffee he had just poured.
He then took the note from the island counter, and stuck it onto the bowl that held all the apples so JR could see when he was done with his phone call, and possibly not get food poisoning. Knowing him, though, he would eat the apples anyway.
Edward then grabbed his keys and went through the backdoor which connected directly with the garage. He got into his car, reversed out the driveway and, after taking a deep breath, drove off toward his meeting.
An hour had passed, and he still hadn't seen the agent. The waiting was killing him -- even if it was only to hear the fate of the manuscript that he had sent in. As he sat in the waiting area, he listened to the constant clickity-clacking of the receptionist's typing, which he was sure was dedicated mostly to Facebook status updates and tweeting than actually doing much of a job.
He did think that she was quite cute, though, being the young-receptionist-cliché that she was with her cute smile, short brown hair, and soft brown eyes. Her ample breasts was simply a plus, though a plus nonetheless. He had to remember to get her number on his way out.
"You can go in now," she said, smiling back at him as he watched her get up from her chair. "Good luck!"
"Thanks," Ed replied with as handsome a smile he could muster, then got up and walked into the office around the corner.
He was met by a rather pudgy old geezer with a bald head and a huge smile as soon as entered the office.
"Ah! mister Swardt, I believe!"
"Yes, hello," Edward said as he was half-escorted to the chair and sat down. The agent was a strange old fellow, acting like he did. Too enthusiastic. The last time Ed had been met with that kind of enthusiasm was when he could have had a publishing deal of five books, so long as it met to each and every stipulation of the company, who's editors had already raped just about every page in his manuscript. All that could be said is that the deal never went through, and that he had been given a very bad impression of publishers from then on out.
The agent smiled broadly as he made his way around the huge mahogany desk and sat down in what looked almost like a throne made out of leather and cheap-looking plated gold. Edward already felt inclined to just get to the point and tell them that he wasn't interested in their "corporate editing process" and that he could go and stick it where it would hurt, when the agent stuck out his hand and slammed his index finger repeatedly onto the manuscript that lay on the desk.
"This. Is. Amazing."
"It is?" Edward asked, practically dumbfounded.
"It's exactly what the world that is literature needs! It's filled with cheesy grit and passionate, cheap deaths!"
"Sorry? What are you talking about, as the story I submitted only had one death at the time."
The agent then sat back down and looked at Edward much more seriously than at first. He laid back in the chair, then turned his head toward the window which looked like a massive painting of the city's skyline. "You see, Mr. Swardt -- this is exactly why your story was sent down to me. I get all of the stories that the others aren't too sure at. And most of them are crap. But for once, once in my life I have found something which I think may be a bestseller. And I think your story is that something. I want you to finish this manuscript. I want you to bring it to me - personally - and we can talk about deals. But I see the potential, Edward! I love it so far, and I'm certain that I will when it is finished!"
Edward sat back in his chair and contemplated what he had just been told. Never did he have someone like this tell him not to change his story one bit. He sat back, upright and extended his hand.
The agent smiled at him as they shook hands.
Ed walked through the door of his home just before the sun hit the horizon. JR was in the living room, watching something involving chimpanzees, by the sound of it. He threw the keys on the kitchen's island counter, and headed toward the library on the other side of the house, where Ian usually spent his early weekend evenings if he didn't go out.
"Hey dude," Ian said as he looked up at Edward who entered the library. He had been busy studying some parchments, which was all laid out on the huge desk in front of him. There were a couple more on the edge of the desk, against the wall.
"Hey!"
"Judging by your mood, I'd say you got the deal?"
"Not quite," Edward replied and leaned over the table to study the parchments too.
"Hmm, but it's well on its way there."
Edward nodded with a smile, and then tapped the right-most parchment, which also looked like the oldest. "I think you're looking for that one. Sometimes you tend to overlook the simplest of things."
Ian gave Ed a quick glance and then picked the parchment up from the table, studied it, and smiled in approval. "Thanks."
"Only a pleasure," Edward said as he made his way out of the library, but stopped the moment he reached the archway and turned back to Ian. "Thanks for helping me send that manuscript in," he said, turned around and headed upstairs.
After standing in front of the humungous, floor-to-ceiling mirror wall in his room, trying to compare the differences between a red tie he had acquired for his prom back in the day, and a red tie he had acquired for the relaunch and rebranding party for the technology blog he served as Editor In Chief for, Edward finally let out a disappointed sigh and sat down on his bed.
He looked over to the bedside alarm clock and then fell down on his back, wishing that he had never sent his manuscript - unfinished and unedited - to the publisher.
"Now you're just being a sissy," he told himself and turned his face so that he could see himself in the mirror, "get up, you p-"
"-Hey man" was all Edward could make out as JR burst through his door.
Edward sat upright and closed his eyes, secretly wishing that JR could still be out cold, and in his own bedroom. He didn't have any need whatsoever to talk to anyone. At least not until after his meeting with the publisher and after he had downed at least one full glass of clean whiskey.
"Hello?" JR exclaimed brightly, and waved his hand awkwardly in front of Edward's face.
Sucking up his own frustration, Edward opened his eyes, forced a grin and said: "Hey man..."
"Hey!"
And as quickly as that, the frustration came back. "What do you want, dude?"
"You have that meeting today!"
"That, I do."
"Do you think they'll accept it? Your book."
"I hope so," Edward replied and got up from the bed. "Do me a favour?"
"Anything, man. You know me!"
Yes I do... "Can you feed my cat while I'm out? It's Friday and I usually feed her a bit earlier than usual on Fridays." ...And please don't feed her anything but the canned food...
"Of course, dude! You feed her those cans in the cupboard, yeah?"
"Since there's only one cat in this household, yeah. Those belong to her."
"Yes sir! But I gotta run -- got a phone call. Been speaking with that girl from the other night. Apparently she's not Berrie's type!"
And as fast as Edward could think the words: thank you, JR was already out the door and down the hallway.
Letting out another sigh, Edward walked over to his drawer, put both of the ties back, and instead grabbed a plain black tie that he couldn't even remember buying before he slowly made his way to the door, closed it and headed downstairs. Ed stopped in the kitchen to grab an apple, then looked at his watch and figured that he still had some time to make some coffee, so he put the kettle on and got his travel mug ready. It was only after he made coffee that he noticed a little blue sticky note on the island counter.
Ed walked over to it, leaned onto the counter and looked at the note, which read: 'Don't eat apples! Didn't have time to throw them out before leaving.'
As soon as he read the note, he threw the already-bitten apple over his head, into the dustbin behind him. He didn't want to worry himself too much with bad apples, so he didn't bother spitting the piece that he had been busy chewing out, and swallowed it instead before taking a big gulp of the coffee he had just poured.
He then took the note from the island counter, and stuck it onto the bowl that held all the apples so JR could see when he was done with his phone call, and possibly not get food poisoning. Knowing him, though, he would eat the apples anyway.
Edward then grabbed his keys and went through the backdoor which connected directly with the garage. He got into his car, reversed out the driveway and, after taking a deep breath, drove off toward his meeting.
An hour had passed, and he still hadn't seen the agent. The waiting was killing him -- even if it was only to hear the fate of the manuscript that he had sent in. As he sat in the waiting area, he listened to the constant clickity-clacking of the receptionist's typing, which he was sure was dedicated mostly to Facebook status updates and tweeting than actually doing much of a job.
He did think that she was quite cute, though, being the young-receptionist-cliché that she was with her cute smile, short brown hair, and soft brown eyes. Her ample breasts was simply a plus, though a plus nonetheless. He had to remember to get her number on his way out.
"You can go in now," she said, smiling back at him as he watched her get up from her chair. "Good luck!"
"Thanks," Ed replied with as handsome a smile he could muster, then got up and walked into the office around the corner.
He was met by a rather pudgy old geezer with a bald head and a huge smile as soon as entered the office.
"Ah! mister Swardt, I believe!"
"Yes, hello," Edward said as he was half-escorted to the chair and sat down. The agent was a strange old fellow, acting like he did. Too enthusiastic. The last time Ed had been met with that kind of enthusiasm was when he could have had a publishing deal of five books, so long as it met to each and every stipulation of the company, who's editors had already raped just about every page in his manuscript. All that could be said is that the deal never went through, and that he had been given a very bad impression of publishers from then on out.
The agent smiled broadly as he made his way around the huge mahogany desk and sat down in what looked almost like a throne made out of leather and cheap-looking plated gold. Edward already felt inclined to just get to the point and tell them that he wasn't interested in their "corporate editing process" and that he could go and stick it where it would hurt, when the agent stuck out his hand and slammed his index finger repeatedly onto the manuscript that lay on the desk.
"This. Is. Amazing."
"It is?" Edward asked, practically dumbfounded.
"It's exactly what the world that is literature needs! It's filled with cheesy grit and passionate, cheap deaths!"
"Sorry? What are you talking about, as the story I submitted only had one death at the time."
The agent then sat back down and looked at Edward much more seriously than at first. He laid back in the chair, then turned his head toward the window which looked like a massive painting of the city's skyline. "You see, Mr. Swardt -- this is exactly why your story was sent down to me. I get all of the stories that the others aren't too sure at. And most of them are crap. But for once, once in my life I have found something which I think may be a bestseller. And I think your story is that something. I want you to finish this manuscript. I want you to bring it to me - personally - and we can talk about deals. But I see the potential, Edward! I love it so far, and I'm certain that I will when it is finished!"
Edward sat back in his chair and contemplated what he had just been told. Never did he have someone like this tell him not to change his story one bit. He sat back, upright and extended his hand.
The agent smiled at him as they shook hands.
Ed walked through the door of his home just before the sun hit the horizon. JR was in the living room, watching something involving chimpanzees, by the sound of it. He threw the keys on the kitchen's island counter, and headed toward the library on the other side of the house, where Ian usually spent his early weekend evenings if he didn't go out.
"Hey dude," Ian said as he looked up at Edward who entered the library. He had been busy studying some parchments, which was all laid out on the huge desk in front of him. There were a couple more on the edge of the desk, against the wall.
"Hey!"
"Judging by your mood, I'd say you got the deal?"
"Not quite," Edward replied and leaned over the table to study the parchments too.
"Hmm, but it's well on its way there."
Edward nodded with a smile, and then tapped the right-most parchment, which also looked like the oldest. "I think you're looking for that one. Sometimes you tend to overlook the simplest of things."
Ian gave Ed a quick glance and then picked the parchment up from the table, studied it, and smiled in approval. "Thanks."
"Only a pleasure," Edward said as he made his way out of the library, but stopped the moment he reached the archway and turned back to Ian. "Thanks for helping me send that manuscript in," he said, turned around and headed upstairs.