A Writer Named Christie

Three days until the end of January and I will have written a story every day for a month! Hopefully, there will have been a lot of variety. I will continue to endeavour to write something every day. Here's to three more days of January and to welcoming February in, the month of romance and extra days every so often.

Check out L.C. Schäfer's challenge here:

***

She felt like she had a chance. She had submitted her manuscript to the publishers. She had been optimistic about the fact that they were an old world publisher, asked for a hard copy and that she had written an historical fiction - that seemed to align. She also knew that they liked to support local talent and were boastful of this in local newspapers and their limited social media. She was local, born and bred. And she had the surname that spoke of authorial greatness.

She didn't think it would be long before she got the call and she was quietly optimistic.

Having her own book in print was her heart's desire. It being successful was her bank balance's. She had thought about the self-publishing route but she wanted the kudos of being chosen, not doing it herself. It would affirm in her mind what she knew - that she was a good writer.

When she had the call, she answered it on the first ring and immediately chastened herself for her childish enthusiasm.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"Miss Christie?"

"Yes?"

"Hello, it's Bernard Summers here from Summers' Publishing. How are you?"

Cut to the chase, Bernard, she thought. Less of the chit chat. She took a deep breath. Calm.

"Well, thanks. And you?"

Congenial. Don't show your keenness.

"Good, thanks. Right. So. You sent us in a manuscript which I have read..."

She wanted to comment but he left no gap, like a ticker tape commentary.

"...and liked..."

Here it comes!

"...but unfortunately, we won't be taking it on."

End.

"We wish you every success with your book and thanks for your interest in Summers' Publishing."

She attempted to speak but could not form words quickly enough and then he was saying, "I'll just put you through to my secretary to arrange the manuscript's return."

Then she was speaking to Marjory and fighting tears, shellshocked.

Arrangements were made for the manuscript's collection and she went to end the call. But she could still hear a voice, which she realised was Bernard's and to her devastation heard him say,

"Glad that's done. Bloody awful book. Just because you have the name Christie, doesn't mean you're an Agatha."

***

366 words

The thing we dread as an author. People not liking our work. Poor Miss Christie.

I'm prepared for the comments! Do your worst!

Thanks for stopping by! If you did read it (and whether you liked it or not), please do leave a comment as I do love to interact with my readers.

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