Yes things have been crazy and I have already been reminded that the promise was to post twice a week. Well, I haven't quite gotten there. In fact, it's so bad that I have taken to posting writing exercises from my old writers group. But still, I find them quite entertaining and hopefully I will write something new soon. Until then, enjoy and bear with me!
Even with the air conditioning, the Barnes and Noble was getting
hot and stuffy. Trina had been sitting at this table with its
hard backed chair for what seemed like forever, signing countless
copies of her autobiography „Underneath it All“. Hundreds
of squealing girls wanting pictures, some not even having bothered to
crack open the book in line. She had just smiled plastic like
with a 12 year old and her overbearing mother when she looked to the
next in line.
„Hi. How are you today?“ she asked mechanically for what seemed
like the ten thousandth time (and probably was).
„Is Lena dead at the end?“ the thin, bespectacled young man
demanded, slamming the book down in front of her and dropping his
head within inches of hers.
„E...excuse me?“ she stammered, recoiling automatically.
„Lena. In ‚Partners in Crime’. Is she dead?“
Trina closed her eyes for a moment in annoyance. Of course. Her
little „action“ movie. The cliffhanger ending was made to
encourage demand for a sequel.
„Uh...well, no one knows...maybe you’ll find out...can I sign
this for you?“ She pulled the horrid pink cover (the
publishers’ idea) towards her and raised her pen. She noticed
then that several pages had been dogeared.
„Did you expect to find clues in here or something?“ she said
He smiled. „A guy can hope, right? Besides, what else am I
supposed to do fort wo hours in line?“
„God it’s only been two hours?“ she muttered.
„Hey,“ he said, mocking seriousness „Some of these people have
been camped out overnight.“
She tried to force back a laugh, then cleared her throat. „I’m
„Sure.“ He said slyly, leaning in again. „So...what IS
‚Underneath it All’?“
„Real original.“ She snapped, going to sign the inside of the
cover, wincing at the provocatively posed Photoshop mockup of
herself. Then out of curiosity turned to one of the dogeared
„Why did you mark this?“ she asked.
He peered over to look at the page, scanning it quickly. „Oh,
this little part you’ve written here about your venture into
Buddhism. A little ironic don’t you think? Especially
after you punched that girl at that club...“
„You shouldn’t believe everything you read,“ she said in
annoyance, flipping back to the inside cover.
„Apparently.“ He said, raising his eyebrows.
„That’s not...I mean...tabloids you know...well...who should I
make this out to?“ She scribbled the word „To“ over her Jimmy
Choo clad foot.
„Nick.“ He grinned. „It’s a pleasure to meet you,
„Sure you too“ she muttered, signing her name in a rushed
flourish, slamming the book shut and shoving it towards him.
„Thanks,“ he said, sweeping it up with his left hand and walking
away. As he did, he called over his shoulder. „You’re
a fair writer. You should keep it up.“
She stared after him, momentarily speechless.
„So...“ said the grizzled old man next in line, pushing his copy
slowly towards her with his grubby hand. „When do you pose