“So, you’re going to hate me, but I’m going to be visiting a friend that weekend,” Mari said.
“Oh? Who?”
“I was going to catch the train to Chicago to see Sarah. She’s back in the States visiting her parents, and I thought I’d swing by, seeing as how I haven’t seen her since I got better. It’s been years.”
Sarah was one of Mari’s closest friends and a world traveler. It was almost impossible to pinpoint where Sarah would be one month from the next, so I completely understood Mari’s choice. It just sucked because with Richard gone, it would be the first holiday I’d be spending alone.
Alas, maktub.
Professor Oliver sat across from me at my desk, his eyes roaming over the first draft of chapters seventeen through twenty of my novel. I sat impatiently waiting as he flipped each page slowly, his eyes narrowed, deep in thought.
Every now and then he’d glance my way, make a low hum, and then go back to reading. When he finally finished, he sat the papers back on my desk and remained silent.
I waited, arched an eyebrow, but still, no sound.
“Well?” I asked.
Professor Oliver removed his glasses and crossed his leg over his knee. With a very calm voice, he finally spoke. “It’s kind of like a monkey took a big shit and tried to spell their name in it with their tail. Only, the monkey’s name is John and he wrote Maria.”
“It’s not that bad,” I argued.
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “It’s worse.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just fluff. All fat, no meat.”
“It’s the first draft. It’s supposed to be shit.”
“Yes, but it’s supposed to be human shit, not monkey shit. Graham, you’re a New York Times bestseller. You’re a Wall Street Journal bestseller. You have millions of dollars in your bank account from your craftsmanship in creating stories, and there are numerous fans around the world with your words tattooed on their bodies. So, it’s a shame that you had the nerve to hand this complete and utter bullshit to me.” He stood up, smoothed out his velvet suit, and shook his head. “Talon can write better than this.”
“You’re joking. Did you read the part about the lion?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes so hard, I was certain his eyeballs were going to get lost in the back of his head. “Why the hell is there a lion loose in Tampa Bay?! No. Just—no. Find a way to relax, okay? You need to loosen up, break free a bit. Your words read as if you have a stick up your ass, and the stick isn’t even teasing you right.”
I cleared my throat. “That’s a really weird thing to say.”
“Yes, well, at least I don’t write monkey shit.”
“No.” I smiled. “You only speak it.”
“Listen closely, okay? As the godfather to Talon, I am proud of you, Graham.”
“Since when are you her godfather?”
“It’s a self-proclaimed title, and don’t kill my spirit, son. As I was saying, I am proud of how great of a father you are to your daughter. Every minute of your day is spent caring for her, which is amazing, but, as your writing mentor, I am demanding that you take some time for yourself. Go smoke some crack, hump a stranger, eat some weird mushrooms. Just loosen up a bit. It will help your stories.”
“I’ve never had to loosen up before,” I told him.
“Were you getting laid before?” he countered with an eyebrow arched.
Well, fuck.
“Goodbye, Graham, and please, don’t call me until you are high or having sex.”
“I’m probably not going to call you while I’m having sex.”
“That’s fine,” he said, gra