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Omg I actually have a new story up...well this one is called rules apply, and it's about this guys who reads stories for a publishing company and desides whether or not to publish them...it seems like a job someone would have, honestly I don't know anything about publishing companies, but this is my intake.
... Your so Predictable...
Glorious days of glorious days.
Not a place where you would plan for a story to start out at. Maybe at a murder scene, or at the rock bottom of some low life’s life. It was the best of times it was the worst of times kind of deal. A glorious day would seem more like the end of a story, the happy part where everyone skips through the meadow toward the awaiting sunset. Everybody likes a happy ending right? Whether you get to see spot run, or kill the horrible monster that’s trying to steal your fiancée. It all ends well and good. And maybe this is the ending to the story, the story that never ended but if it did, you could swear that it would end like this, Glorious days of glorious days. So maybe this is really the end, and maybe I’m just going backwards, but this is where this story begins, my story. So, as I was saying:
Glorious days of glorious days...it seemed wrong. Something like this couldn’t end like that. A story where the beautiful girl runs off with the beautiful man, after she had to get away from her awful, evil, vile, disgusting, husband. It couldn’t end like that. Not happy, things don’t really end happy do they? Not for the normal people. The nine to five people. They don’t have the happy endings.
I chucked the manuscript across the room. Well, that was a waste of time. Another disappointment. Maybe the next one would be better. Hopefully. I was beginning to get sick of all the happy endings. This sugar coated shit wasn’t working for me. Give me some malice, some horror, some something. Anything. I’ve heard all the happy endings, saw all the sunsets and kisses and glorious days. Surprise me. I’m waiting for something to jump out and go “BOO!”
Despite the glorious ending to the manuscript I had just finished, I looked out the window to find that it was not a glorious day. In fact, it looked downright dismal. It seemed to match my mood perfectly. The dark clouds and high winds was a fresh change from the California sun always beating down your neck. Maybe there will be a chance for hurricanes. A massive earthquake. An abduction from worlds far and wide. It’ll be all over the evening news. ALIENS FROM OUTER SPACE TAKE PRIME MINISTER FROM COUNTRY NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT! Maybe it will inspire someone to write something that doesn’t hurt my teeth. But I think that the abduction would happen before the story would.
My boss knocks on the door and invites himself in, “So how’d you like the new manuscript?” He’s always so chip, chip, chipper.
And it’s Monday.
“I’ve heard that it’s supposed to be really good. Great end everyone tells me,”
I cringe.
“That’s why I made you read it, tell me what you think. Your opinion is important to us Eli.”
The fact that he calls me by my first name creeps me out, and the fact that there is no ’us’ creeps me out even more. But I suppose when you work in the same office with the same people for so long, they assume that they know you, and they go a little crazy.
I believe that in my case a little isn’t enough. I think I've earned my place at full blown psycho.
You see, I’m one of the nine to five people. Only, I’ve been upgraded to 6:00am to whenever you finish work. That comes with the office, and the secretary that isn’t very useful.
“Mr. Huntson,” at least she doesn’t call me Eli.
“Mr. Huntson, you have an important call on line two.”
The second line button blinks on my phone, and my secretary stands waiting for me to pick it up, I don’t.
“Mr. Huntson I said you-”
“I know what you said.” She takes the hint and walks out of my office slowly closing the door, in the time she’s worked for me she’s learned that I do what I want, and sometimes that means not taking an important, possibly life changing call.
I look at the caller I.D. This life changing call just so happens to be from my mother. All the more reason not to pick it up.
After an agonizing 5 rings the phone goes silent. I am once again left in my peaceful person bubble of an office. Although, with the whole wall as a window, it doesn’t seem so personal. But with the windows tinted, and the sky gray, I’m content enough.
Let me introduce myself, my name is Eli Huntson. Mr. Worked my Way to the Top. Which I really did. When your way up here, stepping on people, and kissing ass comes as second nature to you. You see, I work for one of the worlds top publishing companies. Any good story you read, we probably published it. My job is simple. I read the manuscripts, and I tell my boss (who really just sits on his ass all day and drinks coffee while sleeping with half the woman in this department) whether I like the story or not. Sometimes he’ll also read it over, but mostly he’ll publish it if I give him the word it’s good. I’m the best at what I do. I’m the go-to guy. You want to read something good? Ask me. I’ve always had this gift for finding hidden talent. The stories I pick make it big, bestsellers. I don’t mean to sound narcissistic, but it’s true.
But, with this job, for every good story you find, there are hundreds of bad ones. It’s part of the job, like reading that piece of crap I chucked across the room. I’ll admit, the author was a good writer, but they seriously lacked in creativity.
There was another swift knock on my door, as my boss barged in again, “Eli, good news, that story you read, I may consider publishing it. I gave the author a call, and he’s going to stop by later today to tell us more about it. I think this one looks real promising!”
I gave him a fake, ass kissing smile, “Your right Jim, we’ve got a real promising one here.”
Hey, sometimes, you have to swallow you pride, and go with what you think is wrong.
And I could tell that my afternoon was going to be fucking glorious.
