Writing Group-Like a Book Club but for Premature Books

Last summer I was at a stalemate with my writing. I was blocked. I hated every word I had ever put down. Just looking at a Word document made me want to throw up or throw my computer across the room.

I didn't want to give up on writing. Yeah, I might suck, but it was something I loved doing. My family and friends were encouraging, but they didn't quite know how to help me. I knew I had to do something so I worked on finding a local writing group to join.

I had attempted to make a writing/book club a few years ago with a couple of friends who wrote poetry and enjoyed reading. It worked for a few meetings but we kind of fell apart when we couldn't figure out a regular day to meet (plus, holidays in retail happened).

Well, I went to the local Facebook exchange group and was trying to come up with The perfect way of saying:

"WRITER DESPERATELY SEEKING WRITER FRIENDS TO HELP GET HER OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR AND MAYBE HAVE A BEVERAGE WITH WHILE TALKING ABOUT WRITING AND BOOKS AND STUFF"

Without sounding too pathetic.

I might not have the hang of this yet.

Then I stumbled on a post for a writer's group advertising for people to join.

Like manna from heaven.

I immediately joined the Facebook group and messaged that I had been looking for such a group. They welcomed me with open arms.

It was a couple of months before I could make it to a meeting (all while avoiding my writing like it had a plague-syphilis combo that hasn't been cool since the Dark Ages) but once I was finally able to attend, the heavens opened up and celestial trumpets were playing Aretha Franklin on surround sound... that might be a little dramatic, but it was pretty awesome.

I got to spend 2+ hours with local writers of varying experience levels. Some people in the group were pleasure writers who did not necessarily have plans to seek publication, but simply wrote for the love of it, some were actively trying to get published, and some were already published. A few people wrote real world/crime fiction, some wrote historical fiction, some were working on memoirs or nonfiction, and a couple wrote in many different genres.

But they all were like me, looking for people who knew the highs and lows of being a writer and who could offer support and advice.

We spent the first half hour or so "networking," which meant we were chatting, getting to know each other, and gossiping. Then, we went around the table, told a little about ourselves to the group, and read something that we had written, if we were so inclined.

I had absolutely no idea what to share. I was still in the mindset that everything that I wrote sucked and that I was a failure as a writer but, as panic set in, I dug though my computer just in case they decided the new guy needed to read something.

They did.

I settled on reading something from my first novella. It was the first thing I self-published and I had had good feedback on it. I figured I wouldn't embarrass myself too badly by reading from it. The group actually enjoyed it. They laughed where they were supposed to and a few people even asked me questions about the series.

I learned how much I didn't know about the writing and publishing industry and how much even my compatriots didn't know, but everybody was more than happy to share what knowledge they had.

We were a group of non-professional writers working together to make everybody better.

The encouragement was overwhelming. Nothing else could have been as effective breaking down my block and self-doubt as that meeting.

I walked out of that first meeting like I was floating on air.

Excerpt: Love Drunk and Dragon Tears

25 year old Lydia Forrester is at a wedding and head-over-heels in love with the groom. Too bad she's not the bride. When the object of her unrequited affection asks her to keep his brother entertained, she reluctantly agrees, and then she catches sight of him. Tall, sexy, and newly single, Burke Callaway, is set to be moody during his brother's wedding, but Lydia's unconventional personality quickly has him laughing and dancing the night away. Throw in a Roman Senator bartender who invents the perfect drink and it is the right mix for sparks to fly.

Available for download on Amazon.

He was a friend of a friend. I only met him once but I fell in love… like I usually do when I meet funny, intelligent, attractive, slightly nerdy guys who are so far out of my league we aren’t even in the same solar system.

And now I’m at his wedding.

Alone.

Life sure is a bitch sometimes.

“I’ll be at the bar,” I muttered to no one in particular as I climbed out of my beribboned chair, trying not to take the entire tablecloth with me, and wound my way through the tables to the one friendly face I was looking for. “You guys take cards, right?”

I held up my “emergencies-only” credit card for the bartender’s inspection.

“Of course.” He smiled. Probably not a day under 80 and in suspenders. My heart melted a little.

“Good. Cut me off at $100.” I slammed the card down on the counter and climbed onto a stool, struggling to keep the uncomfortable dress from strangling me, which would have been impressive since it was a one-shoulder number. My first and only ‘little black dress’ and I only bought it because it was on sale and my best friend, Nina, threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t get something new for this wedding. “You been a bartender long?”

He grinned at me with an evil gleam in his eye. “Started in ’58. That long enough for you?” His well-trimmed beard shook with mirth.

I studied him for a minute, then nodded. “We’ll find out.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“Well, I just finished a terrible vodka tonic that that guy managed to screw up.” I pointed at the bro at the end of the bar who was probably still suffering from the hangover he got on his 21^st birthday. “Let me ask you, sir, how does one mess up a vodka tonic?”

The old man solemnly shook his head. “It’s a shame.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Do you mind if I call you Corilinus?”

“Normally yes, seeing as my name is Dave.” He leaned an elbow on the bar in front of me.

I shook my head. “You, sir, are no Dave. Now, Corilinus, as for my drink, I want something old school that’s not beer. Oh, and whiskey and tequila are not allowed. What can you do for me?”

Corilinus chewed his moustache in thought. “Old fashioned.”

I shook my head and tisked. “Old fashioneds have whiskey in them.”

Corilinus conceded with a nod. “This may be tough. I’ll make you a good vodka tonic to enjoy while I consult the bible.” He pulled an old hardcover book out of a drawer and dropped it on the counter in front of me.

“Corilinus,” I said as I stood on the rungs of my stool and held out a hand to shake, “you have a deal.”

He shook my hand with a laugh. “What’s your name?”

I dramatically tossed my hair back. “People call me Vira… no.” I shook my head. “No, they don’t. I can’t lie to you, Corilinus. Do I look like a Vira?”

Corilinus shook his head but his eyes sparkled.

My shoulders slumped. “Knew it. My name is Lydia.”

“Ah, that is a beautiful name.”

“Thanks! It was a birthday present.”

Corilinus stared at me for a long moment, then laughed. “I’ll get you that drink now.”

“Lydia! I thought that was you!”

He leaned against the bar next to me and I bit back a sigh of longing.

The friend of a friend.

Any hope that my love was a figment of my imagination went out the window at the sight of him… or maybe that was the loneliness and vodka. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

I felt my knees go weak as I took in his trimmed beard and gorgeous smile, and I was still sitting down. “Hey, Frank. Congrats again.” I raised my freshly filled glass in his direction before sipping.

He laughed. “Why do you insist on calling me Frank?”

“Because Fabio was taken and Josh is too common for you.”

“Well, thanks… I think.” He caught the bro bartender’s attention and I loudly gestured for him to stay as far away from my side of the bar as possible.

Frank looked at me with question marks all over his face. Not literally, of course. That would be ridiculous.

“You do not want him! He messed up my vodka tonic. Corilinus!”

“How do you mess up a vodka tonic?” Frank was baffled.

“No idea, but he managed it.”

Corilinus smiled at me, finished pouring wine into two glasses for his customers, and headed my way.

“What can I get for you, Vira?”

“Aww!” I gushed. “You just earned a bigger tip, sir!”

He winked at me and turned a pointed look at Frank.

“Whatever he wants, put it on my tab,” I ordered.

Frank laughed. “I’m the groom, Lydia. I drink free.”

I nodded. “Like I said, put it on my tab.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head.

People were always doing that around me. I haven’t quite figured out why, yet. I suppose someday…

“Two beers and another bottle of champagne.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Corilinus!” I called as he walked away.

Frank leaned down to whisper in my ear. I got a whiff of his cologne and nearly swooned. “His nametag says ‘Dave.’”

I leaned closer, on the surface playing along with his secrecy, but really just trying to catch more of his cologne. I have no idea what it was, but I always swoon when I smell it. I can never get enough of it. I love it.

Especially on a good-looking man. It’s almost as good as chocolate on a good-looking man.

Or nothing on a good-looking man.

Reader Error/Writer's Fault

I have a confession:

I am probably the worst avid reader you have ever met.

I love reading. I always have. And if you have read any of my other posts, you would not doubt that.

But lately (by lately, I mean the last few years), my reading has fallen to the wayside.

I want to read. I really do. I have a whole stack of books that I can't wait to read, but I can never seem to be in the mood to open any of them.

After some soul-searching (and recreational Facebook creeping), I think I have figured whose fault it is that I'm not reading any of the approximately 1.5 million awesome books I have waiting for me.

The writer in my head.

Why is it her fault?

It's because I want to read the book she's writing and she's not done with it yet.

It might seem kind of conceited to some people, that I'd rather read something that I wrote than what somebody else wrote. And I supposed it is, to a point. But I don't want to read my own work because I think it's better than everybody else's.

I want to read it because it's the story that I want but can't find anywhere else.

Picture from LikeSuccess
I feel you, Toni.

I also feel guilty reading somebody else's books when I have so many books of my own that are unfinished. It seems disloyal for some reason. Those characters, who I love like friends, are sitting there in limbo, with half their stories told.

I swear, one of these days, they're going to gang up and go full Misery (Stephen King reference #1) on me.

A part of me is also terrified that if I read something similar to what I'm writing, that story will leech into my own and then it's no longer mine.

All of a sudden, my western Thelma and Louise story starts sounding like The Dark Tower (Stephen King reference #2) and then where would we be? Thelma hunting Louise, a creature from the swamp shows up and kidnaps the mayor's daughter while a deadly plague wipes out the entire town (I've never read The Dark Tower so I actually have no idea what happens, but it is in the stack of books I need to read).

So here we are, not reading.

Buying books sometimes, but not reading.

Writing lots, but not reading.

The crappy part is, it's because of all of my reading that I become a writer. I have learned so much about storytelling and character development from the books I've read. Those authors are my mentors and now I feel like I'm skipping class, not doing my homework, and running the other way when I see them on the street.

I also never seem to have the time to read...

I'll chalk that up to the recreational Facebook creeping.

The Bane of My Existence: 5 Tried and Proven Block Busters

What is the bane of my existence?

Picture from A Blog to Watch
Seeing as I'm not Batman (or am I?), not this Bane.

What is the bane of any writer's existence?

Picture from WikipediaWell, now you're just being mean. 

Writer's block, kids. I'm talking about writer's block.

It can kill progress, it can promote procrastination, and is one of the most frustrating thing that can happen to any author. Advice for busting writer's block is probably the #1 or #2 thing that writers ask, especially those who are just getting started.

Here is a list of things that I've use (or heard from other writers) to smash that writer's block into gravel that will look lovely on the country road in your next story.

#1 Take a Breather

Probably the last thing you want to do when you are confronted with the inability to advance your story is to walk away from it, but sometimes space is the best thing for you and your story. Staring at your computer or notebook is not going to make the words come, you might as well do something else until they do. Go clean the kitchen, mow the yard, watch a movie, check Facebook, or take a walk.

But I must warn you, Alice, don't let these short breaks become rabbit holes that take you days or even months to climb out of.

It took me 6 years to finish my first novel because I had bouts of writer's block 6+ months long. I also didn't know I wanted to be a writer at the time and didn't know the first thing about working through writer's block, which probably contributed to the extensive hiatuses.

#2 Power Through

This may seem contradictory to the first tip, and it is, but it isn't.

Roadblocks in a story can be stubborn, but you can be more stubborn. Write a different scene, go back and do some light editing, add more detail to your outline. As long as you're working on your story in some capacity, the writer's block won't win. Eventually, you break through and you'll already have all of this other work done.

The glory of what we do is, even if we write absolute shyte while trying to overcome a block, we can go back and fix it or delete it. Nobody is looking over our shoulder judging us for the bad stuff we write. They can only see the good stuff we put out there. 

But if somebody is looking over your shoulder judging you, elbow them in the stomach and tell them to go do something more constructive, like making you a sandwich.

#3 Move On

This doesn't mean give up on the story.

Let me repeat this for the people in the back: 

THIS DOESN'T MEAN GIVE UP ON THE STORY!

This is kind of like #1 but instead of taking a breather from writing, you're just taking a breather from the story that you are blocked on.

Start a short story out of your genre and comfort zone. Write a children's book. Give a favorite fairy tale a new ending.

This helped me so much when I was blocked on a novel a couple of years ago. I had been staring at the page for days with nothing new coming. I decided to open a new Word document and just start typing, no thought involved. I ended up with the beginning of  an interesting fantasy story. I don't know if I'll ever finish it, but it helped me get back to my original story.

#4 Change It Up

This bit of advice actually came from a writing friend a few months ago and she heard it at a workshop I believe. 

They said if you are stuck in a story, not sure where to go or how to continue, pick a side character and write a scene from their point of view. 

It's not anything you have to include in the book, but it might help you understand that character a little better and help you find the next path for your story.

Along these lines, you can follow in the footsteps of the great J.K. Rowling (our queen) and write colorful and complete backgrounds for your minor characters. I don't know if she actually used this for block-busting, but she is famous for feeding us little tidbits about her beloved characters that she didn't tell us in the books.

#5 Find Your Peeps

Almost a year ago, I was suffering from pretty intense writer's block. Not only could I not write, but everything I had ever written began looking like absolute crap. Even the stuff I loved and was proud of started looking like something E.L. James scraped off the bottom of her shoe. It was definitely a low point in my writing career.

Then, I made it to my very first writer's group meeting.

Talk about enlightening.

Here was a group of people who knew what I was going through and could commiserate, they could offer advice, and could distract me with ideas for other aspects of my writing and self-publishing. I don't know if the group I joined is special or if it is pretty much the same with other writer's groups, but everybody is so encouraging, understanding, and energetic. They are a talented group of people and I am glad to be a part of them.

If you have any other tips for bashing writer's block, feel free to share. I am always stoked to find new writing tips because I'm kind of fond of my computer. I would hate to see it smashed against the wall in a writer's block-induced fit of literary rage.

Self-Publishing on Amazon: Learn from My Mistakes

I don't know how many of you are interesting in self-publishing, but I thought I'd share some of my experiences. I am far from being an expert. Frankly, I'm just stumbling through it and learning as I go, but if I can keep you from repeating my mistakes so you can make some of your own, then I did my best.

I self-published my first e-book, 1-800-Henchmen: First Shot (originally titled It Begins) just short of two years ago. I was so excited that I finished the book, I threw it up on Amazon before it, or I , was ready.

And it showed.

My first review that wasn't from a friend or family member was a 3-star from somebody who liked it but said there were a bunch of grammatical errors.

Photo from Getty ImagesOh, the horror!

So, my editor and I went through it again more diligently this time, and put the new version online. Then, I got another review from somebody who liked it but didn't like my title. Well, surprise for that guy, I didn't like my original title either, but I couldn't come up with anything better. As soon as I finally did, I changed it immediately.

That is when I noticed why it is so important to truly be ready to publish before you publish.

If you make any changes to your book on amazon, all books that were purchased before the changes don't update.

This means there are a bunch of books out there titled It Begins with a lot of grammatical mistakes.

Photo from Getty ImagesStill terrible.

I had to chalk that one up to a learning opportunity and move on or I never would have put out another e-book, but take my advice: much like print books, don't put an e-book out there with errors.

Now for Amazon's e-book portal. It is very self-explanatory, free (they just take a cut of the royalties), and easy to use. They have a searchable message board for questions and lots of helpful hints scattered around the page that answered most of my questions. I don't quite remember how the initial set-up went (2 years ago, remember?) but I do recall just kind of muddling through it (tax stuff tends to make my brain flip to the static channel).

What about cover art?

I was a little unprepared for this aspect of self-publishing when I started. Thankfully, Amazon was looking out for me. They have a bunch of different, free cover options you can choose from and modify slightly to suit your needs. They're not the greatest, nor the most diverse options, but they work for somebody just starting out who doesn't want to pay for original work or doesn't have the ability to make their own.

If you're like me, you like keeping track of sales numbers. It took me a bit to figure out how to do this other than to just write down each book sale as it came up on my sales dashboard. At first, I was only watching my Monthly Sales Report but that stopped being helpful when I realized that it only tracked two months at a time. Then I discovered the Prior Months' Royalties Report.

If a blessing could show up as a spreadsheet, this little dear would be it.

It shows every book you sold for a month's time in every country that it is available in and how much you earned for each book. It also shows pages read if your book is part of the KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing) Select Program. Amazon only keeps them for 12 months, but I've been saving them on my computer and transferring numbers to my own spreadsheet so I can track each book's sales numbers for the whole year.

I also check the Payments Report but that's just so I know exactly how much my last royalty payment from Amazon was (usually around $1.37. I'm totally rolling in it).

Now for the tough part.

My most recent e-book, Love Drunk and Dragon Tears, was a rather large disaster to publish (all of my own making).

Here's why:

I didn't realize that I still had the track changes option turned on on the word document that I uploaded to Amazon for publishing. By the time I realized it, two copies had been sold (thankfully one was to me and the other was to a friend). The resulting email exchange with Amazon makes me want a drink just thinking about it.

Photo from Nosferatu's Coffin
If an email exchange was a person.

They were super helpful considering it was my stupid mistake that was causing the mess. After many emails and giving examples of extreme errors in the book, they said they would send out corrected copies, I just had to upload a good one. Well, stupid me uploaded yet another messed up one. A couple more emails and we got the correct one loaded into the portal. A couple of weeks later I got an email saying all sold versions should be updated and good to go. Well, mine never updated and neither did my friends. I should probably look into that again. *shudder*

It wasn't until after this whole shitstorm did I discover a handy little option on the main portal before you finish uploading your book to Amazon's site.

It's called "Preview Your Book".

I am never not using this ever again.

1-800-Henchmen: First Shot

1-800-Henchmen is a novella series that I started writing about two years ago and it is the first thing I have ever self-published. There are four books in the series that follow Alfie Vihar, a 18 year old high school graduate who stumbles into a job as a professional henchman. He is put on a team with some colorful characters and goes on adventures that his small-town upbringing did not prepare him for. 

I really enjoyed writing Alfie and his team because they are funny, unique, smart, and bad-ass. 

1-800-Henchmen is available on amazon.com and the first section of First Shot, the first in the series, can be found below. Enjoy!

******

             Alfie looked up from the ad he had clipped out of the classifieds to the large, futuristic looking building in front of him in disbelief and back down to the ad. Its lettering was tiny, minuscule in fact, and left much to be desired. He couldn’t help but wonder why it was such a cheap, obscure ad when the offices looked like they were in George Jetson’s building.

            “Ah hell, whatever. I need the job,” he muttered and walked through the glass door into the sunlit entry way.

            “Welcome to Resources, Inc.! How can I help you?” A cheerful, pretty blond receptionist greeted him from her place behind a stainless steel and glass counter. She was wearing a Bluetooth headset and was typing on her keyboard without looking at the monitor that was recessed into the desk.

            “Uh, hi. I’m Alfie Vihar. I-”

            “Yes, Mr. Vihar. Take the elevators to the fifty-third floor. Misha will meet you there.” With a smile and not another word, the receptionist answered the phone with the same cheery tone as she had addressed Alfie.

            He stared at her for a long second, unsure what to do. She jerked her head to the hallway behind her without looking at him and he leaned over so he could see the elevators around the corner. He nodded his thanks and walked around the desk toward the polished steel doors. One opened as he approached so he stepped inside and pressed the button for floor 53. The doors closed and opened mere seconds later. Alfie stared in surprise at the different floor and glanced up at the digital screen above the door to make sure he was where he was supposed to be.

            “Mr. Vihar? I’m Misha.” Another pretty blond in a pantsuit waited just outside of the elevator for him to disembark.

            “Yeah, sorry.” Alfie finally stepped onto the floor and looked around. There were rows of glass-walled cubicles filled with suited people working at their desks. He felt very underdressed in his khakis and polo as he followed Misha down the aisle between the glass cubicles and the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows that illuminated the floor. He looked out the windows and could see half the city laid out below him and the ocean beyond.

“That's a pretty prime view. There are people who would pay seven digits or more for it.”

“Oh, yes. It is quite lovely.”

Alfie frowned at her back, confused. It was seriously the best view he had seen in the city and she acted like it was just a solid wall in a nice color.

            “Mr. Kadish is waiting for you.”

            “Oh, sorry. Am I late?” Alfie silently cursed himself. He needed the job and didn’t want to be counted out because he was late for the interview.

            “No. You are early, actually. He is simply waiting for you.”

            “Oh.” Alfie bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say how weird that was to him.

            “Here we are!” Misha announced cheerfully as she stopped in front of the door to the corner office. Alfie looked through the glass door with trepidation. He could see a man with steel-gray hair sitting with his back to the door looking out the window. The man’s glass-topped desk was empty except for a large flat-screen monitor that sat on the corner and a Newton’s cradle moving where Alfie expected a name plate to be.

            Misha knocked gently before pushing open the door. She motioned for Alfie to follow her in. “Mr. Kadish, Mr. Vihar is here for his interview.” She said cheerfully.

The man suddenly swung his chair around. Alfie’s jaw dropped. James Bond was sitting there with a welcoming smile on his face.

“Thank you, Misha. Mr. Vihar, would you like anything to drink while Misha’s here?”

“What? Oh, no. Thank you.” Alfie barely sputtered out. He cringed to himself. Nothing like making a good impression. At least he had spoken in passable English. The last interview he had, he got nervous and started throwing random insults out in different languages. He obviously didn't get the job when the interviewer coldly told him that she spoke German and didn't appreciate being called a 'malformed trout biscuit'.

“Alright. That will be all, Misha. Thank you.” Mr. Kadish dismissed the woman and motioned to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

Alfie finally remembered his minimal interview skills and walked forward with his hand out. Mr. Kadish’s smile broadened as he stood to shake Alfie’s hand. “Welcome to Resources, Inc. Mr. Vihar,” Kadish started as they both settled into their chairs. “I see on your resume that you are fluent in four languages? That’s very impressive for somebody just about to graduate high school.”

Alfie felt the blood rush to his face. “I know three languages but I am not fluent in any but English and German, sir. I am fairly adept at conversational French and have just started studying Chinese.”

“Well.” Kadish’s smile dimmed slightly. “That is still impressive for an eighteen year old. What do you plan on studying in college?”

“I am planning on majoring in international business with a minor in human resources and foreign policy. That is why I applied here for a summer job. I thought I would learn a lot that would help me in the future.” Alfie finished his canned response, hoping it came out naturally rather than rehearsed.

Kadish studied him for a long minute with an unreadable expression on his face. “No.”

Alfie felt his heart plummet. “Excuse me, sir?”

Kadish smiled and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair with his hands crossed in front of his mouth. “The business experience is not why you’re here. Now give me the real reason.”

Alfie struggled to swallow the panic before he decided to throw caution to the wind. He slouched back in his chair in defeat. “I just need a job that pays more than fifty bucks a week like my last one. I want to backpack around Europe for the next few years and need the funds.”

“Okay.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” Kadish grinned at Alfie’s stunned expression. “Tell me about yourself. The real you. Not the you that wants to major in international business.”

Alfie sighed. He knew he already blew the interview, he figured he might as well be honest. “Mr. Kadish, I don’t want to major in international business. In fact, that sounds like the second most boring major possible. I want to write, which isn’t good enough for my parents so they and I are at an impasse right now. I figured a few years traveling on my own might help us get over that. I have spent my entire life in this corner of California and San Luca is beginning to feel like a prison. I played football and lacrosse in high school and I wasn’t half bad. I learned German because a foreign language was required. I learned French to impress a girl. I’m learning Chinese because it is used a lot in a T.V show that I like. I like shooting guns when I have the time, which scared off the girl I learned French for. My best friend is a girl who is nerdier and scarier with a gun than I am. And you look like James Bond which is freaking me out a bit.”

Mr. Kadish leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. Alfie felt his stomach drop.

“What do you write?”

“I dabble in most genres. Haven't really found my niche. I've-”

“Where in Europe?”

“All over, focusing on Central Europe and the Mediterranean.”

“Get seasick?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Why German?”

“Hot German foreign exchange student sophomore year.”

“Sight of blood make you sick?”

“Not yet.”

“What T.V. show?”

“Firefly.”

“Siblings?”

“Two brothers and a sister.”

“Parents?”

“Two of them.”

“Favorite gun?”

“1911.”

“She wasn't worth it.”

“I know.”

“Friend?”

“Almost sister.”

“Shame.”

Alfie shrugged, breaking the rapid-fire Q&A Kadish had just thrown at him.

“What’s the first?”

Alfie frowned. “What?”

Kadish chuckled. “What’s the most boring major possible?”

“Oh.” Alfie laughed softly. “Anything involving math.”

“I agree.” Kadish stood up and came around his desk to lean against it right in front of Alfie. “Well, Mr. Vihar, I don’t think you are quite right for the summer internship program,” he began with a small smile. “But I think I have a better job for you. Show up at that address on Saturday at 10am.” Kadish handed Alfie a business card that simply had the company name and an address printed on it. “Thank you for coming in and being refreshingly honest. Most people don’t do that, even when I tell them to. They just say what they think I want to hear.”

Alfie slowly go to his feet. “Are you seriously giving me a job?”

Kadish laughed. “Yes, and it pays a little more than 50 dollars a week. It won’t be what you were expecting but I want you to give it a shot. Stay as long as you need to and then you can head to Europe.”

“Thank you!” Alfie sputtered as he grasped Kadish’s hand.

“You’re welcome!” Kadish motioned to someone behind Alfie. He turned to find Misha just opening the door to escort him out. “Oh, Mr. Vihar? Which Bond?”

“Uhh… does it matter?” Alfie stuttered.

“Well, I very much doubt I look like Daniel Craig. He’s a little too blond.” Kadish said with a chuckle.

Alfie laughed. “True. If I had to pick, I’d go with a cross between Sean Connery and Pierce Brosnan.”

Kadish thought about it for a long second and nodded. “I’ll take it.” Kadish shook Alfie’s hand one more time. “Don’t forget, Saturday at 10.”

“I won’t! Thank you!”

“This way, Mr. Vihar.” Misha guided Alfie out the door and back to the elevator. “Welcome to Resources, Inc., Mr. Vihar,” she said with a smile as the doors closed.

******

Toothless

I have a cat.

He thinks he's a dragon.

That probably happened when I named him after a dragon and continually call him a dragon.

And to be honest with you, I got him because he looks like a dragon.

Dragon mode activated.

He can't breathe fire...

Yet.

I fear for the day when he figures out how. The house will never be the same.

For some reason he thinks I make a good climbing post.

This climbing post disagrees.

Picture from Google Images
I tried to find one of him curled up... but I could not scroll past this!

He's very distracting when I try to write.

It's probably because I am giving the flat, glowing box more attention than I'm giving him. But it's okay. It's very easy for him to walk across the bottom flat part to get my attention back to him where it belongs. He usually doesn't like being put on the floor when that happens, though.

Have you heard about the time where he laid on my keyboard and managed to lock it somehow? Google said pulling the battery would fix it. It did. I don't leave my laptop open on the table anymore, just in case.

Sometimes, he just sits on the table or couch next to me and watches while I write. Or disappears all together.

My dad suggested I write a children's book series about him. I rather like the idea, the problem is, I know very little about writing children's books. I also have a hard time imaging the adventures he would get into, considering he spends around 22 1/2 hours a day sleeping, 1 1/4 hours staring out the window, and the last 15 minutes is total time spent running frantically around the house.

For now, he'll just be my furry little mascot, annoying at the worst possible times, and adorable 100% of the time.