Author and Reader

Diana, who’s been reading my first novel in typescript for, oh, decades, and thinks it brilliant, was sitting by the Tea Pot across the road and waved me over. I was going for the paper. On the way back I stopped. “I’ve started reading your book. It’s brilliant.” “It’s not my book.” She was eschewing schizophrenia on the basis of the chairs. “John liked that story too,” about somebody metamorphosing into a chair and being beaten up but, unlike the Kafka, metamorphosing back. “Prison John.”

Later she asked me to change a light bulb. I saw she was near the beginning of the book where my story was nowhere near. I apprised her of the fact the book was an anthology, that there were twenty-five other authors. She reads with the help of a magnifying glass and wanted to know where was my story. I wouldn’t tell her. I encouraged her to write down what she thought of the book whereupon I’d blog it.

Much later she mounted the stairs to leave a card indicating she’d found my story and I’d gone from brilliant to genius. Brilliant.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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