Roger Benedicco had just finished his latest book, a yet to be bestseller; he was sure about it ! Everything had been set up.
Autograph session , meet the author evening with a live reading, and of course, books selling. I'd say, he was thrilled. Frankly, I've never seen him this way, for the two decades we had been working together.
I was his agent at the time... A poor one you'd think? Because, what kind of agent would have an author, staying that much unknown to the public? He could have fired me; if only, had I been the problem. But I got him contracts, despite his anonymous career. I could have left him; if only, had he been, a bad writer.
But the fact is; that he wasn't a bad writer. He was a great one, even. It's just that the world wasn't prepared for his art. We stayed together, because well... He was my brother. Benedicco was his pen name, you'd have guessed it. And I'm Samuel Foster.
So, as I was telling you, every thing had been sat up. He was ready; I wasn't. I knew it wouldn't work out, I knew he wouldn't meet the audience he desperately wanted. I knew that nobody would come... And I was right; he sat there, in an empty book store for five hours. He sat there, waiting for its time, waiting for success, longing to be seen, heard, read; and loved.
But nobody came. At the end of this terribly born with no ending day, he cleaned up his spot, took away all his unsold books, his pens, book marks; put everything in his suitcase, along with his smile. And he went home. It was time to write another story, one that would sell.
YOU ARE READING
Plots Rabbits
HorrorWhat if a writer, desperate to meet success, finds himself invaded by all the plots rabbits he never gave credit to? "An unknown writer tries to meet success, desperately longing for recognition and love. He needs to pay the bills, he needs to eat...
