When I was a kid, my mom taught me how to make ice cream. We used to make ice creams in different, weird colours.Every time I am stressed out, the 29 year old me still go for ice cream making.
I am currently staring at a dark green, lemongrass, coriander leaf, grass-grazed milk and cream which looked like a miserably gone wrong magic potion.
I am not sure, what I did wrong to get that sick goo, but by the look of it, I might as well answer the third call I am deliberately missing from my Relationship Manager of my publisher and say I quit.
I do not want to admit, but I have a writer's block. I don't know what is scarier, a terminal illness or a block.
I have pocketed a best seller, no two best sellers, as they say, I always liked the first one than the second.
My relationship manager didn't have that much relationship to manage when it comes to me. I have been incessantly writing, updating, eating, sleeping and being that hobo-weirdo-crazy author thing for so long a time, that the world only see me through my writing. More solid my stories became, more invisible I was. The worst part of it, as my sister say, to whom I speak once a month, I have embraced this whole mystery, invisible writer thing.
You should go out more without hiding in that book hole of yours, she say to me. She calls my library cum apartment 'that book hole' which is very misguiding. People think that I live in a library, which I am not. I have a library in the apartment I am living.
My phone goes off for the fourth time, and I dump the ice-cream-so-gone-wrong into the bin.
"Hello, my no-relationship manager." I answered the phone, plucking up my currently-hiding-in-a-closet courage.
"Come on Poplar, you know better than not answering the phone." Matilda said.
Find my name weird, do you? Yeah me too. Long story short, my mother was a nature artist who fell in love with my father and Poplar groves. So when I was born, my mom had decided to call me Poplar, and to tell you the truth, she can be as stubborn as a mule when she wants to.
"Oh well, one can always try..." I said.
"Poplar you are late to submit the chapters." Matilda complained. "Are you not well."
"Oh no I am fine, it is just that you know kind of aahhh....well you see..." that is my way of trying to come up with a smart lie or a poor excuse.
"Poplar are you sure? You have to be honest with me. You have not completed a single chapter within last two months. You are not going through a writer's block, are you?"
Silent.
"Poplar!" Matilda whisper-scream to the receiver.
She must be in the office. How much offended Matilda could be she never shouts at me in front of the others.
"I am not sure Matilda, it is just that I am not satisfied how the story turns up. Sometimes I type but then delete them the next day. If I cant be happy with what I write, how could my readers be?" I wine.
"If this is the case, you will not like to know why I call." says Matilda.
"Ahhh...I thought you called me regarding my not so going well career." I said wondering what on earth would be more important than my slowed down writing to my publisher.
"Well....you see Poplar, you are to have an audience with Mr. Wolfnight Grey."
Pause.
Silent.Oh no!
No!
No!Not Worlfnight Grey. NOT HIM.
My heart thumps against my eardrums making me dizzy for a second or two.
"NO WAY MATILDA, THERE IS NO WAY I AM GOING TO MEET THAT WOLFNIGHT BLOODY GREY." I wish I could sound more convincing.
"Oh come on Poplar, Mr. Wolfnight does not bite!" Matilda chuckles.
"Said the Big Bad Wolf."
"Why are you so obsessed with him?" Matilda asks surely trying to teas me.
"I am NOT obsessed with him. I just don't like him trying to throw a Chinese porcelain at me again! He tried to kill me literary on the first thirty seconds i saw him, and why i should be willing to see him again is beyond me!" I scream to Matilda, knowing that she would be tsking my reasoning away.
May be she does have a point. It was four years ago, that I saw Wolfnight Grey. I was young, naive and had a manuscript of my debut 'Within Me' in my hand. It was my thrid attempt of a publisher. The first two thought I was clueless. I walked into Owls publishers and politely asked to meet Ms. Matilda. I was then directed to the boardroom. I walk in and,
BAM!
I was hit by an unidentified flying object right on my forehead. I stood their few seconds dazed, something sticky flowing across my face, things had gone slow motion, and then strong hands caught me.
I could not see who prevented me from collapsing on to the ground. But I could smell his earthy, wooden scent. The hands were warm and gentle.
But later on in the hospital bed, Matilda fussing over me like a mother bear, told me that the attacker and the savior of me were the same; one angry Wolfnight Grey, son to the owner of Owls Publishers Group.
Wolfnight Grey visited me few times at the hospital, and I pretended sleeping. I was not how to act in front of a man with the kind of aura he has. I peeked from under my bed cover as he left.
Then they went on to publish my book. I did not want to, because it almost felt like they are compensating me by printing the book, for the damage they did. I sent them an email stating my suspicions to which Wolfnight Grey replied that it is with hundred present sincerity that they are going to publish the book, nothing else. I read his one and only email to me, once or twice a month. He writes gracefully and to the point.
"Poplar, are you even listening?" Matilda brings me to present from my bitter-sweet flash back.
"NOPE, but what ever you said, there is no way I am going to meet Wolfnight Grey Matilda. I don't know what to tell him or how to strike up a conversation!" I wine like a lazy child protesting not to go to school.
"Darling, it is not in my power to stop Mr. Wolfnight if he so adamantly tells me that he wants an audience with you. You cannot turn down a request from your publisher!" Matilda kept going.
"Alright, alright! So when and why am I suppose to meet him?" I ask, knowing that it is highly unlikely that Matilda choose me instead of her boss.
"Excellent! I am not sure why he wants to meet you, but I am sure it is something very important or else he usually won't speak much with anybody. You can meet him at the head office tomorrow at 10.00 am." Matilda said, ruffling some papers so loudly that I could hear it from my kitchen.
"Alright then. I will have my fingers crossed that I won't be having another round of five stitches and a four very uncomfortable weeks on a hospital bed this time." I said looking out at the window to see a big, fat country side raven crowing furiously on my rickety fence.
Did someone say raven is a bad omen?
"See you tomorrow then Poplar. I will meet you at the lobby and make sure to escort you to the wolf's den!!" Matilda cuts the line, not allowing me to reply.
Geez! Wolf's den? Maybe, I should not have thrown away the ice cream, it tasted OK, even though it looked like poop by a dog with diarrhea.
YOU ARE READING
Into My Heart
RomancePoplar Earnshaw is a best seller author. She is currently going through a writer's block. She is to meet the publisher Wulfnight Grey, a ruggedly handsome man who accidentally threw a porcelain vase at her.