Chapter 6.

Chapter 6.

Read Chapter 5 here with CupcakeMummy. 

The Duck and the Cat.

Ducking small and puffy met Mr. Bingly who was large and fluffy.

The little duck didn’t have any friends.

Mr Bingly the Cat didn’t follow any trends.

Other cats chased and ate birds, cruelly.

But Bingly longed for a friend, of any kind, truly.  

The first few lines read aloud by my publisher. I didn’t think anything would come of my Dr Suess knockoff ramblings. I was especially pissed when I email the folder to my publisher by accident. I seriously need to stop naming my word documents as “Doc 1.” Maybe it’s time to get out the old typewriter. God knows it’s safer than all this digital crap. Good old paper.

“It’s sellable Iris. It’s very sellable”

I don’t know how I feel about going from Sci-Fi to Children’s lit. It feels a bit backwards. But hey, if Madonna can go from Virgin & Material Girl to publishing children’s book (Written in her best fake British accent) then why the hell can’t I? It will cover rent for the next few months and maybe I can have it published under an alias.

***

Holy crap on a cracker. It’s this ridiculous book is going to see the light of day. Publisher has set the dates and we are going ahead and get this. Michael suggested an illustrator he knows and sent her the brief. They want a 3 part series. Is this even happening? What have I gotten myself into now? Now I’m a children’s book author? I DONT EVEN LIKE CHILDREN. They are soft and wet and sticky and noisy and time consuming and they end up breaking your heart. Fuck it. It’s money.

***

I dug out my old type writer. The one responsible for my first novel. My “one hit wonder” as the London Times so eloquently put it. I packed enough paper to retype the bible and set off to Papa Mateo’s. They are kind and allow me to sit there for hours typing and working on my expanding waist line. They make the most amazing fresh breads. God I want to snort it, it smells so good. I need to conjure up another two stories about the stupid duck and cat. As I am typing away wasting paper because I have no idea what I am doing and I might not have kids but I am pretty sure I can’t use the words “butt hole” or “fuck” in a kids book. My phone beeps.

Email: From: Michael

             To: Iris

             CC: Winter, Colour Media House

 

Hi Iris,

I mentioned to you a while ago I sent the rough character descriptions to an illustrator.  I have cc’d her in, Winter.

She will be contacting you for a more in-depth description. I have also taken the liberty of forwarding her the final draft of Book 1. (Also, please come up with a better name than “Book 1”)

Play nice ladies.

Regards,

Michael

So now I’m a bitch? “play nice” Shit. Maybe she is a bitch. I take the semi-chewed paint brush out of my hair and tap it on the type writer to the tune of Dia Frampton’s Don’t kick the chair, playing on my iPod. I had grown fond of wearing the paint brush. Besides, it’s easier to find in hand bag than a hair pin. I guess I’ll wait to hear from Winter. What kind of name is “Winter” anyway?

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