Writing

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Ridiculous.   Kim dropped the magazine she’d been reading to the ground, and leaned back in her lounge chair.  She thought about signaling the waiter to bring her something stronger to drink, but glanced at her daughter splashing in the pool and thought better of it.  She sipped her water and seethed.

She’d just read an interview in We’re Still Hungry Monthly with Kendall Keys, the author of Skinny Nonfat Latte, a novel loosely based on her experiences working as an assistant at Skinny magazine.  Of course her first big interview would be with Skinny’s biggest rival.  Kendall was 23 years old and already a best-selling author, not to mention millionaire.  All because she had to deal with a rude boss for all of one year.  Join the club.  She remembered another article she read recently about a woman the same age as Kendall who was publishing a book of all the tweets, texts, and emails she’d sent her ex-boyfriend over the past year, called Textually Speaking.  Kim’s stomach twisted in anger.

She’d also written a book.  It had taken her five years, but she’d finally finished it.  A novel about a woman and her daughter traveling cross country on a journey of self-discovery and the people they met along the way.  It had been hard to find time for her writing.  Her life was so busy.  She was also an assistant, but not at a glamorous magazine, for a middle manager at a company that manufactured plumbing supplies.   She was raising her daughter alone; her husband had abandoned them long ago.  She couldn’t even afford to take her daughter on a real summer vacation.  Spending the weekends by the pool at the country club where her sister worked all summer would have to do. But her book was good.  She knew that it was.  So many literary agents told her how much they loved it.  Just that it wasn’t a right fit for them.  Why? Because I’m not 23?  Because I don’t want to air my dirty laundry to the world?  Because my boss wears Men’s Wearhouse instead of Prada?  

A loud splash from the deep end returned her attention to the pool.  “My mommy’s a lawyer,” Kim heard a little girl say to her daughter, Stassi.  “What does your mommy do?”

Stassi paused thoughtfully, then said, “My mommy’s a writer.”

Kim thought her heart would burst.  She quickly wiped her eyes and pulled her laptop from her bag.  Maybe I’ll look into self-publishing.

In honor of NaNoWriMo, I’m going to post a new flash fiction story every Monday in November – each incorporating either the word National, Novel, Writing, or Month.  Original right?  🙂  Thanks for reading.

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