Taming the Author

9: Do not Open Doors

To @emmernemmer, @writerspirit24, @Wallflower29, @kthrnwinters and @batmanblondie: Your comments always make me smile. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! ^ v ^

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I took a deep...hopefully calming – but not really, just deep – breath. "So you could have accessed your manuscript outside your phone."

"Yeah but—"

"And I didn't have to run after the thief."

"Yeah but—"

"And I didn't have to get my ass kicked."

"Well, technically you didn't get your ass kicked. You just got your face—"

"What?" I snapped.

Silence.

For a moment, I heard nothing but the buzzing of the floor outside my office. People were starting to come in.

"I wasn't really planning on making you run after the guy," she began. "But my hip made it difficult for me to stand up and run after him."

"Why would you even run after the guy?!"

"Because he took my phone!"

"It was a phone! You could have just bought another one, hooked it up on your Cloud storage and—"

"That's not the only thing my phone contains! What would you do if someone snatched your phone?!"

"I'd call the police!"

"How?! You just got your phone snatched!"

"I would ask for other people's help to dial 911 for me! Or I would look for a payphone and call for help!"

"You won't get your phone back that way."

"It would keep me safe from harm and death."

"You didn't die."

"But I look like Shrek's twin brother! Maybe even his ugly purple twin brother, and Shrek's already horrible."

"Oh wow!" she said, suddenly sounding...fascinated? "Can you take a selfie right now and send it to me?"

"What?!"

"I'm serious! I just didn't think anything like that could happen in real life."

She sounded serious – dead serious.

"No!" I said. "I'm not sending you a picture of me so you can show it to your friends for fun!"

"Wow," she said, sarcasm lacing her voice. "You think so highly of me. I'm flattered."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever," I said, just to have the last say in the argument. "I'll read the manuscript and send you my feedback."

"Oh hell! Read the blue book, will you? That's not how Grandpa and I do it! Read the manuscript, follow the form I sent, and meet me so we can discuss your feedback."

"What form?" I asked, frowning at the paper in my hands.

She snorted. "Check the printer."

I did, and at the top of the pile – the last one the machine printed – was what looked like a feedback form.

"What I liked," I read the entries. "What I didn't like... What can make me like it... What needs to be taken out... Why it needs to be taken out..." I stared at the wall. "Really?"

"Really," she answered. "Highlight the things you liked and you hated in your copy of the manuscript. Use a specific color code, please. And mark your proofreading marks in red ink."