Taming the Author

13: Don't Forget the Deadline

I like farms. The air is fresh and clean, if you stay away from roaming farm animals or from their respective pens. The grass is a luscious and relaxing shade of green, and there are beautiful trees everywhere; ants too, but let's not go there.

It's far from the hussle and the noise polution in the city; close to the tractor and airplane fertilizer noise but is it really worse than car honks and airplane sounds..?

—Yeah, let's ignore those too.

But sitting in the hallway of the hospital waiting for Loramina's doctor's appointment to finish, I found myself hating farms. It was just a visit – one damn visit to a farm or any kind, as long as it looked like a farm.

But I couldn't find anything else close to the city!

Loramina insisted we visit a farm. She said something about how it was needed in the story she was writing. Didn't Stephanie Meyer just Google pictures of Forks, Washington for Twilight?

Before you get any ideas, I'm a guy. I won't like seeing  my skin shimmering under the sunlight even after realizing I'm as strong as Superman.

I bit my lip as I found myself scratching my wrist. Loramina told me she couldn't finish the chapter she was working on without visiting a farm; something to do with accuracy in the descriptions.

I realized then that she was the type who researched for her story, not just someone who imagined things... Or she was the type who used real things as an inspiration for her writings.

I've read comments about how Lorewind's books were close to reality – too close that it defeated the purpose of fiction. As an avid fan, that was actually what I liked about his—her books. It felt so real, I actually believed all the good and interesting things in her story could happen to me!

I didn't expect writing that way to be so demanding though.

"Hey!" A familiar voice called and I snapped my head up in response.

Heather stood there in all her beauty: a green tank top exposing her smooth arms, neck and enough cleavage to make me stutter a one-syllable reply. "H—Hi." I tried to keep my eyes on her smiling face, but the long smooth legs her blue miniskirt was flaunting was painfully distracting me. Her wedge sandals really made her look good. If I wasn't a nerd, I would ask her out.

She smirked. "So I was right about you," she said.

"W—What..?"

"You actually look cute without the bruises," she said flashing me a sly wink.

I stiffened. Did she just say I was cute? Surely she was kidding.

I half-hoped she wasn't though. It wasn't everyday a girl as hot as her would say such flattering words to me. Should I tell her how beatiful she was?

"And you look gorgeous."

She frowned. "What?"

I coughed, realizing I was pushing my luck. "I said your shoes are gorgeous," I immediately answered. "Where did you buy them?"

She stared at me for a moment before bursting into chuckles and shaking her head. "You're hilarious! I'm sorry, I didn't think you were gay."

It was my turn to stare. "I'm not gay."

"Oh..?" she asked, smirking at me. "You just have a shoe fetish?"

"M—my mom," I answered, obviously a poor attempt at salvaging my dignity. "My mom likes shoes like yours."

She laughed. "You are just too cute," she said. "Hang out with me some time?"

I felt my eyes grow wide.