Not interested

Part 4

"I've already said to you that we won't publish your novel" a middle-aged woman in front of me snorted adjusting her huge round glasses which reminded me of car lights flashing at the night streets. They were shimmering at me illuminated by the street lamp outside the window as a warning to go away but I wasn't done yet.

The woman found her paperwork more interesting than me and I felt an irritation spilling inside. It was quiet in the evening publishing and I could hear the clock ticking too loudly as well as the rustling of papers. It wasn't the first time I was here and it wasn't the first time I was refused.

'Why?' I asked patiently trying to keep myself calm. Every time something was wrong and it felt like a chronic disease.

'Because there is no feeling in it' she answered casually not even looking away from the papers.

'But you haven't even read that!' I yelled forgetting to control my emotions for a moment. Her normal tone annoyed me.

Refusals of publishers were becoming an awful routine of mine and today it was the time when I've finally burst out.

'I don't need it, darling!' the woman yelled back sarcastically. Her eyes narrowed looking at me as if she was ready to attack me like a panther. 'I've been here for too long to not understand what is worth reader's attention and what is not' she pronounced every word loudly and harshly making me flinch. 'I've read two pages of it and it was enough to understand that all you got is a form but no feeling. All of your manuscripts are fine but I simply don't feel it. And if I don't feel it, I don't publish it' the phrase sounded like a verdict. 'So listen to me' she pronounced pointing her finger at me. 'Next time when you'll bring something like this for me to publish, I'll burn it. You'd better try not to' she finally stated returning to her normal facial expression as if a moment ago she wasn't yelling at me.

'Fine!' I almost spat out this phrase in her face turning around and slammed the door of a cabinet only to hear her chuckling at my childish and dramatic behaviour. It was stupid to react like this but at that moment I was too angry at myself to be calm.

I went out on a cold dark evening street feeling sick as hell. I stopped and exhaled deeply like I didn't have any air in my lungs at all. The strong February frost burned my throat but I didn't care. I was exhausted.

I haven't written a single word since fall and this last novel of mine was refused again. That were all the news about my "wonderful" writer career for now.

'No feeling, right' I stated annoyingly copying the woman's words. The manuscript of the refused novel in my hands disgusted me so I threw it in the trash can dramatically. That's where all my manuscripts should be.

I was overreacting, sure, but it was one of those days when you just wanted to act like this, show all your feelings. Besides, I had to admit that I was tired of failures despite my attempts to stay positive.

Feeling upset and angry at myself, I exhaled one more time looking at my manuscript in the trash can for longer than necessary playing that part where the main character leaves everything behind and starts a new life and went down the road.

Who was I kidding? I had a few copies of the novel at home and I surely didn't want to throw it. It's just 'cause it's yours, a part of you, no matter how bad it is.

I was walking not feeling a cold of the evening. My coat was unbuttoned, my hair was fluttering in the wind and I was smelling February in the air. The city was looking at me with thousands of its eyes-lights but I just wanted to hide. The thoughts were spinning in my head obsessively.

The image of Alex popped into my head almost like a habit. It was somehow impossible not to think about him while walking on the dark evening street. The atmosphere around was conducive to this so I recollected words from our first meeting in my head easily. He said that I was definitely a bad writer so maybe he was right? Even though it was understandable for me now, the thought of him being right felt bitterly somehow.