The Quest for the Perfect Fantasy Book by Emma Rowene (ebook reader wifi .TXT) đ
- Author: Emma Rowene
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âŠHe leaned in so close I could hardly breath. I mean, yeah, I knew what he was, but I wasnât afraid. He leaned in closer, and I felt him press his soft lips to my throat.
âWhy arenât you afraid of me?â he asked.
âWhy should I be? I love you, I donât care what you are.â
He leaned back to look at me. I could tell from his eyes that he wanted meâin a bad way. I looked back at him.
âIf you know what I am, you know I could kill you.â
âThen why havenât you done it yet? You may be a vampire, but I know thereâs still good in you.â
He looked at me and he looked so sad I just wanted to hug him. His beautiful brown eyes were focused on mine and his sexy brown hair flopped into his face. And his body was sculpted like a modelâs as heâŠ
I groaned in horror and collapsed onto my couch. The pitiful manuscript I was reading fell from my hand, landing in a heap on the carpeted floor to reveal the title âForbidden Loveâ by Monica Blake.
After recovering from my initial horror, I pushed myself up and looked around. My apartment was a mess, but I didnât have it in me to care at the momentâmy head still hurt from reading âForbidden Love.â I placed the manuscript on top of three othersânone of which were any better than âForbidden Love.â
I am the Editorial Director of the fantasy and science fiction department at Harrison and Austen books, a prestigious publishing company that turns out dozens of best sellers each year.
It took me six long years to earn my current position, and truthfully, I am slightly disappointed. My parents raised me on the classicsâTolkien, Weis and Hickman, Zelazny, etc. Therefore, my ideal fantasy novel involves knights, dragons, wizards, and elves. When, as a child, I said âI want to be a book editor so I can read books every day,â sappy, unrealistic romance stories about vampires and werewolves were certainly not what I had in mind.
When did the fantasy industry change so drastically? Will it ever change back? My goal, before I die, is to publish at least one genuinely promising fantasy book with all of the classic fantasy elements. I have published several average books, of course, but only one went on to become genuinely successful, and I am not very proud of it.
Sick of reading bad manuscripts, I got up and poured myself a large glass of wine. I took my wine and A Hobbitâs Tale and spent the rest of the night relaxing. In less than hour, I found myself in a fantastic mood, laughing out loud to Tolkienâs witty humor.
âIs Ms. Sommers in yet?â I heard someone ask my assistant.
âYes, sir. Sheâs in her office now.â
I straightened my shirt and ran a hand through my hair quickly as someone knocked on the door to my small, barren office.
âCome in!â I called. A man entered the room. âGood morning, Mr. Johnson!â
Mr. Johnson, the editor and chief of Harrison and Austen Publishers, was of below average height and above average weight. His skin was always tanned, and his dark hair was always greased back. Ultimately, he was fairly handsome and not quite 43 years of age. He had a genial smile and blue eyes that narrowed drastically when he was either amused or infuriated. He was always very kind to me and very irritable to everyone else.
âPlease, have a seat Mr. Johnson.â I said. Then, after realizing that I made it sound like a command, I added, âIf youâd like?â
âYes, thank you. Did you get the email I sent you last night, Ms. Sommers?â
âOhâŠNo, I didnât have a chance to check my email last night. Sorry.â
âThatâs quite all right. Bottom line: we need to keep up our publication rates. We havenât published any successful fantasy books in some time, and the boys upstairs are getting impatient with us.â
âUgh. I know, I know. I just donât want to publish a book thatâs a piece of crap just because we need to publish something!â I complained. Taking a deep breath, I continued, âIâm sorry. Weâre actually working on one right now, a lovely story about a clan of shape shifting humans that actually has some potential.â
Mr. Johnson made a face, âWhatever you think best, Ms. Sommers.â
I waited for him to say something more, but he just stared at me for some time.
âAre you feeling alright?â he finally asked.
âWhat? Yes, I suppose I amâŠIâm just exhausted.â
âYou are trying to overwork yourself. Iâve seen it happen to far too many good editors to let it happen to you, Ms. Sommers. Hereâs what I suggest: take the night off tonight.â
âI donât thinkââ
âYou and I could go out to eat at a nice restaurant and possibly go see a movie after⊠or something. I donât know about you, but going out with a friend when Iâm under stress always makes me feel better.â Mr. Johnson suggested nervously, tugging at his collar.
âI appreciate your concern, Mr. Johnson, but you just said it yourself: the fantasy department really needs to work to turn out a bestseller, so right now really is the worst possible time for me to âtake the night off.â How about this: When my department finally publishes a best seller, you and I can go out to celebrate. Heck, we can take the whole department with us!â
âThe whole department? Sure, kid. That sounds great. Until then, however, donât overwork yourself.â
The rest of the day flew by. I worked frantically all morning, met an author for lunch, and argued with my fellow editors all afternoon. I won all of the arguments, of course, whipping my department into shape with threats and promises, causing them to work harder than they had in a very long time.
That night I brought five manuscripts. The first four were terrible. Settling down with the fifth manuscript, I prayed that it would be the bestseller I desperately needed.
Suddenly, the room was filled with the chorus of Sinatraâs âI got the world on a string.â I pulled my mobile phone out of my pocket, fumbled with it, and checked the caller id. Unknown number.
âHello?â I answered hesitantly.
âEllie?â
âThis is she. May I ask who is calling?â
âThis is Mackenzie! Mackenzie Peters, from Lorriton! EllieâŠare you still there?â Mackenzie asked.
âUhâŠYeah, yeah Iâm still here.â I croaked in surprise. Mackenzie Peters was one of my best friends growing up in the small town of Lorriton, Minnesota. We still spoke online occasionally, but we never call each other. Why now? âWhatâs up?â
âOh, Ellie! Youâll never guess what has happened to me!â Mackenzie shouted into the receiver.
âUgh. I have to guess? Letâs seeâŠdid you win the lottery?â
âNo. Youâre never going to guess it, so Iâll just tell you. Iâm getting married!!â Mackenzie screeched on the other line, âWhen my boyfriend proposed, you are one of the first people I thought to tell. You have to come to the wedding!â
âMarried? To whom? Why didnât I hear about this sooner, Kenzie?! I didnât even know you were in a relationship! Of course Iâll come to your wedding!â
âDonât be mad at me, EllieâŠI do have a reason for not telling youâŠIâm getting married to Stephen Byers. I know you two dated a couple of years ago, and I didnât want it to be weirdâŠYou donât mind, do you?â
âOh! No, I havenât thought about Stephen for a very long time.â I lied. âIâm happy for you Kensie, really, but I have to ask: can you be happy with him? Youâre so different.â
Mackenzie laughed on the other end, âOf course, Ellie! I love him. But youâre sure you are okay with it?â
âI have no problem with it whatsoever.â I said. In truth, however, I was not sure how I felt about it. âWhen is the wedding?â
âTwo weeks from today! Itâs going to take place in the old Cathedral at the top of Hide Hill, just like my parentâs wedding.â
âSo soon?â I asked, my heart sinking, âI might not be able to get off work.â
âOh, you have to, Ellie! Iâll die if you canât come! I would change the date if I could, butâŠâ
âBut what?â
âWellâŠI canât the date becauseâŠbecause Iâm pregnant, Ellie.â
I sat down in shock, not knowing what to say. Mackenzieâs morals have always been slightly wayward, but growing up, I never imagined Kenzie would someday have a shotgun wedding, let alone one with my ex-boyfriend.
âOh. Well, congratulations.â
âYou donât mean that Ellie, but thank you anyway. I think being married with a child will be good for me.â Mackenzie said seriously, âAnyways, you have to come to my wedding because when you were younger, you vowed to be my maid of honor someday. Remember? You gave me your âword as a warrior.ââ
I laughed. âWhat a warrior I turned out to be. Listen Mackenzie, Iâll try my hardest to convince my boss to let me come, but donât get your hopes up.â
âOh Ellie, thank you! Try to come up to Lorriton as soon as possible, because I need your help with the nuptials!â Mackenzie chirped, âI have to go, Ellie. There are still so many people to tell!â
âNaturally. Bye, Mackenzie! I hope to see you soon!â
I waited for Mackenzie to hang up before I began panicking. I panicked about going home, about seeing Stephen Byer again, and about taking a vacation at such a critical point in my career.
Like Mackenzie said, I dated Stephen once. We got together just after college, and I was infatuated. We were together for two years, during which time I postponed my career to work in my parentâs grocery store. At one point, we were even engaged.
Not long before our wedding, however, Stephen dumped me because he felt that we were âtoo differentâ for such a lasting commitment. I didnât blame him, I still donât. Itâs true: we are different. Throughout our relationship, I obsessed over my future and favorite books while he obsessed over his beer and favorite sports.
After a month of wallowing in self-pity, I moved to New York City and devoted myself to my career. During the following six years, I took on no new relationships. It certainly wasnât that I never got over Stephen, I just never allowed myself enough time for a relationship. But now that he is engaged to my close friend, I wonder if I do still care for him.
I donât think I do. Of course, how I feel doesnât matter much; it never has. If I were still passionately in love with Stephen, I wouldnât have the courage to say anything either to him or to Mackenzie.
Despite my feelings, I thought, I will go to Lorriton and be Kenzieâs maid of honor. I will not be bitter or antisocial, and I will stay on top of my work from Minnesota, even If it means bringing a suitcase full of manuscripts with me.
That resolution finally reached, I returned to my manuscript.
Ertaierum Rothundackuskskel was a great warrior. He was also a handsome one. He was extremely tall and muscular. He had curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
One day, he was walking through the forest when several bandits jumped out of the forest.
âLook at this one, boysâ one of the men, probably the leader, said. ââEâs decked out in fancy trappings. Eeâs probably loaded!â
The men all
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