The devil is in words
– A new book.
– First chapters.
– Walk in the park.
– Meet Sveta.
– Movie with my sister.
– Heavy thoughts.
– Meeting at the center.
– Job search.
– First work day.
– First salary.
– Second meeting.
– Last working day.
– Christmas.
– The book is finished.
– Departure for the dacha.
– Days at the dacha.
– Return to the city.
CHAPTER 1. New book.
Words have the power to change not only one person’s life, but the entire world.
– I will never write a single worthwhile work. – Peter thought, moving his chair away from the computer desk. – Even if I find a suitable genre, I will never be able to stand out in it. There are tens of thousands of books, thousands of authors around, but who am I? I didn’t even graduate from college and have no literary education. I just want money. I must admit to myself that all my attempts to write a book are a banal desire to earn a lot of money. Easy money. If I go to any forum, everyone will tell me that my lines are not worth a penny. Maybe I’m actually a graphomaniac.
Getting up from the computer desk, Peter went to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. His mother was sitting in the kitchen.
– He came out again, let me sit here quietly, alone, without you. – she said, throwing a dissatisfied look at Peter.
– I just went out to get some coffee. I’ll pour it now and leave. – he answered, and turning on the electric kettle, he went to the bedside table where the coffee was.
Taking his mug, he put a few spoons of sugar and a spoonful of coffee into it, and mixed it all thoroughly. When you thoroughly mix sugar and coffee before adding water, the coffee turns out foamy.
The water in the kettle boiled and the kettle turned off.
Peter poured boiling water into a mug and stirred everything thoroughly, after which he went to the refrigerator and took out milk from there.
– Are you even going to look for a job? – asked the mother. – You yourself aren’t tired of sitting on my neck. – You are soon thirty years old, and you are sitting at home and doing nothing.
– I do. – Peter responded.
– And what are you doing? Do you sit at the computer all day? – the mother grinned.
Peter wanted to answer that he was working on a book, but he immediately realized that this would cause nothing but ridicule of him. When someone talks about being a writer, it usually causes nothing but laughter.
Peter remained silent. He added milk to the coffee, stirred it, and put the bottle back in the refrigerator. Without saying anything, he left the kitchen and returned to the computer.
The image of a social network was frozen on the monitor. Peter scrolled his page with his mouse. Just one post, not a single friend, and not a single message.
Having taken a sip of coffee, Peter pushed the mug to the side, pulled the keyboard closer to him, and typed «Graphomaniac» into the search engine. He was given an extraordinary text in which it was said that a graphomaniac is a person who writes a lot in order to be published.
– Well, I’m not a graphomaniac, I don’t seem to write that much. – he thought. At the same moment, the bridge of his nose twitched. It was like a nervous tic. – What kind of attack is this, I’ll never concentrate.
He took the coffee mug and took another sip.
– Okay, I’ll start from the beginning. I want to write a book. What do I need for this? – Peter stared at the monitor and thought. – It’s probably worth looking at what it takes to write a book. – Well, aren’t I brilliant?
He entered the phrase into the search: – What does it take to write a book? – In response, he received several million links to sites where recommendations were given to novice authors. The bridge of the nose continued to twitch, which was very distracting.
The younger sister entered the room.
– Give me a computer, I need to draw a picture, we have a geography assignment. – she said, standing close to the table.
Silently, Peter crawled out from behind the table and lay down on the sofa that stood behind him, near the window. My sister sat down at the computer and started digging through the drawings.
Peter relaxed and tried to imagine what he could write a book about. Various ideas came into my head, about Elves, Orcs and Dwarves. But all this was too primitive and monotonous, besides, Peter understood that thousands of books about Elves and Orcs had already been written, and it was unlikely that his would become a bestseller. And he just needed a bestseller, because he wrote not for the sake of recognition, not for the sake of being known as a talented author, he just wanted to earn money, he dreamed of leaving Russia and settling in some two-story house, not far from the sea, preferably somewhere somewhere in Los Angeles, closer to Hollywood stars.
– Will you help me make a drawing? – asked the sister.
– No. – Peter answered briefly, immersed in thoughts about the book.
– Well, please, is it difficult for you?
– Yes, it’s difficult for me now. Besides, these are your lessons and you need to do them yourself.
– Because of you, they’ll give me a bad mark, and my mother will scold me. —
– Then go and draw what you need to draw, and don’t look at pictures on the Internet. —
– I don’t know how to draw, I can’t do it.
Peter got up from the sofa and went to the computer.
– I can’t help you, I have my own things to do. – Give me back my computer.
– I won’t get out from behind the computer until you draw me a picture. —
– I won’t draw anything.
– Well, that’s it, then go lie on the sofa.
– Give me back my computer.
– Draw me a picture.
– What do you need to draw?
– Our classroom, view from above.
– And what’s so difficult about this? Just draw rectangles and squares.
– I can’t, I can’t do it.
– What might not work out there?
– All.
– Okay, let’s go, I’ll draw you a drawing.
Together they went into the next room. Peter took a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and began to draw. After spending a few minutes, he drew a classroom that looked more like a bunch of rectangles and squares representing desks, chairs, and cabinets.
– Hold it. – he said, and gave the drawing to his sister.
– Thank you. – she answered.
Peter returned to his room and sat down at the computer desk. Collecting his thoughts, he again tried to think of something to write a book about, but his head was completely empty of ideas.
– Maybe just