Daily life of a multi-pubbed author
Iíve made an important appointement with a new publisher at three oíclock, and when I step into my car to begin the one hour drive, I feel a little tensed. Since Iím definitely not into finding my way in an unknown city, my dear husband is so sweet to play my private chauffeur.
There are no traffic jams, and itís exactly half past two when we arrive at the Publishing Houseís entrance gate.
Far too early.
What to do? Ring the bell, or pass the time in a pleasant way?
Thereís a huge Mall nearby, so hub turns the car and heads for the shops.
My hub is the sort of man who can eat all day, and still keep his figure. In no time he has discovered a snack bar, and before I can prevent it he runs in and orders croquettes and other unhealthy stuff.
No, donít lead me into temptation, please!
But the harm is done. I suddenly crave a cheese croquette.
The cook takes his time and itís already five to three when I rush out of the snack bar, carrying a red-hot cheese croquette wrapped up in a napkin.
"Letís hurry," I say, panting, "I donít wanna be late."
We hurry back to the car, get in, and while my hub steers the vehicle to the Publishing House, I eat my croquette.
At exactly three oíclock I swallow the last part, press the printed papers of my new Romance novel manuscript firmly to my chest, rush out of the car, and scooting to the door I hastily wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
The door opens almost immediately, and a nice secretary leads us to the library, where we meet the publisher.
We sit down, get a drink and I start pitching my new novel.
At the other side of the table, my hub coughs, rubbing his nose.
I give him an irritated look and try to concentrate on the conversation again.
My hub clears his throat, and from the corners of my eye I see him rubbing his nose once more.
Oh my, let him stop. This is so disturbing!
But I canít reprehend my husband in the middle of a meeting, and I force myself to continue talking while hub keeps on making provoking noises.
Ten minutes later the phone rings and the publisher excuses himself, rushing out of the room.
"You are so annoying!" I burst out in anger. "Is it really necessary to cough and rub your nose constantly?"
In silence, he hands me a cleansing tissue and a little mirror.
"Huh? What's that for?"
"Just take a look at yourself," he replies.
I cast a bored glance into the mirror, then an icy chill creeps up my spine.
No! This canít be true. Thereís a huge piece of slimy yellow cheese hanging from my nose...
Greetings from The Netherlands!
:-) Anita Verkerk.