Bog births a possible novel. Let the world domination commence!

Well, I was attempting to write yesterday, and the start to a chick-lit romantic-comedy type of novel fell out. Don't ask me why...could be all that trash I've been reading for the past three years. Anyway, I have no idea if it is readable, interesting, or remotely non-sucky. So, here it is. Let me know if it sounds like anything that would make you want to read further. Comments and suggestions needed. Thanks!


Chapter 1


It was becoming alarmingly difficult to drag herself out of bed. She'd set the alarm the night before in a Ben and Jerry's fueled fit of optimism, but the world looked different in the cold Chunky-Monkeyless light of day. She used to have a timed coffee maker that would seduce her into wakefulness with its dark, comforting, Colombian roast perfume. Nose in the air, she would sleep-walk to the kitchen, rarely forming any conscious thoughts until she was half a cup in and braced to face the day. But then, she used to have a lot of things.

She used to have a cat. The thought made her whimper and roll over into a pile of pillows, throws and jumbled sheets she'd build up on the opposite side of the bed. Unfortunately, that brought her face to face with a pile of cookie wrappers and bills she had apparently brought to bed the night before. That meant Ben and Jerry had probably been chased with something stronger, and, sure enough, an empty bottle of Kahlua lay on the pillow. Such a girl drink, a disgusted internal voice complained. At least get wasted on a real form of alcohol. I thought you were supposed to be a writer.

"Fuck you," she told the voice. Having greeted the morning, she stumbled toward the bathroom to pee.


Ch. 2

The Day Which Must Not Be Named began like any other day. Bird's sang, cats meowed, coffee wafted. A thought niggled in the nether regions of her brain, and toward the end of her cup of magical elixir, it surfaced. It was a good day--Launch Day. A hurdle that normally would have sent her into fits of twitchy panic instead brought a triumphant smile to her lips for the singular reason that she was ensured success.

She had discovered a prodigy. Simple as that. The manuscript had landed on her tiny desk at Moulton Brothers Publishing, and it had glowed in the way only a true story filled with horrendous suffering, abuse, and ultimate triumph could. It screamed Take Me to Oprah yesterday, you fool! And she certainly would. But first she had to launch it, and probably get promoted in the process. She marvelled at her good luck and decide to break out the new Gucci handbag, so new it was still in the current month's ads, she had received as a "no-reason" gift from Marcus the week before. If her colleagues at the publishing house were going to be shooting her with poison darts of jealousy all day, might as well give 'em both guns. She loved Marcus. He understood things so well.

He would come running in the door any minute, fresh from his morning run. Actually, he should have been back fifteen minutes ago. Where was he? Then she remembered with a frown that he hadn't made it home the night before. He had phoned to let her know he'd been stuck at the hospital with a patient who he wasn't sure would make it through the night. She loved how much care and effort he put into his job. But, seriously, how insensitive of someone to go and try to die now, removing the opportunity for a good luck kiss on the morning of her career changing victory. Well, she'd just have to surprise him at the hospital after the launch and make him take her out to dinner to celebrate. Mood buoyed, she went back to her room to don the outfit she had bought weeks in advance at a sale at Barney's. She had left a sizable chunk of that month's salary there in a fit of celebratory zeal, but, hey, she needed to look to part of overnight publishing success, didn't she? Besides, her burgeoning promotion would cover it, she was sure.