1945

they are in bed with books in their hands. historical fiction and romance. kate nash is singing dickhead thru an iPod dock. he goes

dude i was so tired and now i feel wired as fuck

she

goes fuck gets wired?

he frowns.

what if no one takes it what will i do in life if this does not work out?

she goes well dude you do have an MBA.

he goes man come on i tried to give the guy at the veggie stand two fives for eighteen dollars worth of stuff yesterday. i don't see the business thing working out. plus like idk. a suit every day?

she sighs.

he goes i'm serious. what if i get nothing out of this? i've been doing it my entire life for free.

the music changes to capleton.

she goes your writing got you me.

he says true.

she stretches. long and thin. freckles. red curls all over the place. like margaret d'anjou.

[well. i'm not sure about margaret d'anjou having red hair. i think maybe shakespeare said she had red eyes or some shit but i'm not totally completely MLA sure. i mean. it's been awhile. and plus i studied the victorians. fucking sue me. this is a blog ok. nothing more. and plus it's not like you know either so stop frontin.]

he forces himself to smile.

she says dude how many agents have your manuscript right now?

four.

and how many rejections have you had?

about the same number.

and how many queries did you send out?

thirty-six.

she goes you're prolly doing better than a lot of ppl who are querying.

sure he says. hey lemme practice on you. welcome to burger king. may i take your order plz?

simian mobile disco changes to the cure.

he turns out the light on his side of the bed.

[all the sounds of charlotte sometimes.]