Before we could take more than two steps toward the cafe, the figure of a man appeared in the window overlooking the patio. When I saw him I shuddered in spite of myself. It was hard to make out anything more than his dark silhouette, but from that alone I got such a sense of foreboding that I simply could not go further. Zoey kept walking until, a few seconds later, she noticed my absence at her side. "What's wrong?" she asked, venturing a concerned glance in my direction. "Come on."
I searched for the proper words - I didn't want to offend Zoey, who had promised to help me out so much. Still, that man seemed so ominous! Wasn't it a cardinal rule of writers to trust your own instincts? "Zoey," I said cautiously, "did you see that man in the window?"
Zoey sighed. "That's just Artie. He's looks a little menacing, I know, but it's his profession - he's a literary agent. He tears apart people's writing for a living."
I gulped. "A literary agent? Don't you think it's a little soon for that? I haven't even written anything yet! I'm hardly ready to start talking to a literary agent who'll just destroy my words."
Zoey smiled. "I understand. I understand completely. He's not going to destroy anything right now." She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you remember the helpful reviews you started to get on Writing.com after joining? Artie's one of the top reviewers there. He helps people get the best out of their ideas, helps them get things ready to publish. Don't you want that?"
I did - of course I did. But I couldn't shake the unease I'd instantly felt upon seeing Artie in the window.
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.11 seconds at 3:49am on May 12, 2025 via server WEBX2.