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Rated: E · Fiction · Comedy · #2226316
Writer's Cramp
Hi, my name is Eleanor Rigby. You may have heard of me ... no? Then I guess you're not a fan of pocket romances. I've been quite successful with those trashy formula boy meets girl tales. But what happened to the English graduate with visions of a Nobel Prize for Literature? Simple; I needed the money.

It was my friend Penny Lane who got me into this. A typical day in the life of Lennie (that's what my friends call me). I was at the ATM. The machine refused to give up the goods. Insufficient funds ... eek! I had been up all night working on my masterpiece now I needed coffee.

"What'sup?" Penny could see I was worried when I face-timed her.

"My writing's going nowhere, Man. And I'm skint."

"You're aiming too high. No one, and I mean no one ever made their fortune from some lofty novel. That's so last century. It's the paperback writers that make all the dosh."

So I lowered my standards. I looked at the bestsellers list. I came up with a few story outlines then I ran them past Penny.

"Been done." That was her answer to each idea. "Look, I know it's a bit of a sell out, but have you ever thought about pocket romance. They're always looking for new authors. And they're so easy to write. It's the same story every time, just with a different setting. You won't make a fortune but it's a steady income."

I knocked out my first attempt in just days. Surprise, surprise, a cheque soon followed with a request for further stories. I don't live in luxury but at least I can eat. And I have time each week to add another chapter to my masterpiece. Nobel Prize, here I come.

296 words
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