Monday, January 24, 2011

Ashes

Lyle materialized, center stage. He brushed cyber-ink of his shirt.  “Ahem. Attention please.”

No response. Men and women chattered and pecked at keyboards.

“Hey—narcissist bastards,” he bellowed. That did it. A multitude twisted to glower at him. “Er…sorry. I’m here under duress. One of your cohorts, Arlene Webb, is under the impression I’m her minion. She used every excuse in the,” he snickered, “book. Head cold, writers block, her dog that died two years ago ate her scribbling, blah blah. I said I’d pop over and introduce myself.”



“Lyle Logan.” He plastered on his full wattage grin, snapped his arm out, bowed and straightened. “I can’t show my actual face, copyright laws and all, but my brother--Myles--uses these pictures quite often.”

Stupid hoosers gawked at him like he should be one-dimensional or something. “Could you all relax? I’m only a figment of one perverse mind and whatever you do, don’t abuse the messenger.”

He swallowed hard and plunged in. “To get to the point of my visit, my story will be told in May—or so the almighty thinks.”
Lyle fought his shiver. A frown filled Lea’s lovely face. That woman was no dummy. She knew exactly where the delete key was. He had to play nice, threaten these good people, and get the hell out of here before the wise leader caught on.

He gritted his teeth and prepared to lie. “Ashes is a fantastic book. Nothing terrible happens, guys and gals fall in love, ends with a gallop into the sunset. It’s sure to be the hottest seller in 2011, show the world exactly how progressive a relatively new publisher can be.” 

Frickin’ vultures. They loomed over him, sipping drinks and licking their lips. He clenched his fists and muttered, “Trust me, you’d best listen carefully. Tragic events are destined. For deities, not minions. Myles Logan is not a sacrifical goat, understand?”

Vultures suddenly became chirping bluebirds. Heads dipped, condescending smiles curved lips, they hung on his every word. The vast imagination crackling from above made Lyle’s skin crawl. He had to stop dithering and get on with this. Wheels were in motion, crimes committed. No author, fickle fingers of fate, whatever, would separate him from his twin.

A sudden booming noise made him jump.
  
What the ! Lyle was getting soaked. Oh. Right. He sighed and shook water off his eyelashes.

“Yeah, yeah. Arlene has another contract with Muse. The lead for Lacey’s Lamp series—Let It Rain—January 2012. She expects me to brag about it even though I live in Los Angeles where it doesn’t rain all the blasted time, and I could care less. No way that sappy romance will ever get a better cover than I got. If the almighty asks, rain is all I talked about, got it? Kay. Thanks. Bye.”

He'd figure out a means to prevent words from being published later. 
Time to skedaddle.

arlene's author page
arlene's blog

2 comments:

Chrystalla said...

lol! Poor guy! Give him a break, Arlene! I really loved this, can't wait to read the story!

Barbara Elsborg said...

He's a pain in the neck but who can't love him! I know what he's been through and it's not pretty. Though he's quite pretty!!! he just needs a bit of soap in his mouth. Here, I'll pass it to you, Arlene. You do it!