"Are you writing about me?" asks Lukas, finally interrupting a staring-in-mute-mode lasting about ten minutes.
"Sure."
"Oh. I'm flattered! Seriously?" he's almost jumping on the little wooden chair.
"No way."
"Why not?"
"Why should I?"
"Am I not interested enough, for your standards?"
"Yes, that's the reason."
"What is that about, then? Aliens? Or maybe some stupid man you are dating with no hope, but observing his masculinity?"
"Yes. Both."
"I hate you, Abby."
"I hate myself too, so we are in the same ship, Spider." Lukas likes to be nicknamed.
We both stay quiet, he sipping his mango juice, me writing a sentence I will delete, just to find the balance again and stay in the writing dimension. It's really like standing on a single foot. You must reach a certain level of concentration, in order not to fell, or rely in the other foot.
"I'd like...- he starts, adjusting his perfectly motionless blond hair - I'd like to be interesting enough to be the protagonist of a book."
"You don't need to change. Just start."
"Start what?"
"Start writing your story, you can be a protagonist, if you really want that."
"I wish to be chosen, not to impone myself to the readership."
"Don't worry, nobody would notice."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, it's not like you'll write a book, it will be publish at your finger-snap and read by thousand of people."
"Oh. No?"
"You can spend a couple of years working on the book itself, editing and finalizing it, then up to forever to find somebody willing to publish it and now you can realize that since nobody knows you, you have to market it, eventually spending a lot of money for a campaign."
"So why do you write?"
"Why do people smoke?"
"Sure."
"Oh. I'm flattered! Seriously?" he's almost jumping on the little wooden chair.
"No way."
"Why not?"
"Why should I?"
"Am I not interested enough, for your standards?"
"Yes, that's the reason."
"What is that about, then? Aliens? Or maybe some stupid man you are dating with no hope, but observing his masculinity?"
"Yes. Both."
"I hate you, Abby."
"I hate myself too, so we are in the same ship, Spider." Lukas likes to be nicknamed.
We both stay quiet, he sipping his mango juice, me writing a sentence I will delete, just to find the balance again and stay in the writing dimension. It's really like standing on a single foot. You must reach a certain level of concentration, in order not to fell, or rely in the other foot.
"I'd like...- he starts, adjusting his perfectly motionless blond hair - I'd like to be interesting enough to be the protagonist of a book."
"You don't need to change. Just start."
"Start what?"
"Start writing your story, you can be a protagonist, if you really want that."
"I wish to be chosen, not to impone myself to the readership."
"Don't worry, nobody would notice."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, it's not like you'll write a book, it will be publish at your finger-snap and read by thousand of people."
"Oh. No?"
"You can spend a couple of years working on the book itself, editing and finalizing it, then up to forever to find somebody willing to publish it and now you can realize that since nobody knows you, you have to market it, eventually spending a lot of money for a campaign."
"So why do you write?"
"Why do people smoke?"
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