Finally, I finished writing my new book. Three months of laziness and pleasant experience led me to write a 400-page book.
How nice it is to turn off the desk lamp and lean on the chair and see in front of you a finished book that wants to go out into this world.
This feeling is incomparable. When you finish the book, you feel like you can take off, you feel like you're a superhero who was able to create a whole story, a whole world on sheets of paper.
But the writer's joy is fleeting. Because right after you've finished writing one book, you're going to have an idea for another book and you're immersed in a new world that's so alien to you.
There is no rest for the writer. There are a lot of words in the world and you just can't stop. The combinations of words are all in your head.
But when I finished this book, which bore the name "Chain Reaction" I felt joy. The joy and foreboding that this book can change the whole world.
The next morning, I went straight to my publishing house. And when I got out of the car, Elijah (my publisher) immediately greeted me with open arms.
"Skye! It's so good to see you. Did you become lazy? Why didn't you write anything for so long? Now you're here, and that only has to mean one thing, am I right?"
"Yes Elijah. That's it! My new creation!"
He eagerly snatched my manuscript and quickly stumbled along the way entered his office and immediately began to read.
Reading any novel, no matter how many pages, it took a day for him to finish it. He read very quickly and therefore, the next day it was certain that he had read everything and made a conclusion.
"You read, and I'll come tomorrow."
"No. Don't come. I'll be the one who's coming to see you tomorrow. I'll take the Nobel Prize with me. I'm sure this book will be a masterpiece."
"I'm going to go."
"Go, go! Don't bother me!""
I don't remember how that day went. I only remember that I was too worried about my book.
For some reason, I've been in doubt that he won't like this book.
To calm my thoughts, after a one-hour lecture, I went to the library and began to read all sorts of poems.
And that's until my thoughts themselves began to settle into rhymes.
Inconspicuously I suddenly fell asleep and woke up from the sunlight that fell directly on me.
When I woke up in the library there was no one.
I leaned lazily against the chair and involuntarily began to yawn.
Then I got up and walked up to the books shelf. But when I took one of the books, suddenly through the empty space I saw him.
And again these golden strands of hair! Again, I find myself running between the book rows.
But no!
He wasn't there. I thought he was! It was just a vision!
Did I start seeing ghosts? Or am I going crazy?!
Whatever it was, I didn't like it any more.
Decided! I'm starting to go crazy!
Feeling some fear for my future, I became hypochondriac. But running to a psychiatrist right now wasn't a sensible solution.
Instead, I just went back to my office and started solving all sorts of puzzles. But it didn't help me.
The whole day passed as in the fog, in the fog and in the golden hair.
The day passed so I did not notice as I was already lying in bed and falling asleep, falling into the world of my dream where I desperately searched for answers.
The next morning I woke up from a call.
To answer the call, I fell out of bed and noticed that I fell asleep right in the suit.
Elijah called.
"Skyemoone."
And then I realized that he didn't like something. For some reason when people wanted to talk to me seriously, they spoke to me in full name.
"Good morning Elijah."
"I want to talk about your book."
"It's good. I'll be here in ten minutes."
In the morning it was already raining as if it wanted to wash everything off the surface of the earth. I quickly got in the car and just as quickly reached the publishing house.
The city was small and when you are in a hurry, the city with its narrow and small streets and roads just helps you get to the right place.
A number of houses with red roofs and markets that stretched along the park, it was all a city where my soul was calm, but my heart was looking for another life.
When I reached the publishing house, which was a one-story building more like a fairy house, I noticed Elijah at the door.
"What happened? Haven't you slept all night?" I asked noticing the large circles under his eyes.
He scratched his head and his gray and thick hair ruffled so hard that he looked like a freshly hatched chicken.
"Skye, about your book. I read it," he began to speak and sat down beside me. "I really liked your book. I even cried. It dawned on me that all my life I was chasing the wrong dream. And I felt ashamed of myself. With your book, I suddenly realized that I wanted to do a very different business. But that's not why I called you. Skye, what you wrote is very powerful. Your book is very strong. Very wise and smart. And perhaps it has too much effect on the human soul. I don't know how you managed to write this, but every word in this book can touch every thread of your heart. You wrote a masterpiece. But I can't publish it."
"What? But you liked it!"
"Yes. But as if to say, your book is too loud. It's too loud for our world. After all, you wrote this book for people, you wrote it about people. And as I understood your goal was to change people, to help them learn to dream again. And you did. But if such a high-profile book falls into the hands of people, what do you think will happen? They're just going to go crazy."
"But this book is nothing but a philosophy with a mixture of psychology and literature. There's nothing supernatural about it."
"Yes. But Skye, I'm sorry I can't publish this. Believe me, what you wrote in your book, the world is not ready for it."
"I wrote only about dreams and how to achieve your own to live happily ever after."
"You don't understand people. Skye, as your friend, I'll tell you that people aren't ready for much. Including being happy," Elijah said, looking at me with his kind eyes.
I didn't know why he turned me down. But if he did that, there was a reason. But in those three months my book became a part of me, so I couldn't just give it up. The "chain reaction" deserved attention. And I said, "I understand you. But I'm going to publish this book anyway. If not with you, then with another publishing house."
"It's too confusing and too clear. If you want to make money, write a romantic novel," Elijah said.
"You're telling me to write a romantic novel!"
"Don't get mad. Skye, you read your book yourself. Do you really think that people will understand it and even if so, after reading will remain the same? Skye, you're just a writer. So, write about simple things that don't scream about dreams and life."
"I didn't know you," I whispered, and taking my manuscript ran out of his house.
What does he know about Philosophy? I never thought he'd say that. But I'm not going to stop there! My book is sure to be published!
Not noticing how I bumped into someone on the road and almost dropped my manuscript right on the wet asphalt, I quietly said, "I'm sorry," feeling that I was clearly stepping on someone's leg.
"It is you!"
I looked up and saw that artist in front of me.
"Where are you in such a hurry. Can I help?" she asked, holding an umbrella over me, smiling softly.
"No, I'm fine."
Looking towards the publishing house and then at my lost face, she asked, "Have you been turned down?"
I was silent and she knew she shouldn't talk about it.
"I'm sorry."
"Nothing. Can I drive you home?"
"Yes, if not difficult."
When we got in the car, she unbuttoned her black leather frock and took off her head the same black and leather hat. And that's when I noticed she had a haircut. I couldn't keep quiet, "You cut your hair. It suits you."
"Have you noticed?" she asked, mysteriously looking at me.
"Of course, I did."
"I thought you don't notice people."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well maybe because you're too self-confident and too detached from everyone."
I didn't know what to say. She was probably right about the suggestion.
"By the way, I didn't introduce myself to you Professor Skyemoone, " she suddenly said looking straight ahead.
"Have you already learned my name?"
"Yes. I made inquiries about you after my sister said your name."
"Now you know almost everything about me."
"Well, that's unlikely."
Waiting for the red light, she reached out to me and solemnly said, "My name is Ethel. I am an artist and a teacher."
"Ethel, beautiful name."
"I know, " she answered, and smiled slightly. I've never seen a girl smile like that. In her smile you could see her seriousness and wisdom. "I have my own art school where I teach people to do the beautiful things."
To avoid a pause, she asked me, "Who is your favorite artist?"
"Salvador Dali."
"I knew it."
"Am I so predictable?"
"No. Just such a complex and interesting person as you see beauty only in such intricate paintings as in Dali's."
«You are right.»
"If you love surrealism, why did you like my painting? There's nothing surreal about it. Just people."
"Why not? What about people?"
"So are people surreal for you?" she asked, and smiled mysteriously once more.
"I forgot to ask, where do you need to go?"
"To the park."
"Are you going for a walk in the park?"
"Yes. I want to see the leaves."
"For the painting?"
"Yes," she replied, and glanced at the manuscript that was lying on my lap. "I'm sure your book is very interesting and I'm sure it will be published."
I didn't say anything and slowed down at the park.
"Would you like to keep me company? Lucy said you only have a lecture tonight," she said suddenly, looking at me as if she wanted to say she already knew everything about me.
"Maybe another time," I replied feeling some weakness and a slight pain in my head.
That was always the case when I spoke to people. It's not like I'm so wild and unsociable. Just after talking to them, I feel tired and I rather need to be alone.