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8
It was much later during the day when Melanie's phone rang out, barely detectable amongst loud rock music being emitted through the stereo. She turned the music down and moved towards it, ready to answer. She picked the handset up in her hand, and she then realised how similar some things could be. The novel she had just finished and her life. It was not an intentional act, writing about her experiences in life, but it just came out that way.
“Hello?” The handset was now near her ear, and she was expecting a quick response, due to the fact that she had a very impatient nature when she was interrupted. “Hi! My name is Ross and I'm from the Bureau of Statistics and I'm wondering if I would be able to ask you a few questions… It will only take…”
Click. The phone was placed back onto its receiver, and Melanie went back into a trance, turning the stereo back up to its previous volume, if not louder. She sat down, but could not keep still. It was so unfair that her music was sitting in the kitchen, one master CD, which had orders taken for it in good numbers, but the record company were not willing enough to produce it because of some younger but not necessarily better, financial benefit to the company had come around.
She stood back up, heading to the kitchen, where she could still hear perfectly the pounding rock music, and she began to collate the chapter of her new novel. She wrote a brief covering letter, and a summary of the target audience and all the other things particular publishers liked to see. She had done it so many other times before that it was second nature to her, just like a soldier, trained to kill, except she always seemed to miss.
The manuscript was then placed in an envelope, and she carefully scrawled the usual address onto to the outside, placing enough stamps to ensure delivery. She threw into the envelope also another envelope for return postage, her address aggressively written in red ink. She licked the envelope, and then pressured it shut with her hands.
She walked out of the apartment, leaving the music blaring as she locked the door, heading downstairs and out to the street, where she could still hear the faint pounding of the speaker cone's bass driver. Some neighbour I am she thought to herself, and walked down the street towards the post box.
Walking cleared her mind, and that was one reason why she participated in it so regularly, and she knew it was a fact that walking stimulates thought, and what better things to think about while walking than her writing? Intent on reaching the post box, her pace quickened, as if that were her only objective in life. For the moment it was.
When she reached the post box, she felt no satisfaction. It was simply a task that she had to perform, and there was no way to avoid it. It would lead her to her dream, and if it didn't she was honestly unsure and uncertain of what to do with her life next.
She heard a dull thud as the weighty package landed at the bottom of the letterbox, probably crushing some children's letters to god or some other insignificant civilian correspondence. It still did not satisfy her, and she walked away in disgust, upset and angry at herself but still unsure of what exactly to do next.
As she returned to the apartment compound, she checked her mail, and even though she had forgotten, the routine had beaten her this time. The manuscript she had sent off three weeks ago had already been returned, and the mail was marked urgent. Opening it as she walked back towards the door of her apartment, she was pleasantly surprised, and when she realised what she was reading, she suddenly became ecstatically happy.
When her apartment door closed behind her, she went straight to the stereo, quickly turning it off, the rock music having progressed to a slow symphony of violins, vocals and piano. She could not believe what she was reading and paused to begin reading it again in order to take in the actual content of the letter.
Dear Melanie
This manuscript is absolutely marvellous. We are honoured that you have chosen to send it to us to consider it for publishing, and this is an avenue that we would wish to discuss with you in person.
Our junior manuscript assessor, who usually reads the type of work you sent us, read the first line and instantly referred it to me, and I handed it on to my most respected and close employee, my wife. She loved the novel you sent us, and insisted that I at least meet with you in person to discuss in more detail your goals and aspirations from this manuscript.
Please contact me in the near future on the number in the letterhead in order for us to arrange a meeting time.
With Many Regards,
Keith Smith
General Manager, Python Publications.
Nothing could have wiped the smile off her face when she finally realised exactly what she had achieved. A minor success in the pathway to her dream, an indescribable happiness that seemed would never end. She picked up the phone, already dialing the number at the bottom of the letter.