My Short Stories

MY SHORT STORIES

He started writing late in life, thank goodness. At the word processor he could type out
page after page of the most poorly written drivel.

The wife listened to or read these outpourings and said, "How perfectly wonderful. You should do more."

Actually she was happy to have him doing anything other then flipping channels on the TV. They found a cozy corner in the basement for the computer, and he would spend his evenings away from her, creating.

His grown son and daughter encouraged him. As he advanced in age, it made good
business sense to play up to the old man. When he read at family gatherings they applauded
enthusiastically and suggest future works be e-mailed to them. -- so they could spend more time
enjoying these wondrous writings.

Taking a more realistic view the writing and critiquing group to which he belonged and
faithfully attend, generally said of his stories, "That was -- interesting."

Occasionally they made suggestions that his first paragraph should be put in the middle of the piece, or that the last six paragraphs should be dropped. He followed their suggestions to the letter.

Perhaps his greatest booster was Mildred at the office. Mildred was not unfamiliar with
the writing game and fawned over each badly written word. It was her fond desire that all these
short stories be incorporated and published so that everyone could enjoy and be nourished by
them. It was due to Mildred's incessant pressure that old man decided to go the book route.

He rewrote and carefully checked spelling and punctuation. He arranged his works into a
semblance of order. He spent days coming up with the unique title, "My Short Stories"

Convinced that he did not need an agent, he sought out, with Mildred's help, a vanity
publisher to take the book to print.

"Illustrations?"

"No, they will only detract from this meaningful works."

Book size, lay out, type style, binding, cover color and material, and finally galley proofs.
Each decision, he and Mildred pondered. What would look the best to the public 1000 years from
now?

Finally, $7,000 later, the presses begin to roll. Mildred arranged a date with the local
Barnes & Noble for a book signing, and newspaper ads to the tune of $1,200 were arranged to
publicize the event.

Ten days before the signing, two momentous occasions occurred. The first, twenty-five
cartons of books arrived from the publisher. A careful inspection showed them to be even more
beautiful and impressive then they dared imagine. The second occasion, the old man surcomed
to a massive heart attack and died.

Mildred and the new widow were heart stricken. Mildred because the world had come so
close to receiving this wonderous gift and the widow because of the $8,200 paid out, now
obviously lost. The children met secretly and carefully weighed the monetary loss from their
inheritance against the, one down, one to go, benefit.

It was Mildred who came up with the idea.

"We will go ahead with the signing, and we will recoup some of your money." she said.

*****
In response to the advertising a line had formed at 6:00 AM outside of Barnes & Noble.
With anticipation they looked at the beautiful display of "My Short Stories" in the window. From
9:00 AM, throughout the afternoon, and well past midnight the line shuffled through. A constant
stream of people clutching their personal signed copy left the building.

The entire first printing sold that day. The order for the second printing was increased ten
fold. Better yet a request was received from Barnes & Noble in downtown Chicago for a book
signing over a five day period.

Despite the panning reviews of puzzled critics, the book sold out its second printing during
those five days. Requests poured in from other books stores in New York, Los Angles, Atlanta.
No home library was complete without that beautiful book on the shelf - autographed of course.

The sales routine was set now. The buyer picked up the book from a carton and paid for
it at the counter. They then joined the line which snaked into the signing room.

Sitting in a chair was the old man's well preserved corpse, dressed in flashy clothes which
were enhanced by an apricot ascot around his neck and a plaid tam on his head. He was flanked
by the faithful Mildred and the now, not so grieving, widow.

Duck taped to his right hand was a rubber stamp bearing his signature. As the customer
placed the book under the stamp, Mildred would strike the hand downward and the signing was
complete.

A fortune was made, and the signings could have lasted forever if the old man had not
started to fall apart in Peoria.

END

Story ID:	647
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Rockford Illinois USA
Year:	2006
Person:	Westbridge Nevers