Tyler

I don't know how these stories make it into these types of places. 

I'm an assigned reader for BlackInk Publishers and I am in charge of reading stories that no one else wants to look at. The usual, which consists of romantic-comedies, overwrought suspense novels, and dramas, always appear in front of me. To my right I have a pile of undesired novels, the ones that I didn't read past the first page and to my left are the maybes. 

I rest my elbows on my desk and move my fingers through my curly brown hair. This is going to be a long day. On a pile of loose papers sits a thick manuscript with the title "Cassie Holmes". Written by a sixteen year-old. 

They don't pay me enough for this. 

I shift in my seat, prolonging the inevitable. Luther, one of the partners of the publishing house, walks past my sunken form in my office. I see him do a double-take and he raises his eyebrows at me. I look at him through tired eyes and he awkwardly gives me a suggestive thumbs up. Smiling despite my situation I throw him one back and look down at the large manuscript. How does a kid have this much time on her hands? Yes, a girl wrote this. I almost instinctively know what this is going to be about. 

I stare out the window and think of my three teenage kids. I wonder if any of them would do this sort of thing? Probably not. At least, not with all of the modern technology and such. Then I think of my wife and her firm stare as I'd signed the papers she'd given me that morning. Life is complicated, so how can this kid be able to write a, I don't know, two-hundred page manuscript?

Finally resigning to my fate, I look down at the organized bunch of sheets. Okay, I can do this. I'll be nice to the kid, I'll look at the first chapter.

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