Beginnings
Dave Bondar didn't argue, and instead extended a hand. “I've learned a great deal from you, Professor – your constant negativity has given me a drive to keep fighting, keep writing even when I didn't feel like it. I doubt you'll appreciate the irony, but when publish my first book you'll be at least partly responsible.” Anger at the constant, belittling comments the man had made over the course of the term was the easier choice, but Dave was done struggling against opinions that didn't matter. He had dreams, and achieving them meant doing what he loved, and doing it well.
“I -” Klung started, but Dave cut him off.
“Don't bother prof, and don't worry about the Website. Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes and I just needed a place to let my muse out. You'll hate it, but give me a passing grade, and never see me again. Sound fair?”
After a long moment Klung nodded and Dave turned, a boisterous tune swelling in his head. Beginnings were always exciting.
***
“So you've had experience...where, exactly?” The interviewer's face was slack and his eyes dull – he'd seen at least forty other candidates before getting to Dave, and the looks on their faces as they exited the conference room said not one had been hired to work at the magazine.
“Nowhere,” Dave said brightly. “I've done a smattering of work online, but mostly write my own stuff. Chasing the dream of book publication, just like everyone else in your waiting room.”
The thin, suited man focused his eyes on Dave's own. “Really? And here I thought they wanted to work for my magazine.”
Dave shrugged. If the man really was the owner, his disinterest spoke volumes about the kind of operation he was running.
“No, not really. I'm here because I need a job to pay for my apartment in the city, and to keep food on the table while I write – everyone else waiting to see you is in the same boat. Getting hired would mean a better chance of meeting someone in the industry that wants to publish my work, not just have me spin out banal articles day and night.”
“If that's how you feel, young man,” the suit's tone was clipped, “then you're not the right fit for our business, and I suspect you'll have difficulty finding anyone to read your work. The samples you submitted were mediocre at best.”
Standing, Dave extended a hand that wasn't taken and then spun on his heel, mellow music coming to mind. Endings were always exciting.
***
“Dave!” Cora called. “I need your help down here – Murphy's throwing up again and Brianna won't stop crying!”
With a small sigh Dave headed to the kitchen, mind still on his point-of-view conundrum. Third and first-person drafts of his newest work's first chapter both had their advantages.
“Can you deal with the dog?” His wife asked, pointing at their heaving golden retriever. “I'm hoping Bri will exhaust herself and just go back to sleep.”
“Sure,” he said, giving Cora and his daughter each a kiss on the forehead as he went by. Grabbing a roll of paper towel, he pushed Murphy away from the mess she'd made and wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“You're quite the stinker, pup.”
Murphy looked up with wide, uncomprehending eyes and Dave smiled, giving her a quick scratch on the head before going to work on what she'd tossed up. Most of her breakfast was still intact, along with a baby sock, two small carrots and several items he couldn't identify. Fortunately, she was from hardy stock, and would be raring to go again once it was time for her afternoon walk.
“Go back to work, honey,” Cora said as he finished cleaning. “Our girl wants some food and then I'll put her to bed.”
Dave kissed his wife more deeply and then headed back upstairs – she'd always been supportive of his dreams, even when they didn't quite match her own, and together he was sure they'd raise one hell of a daughter. Joyous music rang in his ears; middles were always so exciting.
***
The woman in front of him adjusted her glasses again and kept reading. She hadn't spoken a word since Dave sat down, and the only greeting he'd been given coming through the door was “Hi, sit please.”
Darlene McMannus ran one of the most successful small publishing companies in the state, and Dave had been lucky to get even five minutes of her time; as it happened, one of the other writers on the short story website he wrote for knew her and liked Dave's stuff. That was enough to get him the time, but impressing her all came down to what he could create, what he could bring to life on a page.
“Good,” Darlene said finally, setting down the small stack of papers. “Not the best I've ever read, but a damn sight better than most. You're a bit fancy for my tastes, but I think we can grind that edge off.”
“What?” Excitement flooded through him at even the prospect of what she was suggesting. “You mean -”
“Yes, yes,” she waved a thin hand. “We'll take you on. Now get out of my office and expect a call from one of my editors – you have a lot of work to do before this thing can be sold.”
“Of course, of course, I -” A dark look silenced Dave and he turned, face split in a grin of sudden pride. A boisterous melody pulsed in his veins, one all his own. Beginnings were always exciting.
- D
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