The Writer’s Christmas Pt12

Tim sat at his computer, grimacing. He had just received an email from his agent. What it was about, Tim had no idea. Something about withholding royalties until the advances is paid out

With a soft groan, Tim put his head in his hands. Being published was so confusing, a lot more work than being a mere writer. Perhaps he could call his agent. Ask what the email meant. But then his agent would know he was a novice. If only there was someone else he could ask

Jenny! Tim leapt up excitedly. Jenny would know in an instant. Except that she wasnt talking to him. Crap.

The excitement died away, as Tim realised he still had no solution except Jenny. He would simply have to ask her. He grabbed his phone, and, hands shaking, dialled her number. It rang.

Tim swallowed, and licked his dry lips. What if Jenny wouldnt help him? This was a stupid idea. He should hang up. She wouldnt know it was him-

Hello? Jenny answered.

Shit! Tim thought. He couldnt hang up. He swallowed again, and tried to speak. But he couldnt. The words wouldnt come out.

Hello? Jenny said again. Is anyone there?

J-Jenny! Tim replied. It, its Tim.

Oh. Hi, Tim. Jenny didnt seem enthusiastic. What do you want?

I, uh, wanted to meet you. I need some help. With royalties and stuff. I got an email. From Mr Matthews, my agent.

I see.

So, will you see me?

On the other end of the line, Jenny sighed. Okay. At the coffee shop? The one near the bookstore.

Alright. Tim said excitedly. In an hour?

How about in twenty minutes? Jenny suggested.


Jenny hung up, and Tim leapt out of his seat. He hurriedly printed out a copy of the email from his agent, and grabbed his coat.


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