Jan, standing a firm 5ft6 in flat leather shoes, her hair gathered in a bun that brought her to a towering 6ft, glared at Tom whose puffy rainbow-coloured jumper and baggy jeans shielded a slight and spindly frame.
“But when are you going to write?” exclaimed Jan. The broad rim of her glasses riding up beyond her eyebrows as she scrunched her nose in dismay.
“I don’t know” whimpered Tom. “The mood has to take me.”
Tom threw his hands in the air, launching his gaze skyward. “Inspiration, you mean bed fellow. You can leave me unsatiated for months and then bear down on me like a love-starved rabbit. Come back cruel lover, come back!”
“Enough with the dramatics Tom.” Jan sighed. “Save it for the first draft. The book deal won’t wait. They need to see at least 200 words by next Monday.”
Tom was painfully aware of the deadline. His partner Rachel reminded him of it every morning at breakfast and somehow she had persuaded their teenage daughter to demand a word count every evening before bed.
Tom had tried to explain to Rachel and Jan that pressure was the last thing he needed but Rachel was quick to point out that carrots had yielded no words in almost two months and it was about time the sticks came out. If it wasn’t for Rachel’s home-run embroidery business, the family would be penniless as well as wordless.
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