The road to fame

Reads: 303  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Jacob Blather, an arrogant, jaded and failing author, pursues an unusual road to success.

 

The howling wind mocked and jeered at Jacob Blather as he heaved open the door of his decrepit car. Jacob, divinely blessed at birth with the traits of incompetence, arrogance and terminal bad luck, clutched his most recent failed creation in a white-knuckle grip.

One look at his narrow face was all that was needed to decipher the rage that lay below. That and the unhealthily large vein that stood defined on his now crimson forehead. He simply couldn’t believe the publishers had smugly flung his hopes aside, rejecting his newest work, a fantasy epic centered around the adventures of the “Brotherhood of the Bracelet”, all the while having the nerve to call it unoriginal. Damn philistines.

 

He kicked the rusting door shut behind him as the howling engine ground to a grudging stop. He held his shabby coat tightly around him to keep out the wind as he dragged his feet towards the large, but equally shabby house, standing tall at the end of the secluded lane.  The house, along with a sizeable fund, had been inherited from his late grandfather. Jacobs’s grandfather had been a successful man, owning multiple businesses, including a double-glazing firm and a kettle factory. The house, once proud, now served only as a fitting metaphor for Jacobs' life and literary career. Initially full of promises of grandness and wealth, the two had symbiotically disintegrated into tattered mockeries.

 

The indignity of his latest rejection stung him, even though it was no change to his usual misfortune. When he had begun to pursue his career as a writer, three endless years ago, the days ahead had seemed so promising that Jacob felt worldwide praise for his literary genius was inevitable. Shortly after his first (failed) attempts to get his works published, however, any optimism had quickly evaporated, replaced by his now ever present aura of exasperation and bitterness. However, the failures still hadn’t forced Jacob to get a demeaning job, thanks to his inheritance. However the day when the old codger’s money would run out, and he would be forced to work, was getting ever closer.  At least there's one saving grace, Jacob mused, the damn house hasn't fallen down yet.

 

Jacob's talent as a writer was far outstripped by his formidable talents in the field of pointing the finger of blame. Throughout his life no failure could be attributed to himself, always being due to the failings and influence of his parents, who in his eyes, had failed to nurture his prodigious talent properly. His already strained family relations had collapsed spectacularly last year, at his Uncle Nigel’s’ funeral. This had resulted in his current isolation from both his immediate and extended family, along with the black eye he’d sported for several weeks. Personally Jacob thought that everyone had overreacted. All he’d done was voice the rumour that his uncle had embezzled funds from his own charity to pay for his holiday in Blackpool that year. That certainly didn’t warrant the condescending speech received from his Mother, or the frankly impressive torrent of disdain from his father. It certainly didn’t call for the punch to the eye he received from his aunt Kate.

 

Also in the firing line were his teachers, fellow students, literary society and most importantly the publishing houses, for their lack of appreciation of his quality.

"Bastards wouldn't know a good book if it hit them in the bloody face" he muttered, as he absently began turning his key into the woodwork next to the keyhole.

 

After conquering the front door, he pulled off his coat, hanging the sorry looking garment on the coat hook that clung precariously to the wall. He expertly dodged a piece of plaster falling from the ceiling. One would inevitably drift down from the crumbling, ornate plasterwork on the ceiling every time he closed the door. He entered his office, a cavernous, forbidding room, strewn with rubbish, heaps of yellowed papers and general detritus. A faint smell of damp drifted from the room, although Jacob had never managed to pinpoint exactly where it came from. Jacob hurled his latest failed creation into the corner, and fell into the chair. He sat, unable to concentrate, and briefly wondered for the first time in his life if he simply wasn’t cut out to be a writer.

 

He picked up the local literary magazine to distract himself, idly thumbing through it when his eye was caught by the bold words outlined at the bottom of the page.

 

Hello readers. As it is our one hundredth issue this month, we are offering a truly spectacular prize. One lucky reader will be winning a meeting with the up and coming local crime author Arthur Monroe!

 

Jacob immediately reddened, his temper flaring as he saw the pretenders’ dull, grinning face. He'd actually met Monroe once before, although the man hadn’t acknowledged him. Hadn’t even noticed him in fact. He'd obviously started to make quite a name for himself. Monroe clearly possessed a formidable talent. Luck. His novels had always been local successes.  It seemed his newest novel had begun to achieve nationwide fame. His success mocked and reinforced Jacob’s frustration. How did people like this Monroe get published when he sat and suffered!  Probably bribery, Jacob thought. He continued reading, glowering with hate at every innocent letter.

 

Mr. Monroe has graciously offered to meet our winner for a one on one interview at a location of their choice, to discuss his career, latest works and the world of literature. Simply state in your entry why you believe you should be the one to meet with Mr. Monroe.

 

Jacob hurled the magazine away and went to turn on the television. Halfway there he stopped, a faint smile dragging up the corners of his usually petulant mouth as the idea came to him. One on one, interesting. Maybe he would meet with Monroe. And this time, he’d make sure he got noticed. He strolled over to his desk, sat down and eagerly began drafting his competition entry.

 

 

 


Submitted: April 20, 2012

© Copyright 2022 jamestaylor. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

Other Content by jamestaylor

Short Story / Humor