The Writing Group: Part 2 (Roger meets the mysterious old man)

The following evening Roger kept his appointment with the punctuality and promptness that he always prided himself upon. He got to the library a good ten minutes before the scheduled time, casually browsed through the horror section, and kept his eye out for his friend, and her mysterious new muse. 1

It wasn’t very long before he heard the silent murmur of his cell phone, and a quick glance downwards gave him some very disappointing news.2

Soz Rog Wnt be able 2 make it. Will call ltr 2 xplain, lol J3

Swearing silently under his breath, Roger felt a double pang of disappointment. He had really wanted to meet this strange man, but his growing infatuation with Jane was the real cause of the sudden downturn in his mood. He just wanted to go home, have a few drinks and battle his housemates on his newly acquired PS 3. But the feeling of curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to stay in the library a while longer to see if he could spot the mysterious man, who had helped his friend. 4

It wasn’t long before he spotted him. Sitting down in the corner of the room was a dishevelled, and elderly looking man with a huge smirk on his age ravaged features. The man was looking directly at Roger, and with a wave of his hand he motioned for the younger man to come over. Knowing at once that this must be the mysterious ‘Hank,’ Roger walked over and sat down in the chair directly opposite to him.5

‘Are you Hank?’ he asked. The old man, with a look of wry amusement slowly nodded his head, and reached slowly into the inside of his weather beaten jacket.6

‘So you must be the famous Roger?’ he replied, between taken liberal swigs from a half bottle of whisky.7

‘Yeah that’s me. Has Jane texted you yet?’ replied a self conscious, and wary Roger.8

The elder man leant forward in an almost conspiratorial fashion, before quietly asking ‘What’s a text, son?’9

This question didn’t surprise Roger at all. He figured the old guy to be at least seventy years old, so why would he know what a text was?10

He then went on to explain the method of communication that is a cell phone, thinking naively that the old man was still living in a world of antique phones that you only see in old movies. It was (of course) a mistake. The old man was merely playing a trick that many people over the age of sixty play with the overly arrogant young. 11

He sat patiently for a good five minutes whilst Roger showed him the magic of a cell phone, but before long, he could no longer keep the amusement to himself. His look of confused bafflement turned into a mischievous smile, and he reached into his pocket and proceeded to wave a top of the range, brand new cell phone in the young man’s face.12

‘Sorry kid,’ he laughed. ‘You can’t blame an old man for having a laugh every now and then’. And as he placed the phone back in his jacket pocket, he chuckled, ‘Had one of these babies for years now, couldn’t live without it.’ 13

This little joke cleared the air of tension between the two men, creating an air of informality that helped the two men relax in each other’s company. Roger sat back in his chair, smiled like a delighted Grandchild and thought to himself, ‘Well, perhaps this old codger isn’t as crazy as he looks.’14

Having had his fun, the old man then went directly to his reason for coming to meet the struggling young writer. 15

‘Look kid, I know that Jane won’t be here tonight. I came to see you. She tells me that you’re a horror writer, how’s it been going for you?’ 16

‘It’s not being too great to be honest with you Mr,’ replied a clearly embarrassed Roger.17

‘Call me Hank son. All my friends do.’ Replied the now comfortably in control elderly man.18

Roger fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, and proceeded to tell the familiar tale of just about every unpublished writer. The main points being that publishers didn’t reply to him, he didn’t know the ‘right’ people and that if was just given a chance he was sure that people would love to read his work. Hank gave a knowing nod, paused for a second and gave Roger the proposal that would change his life forever. 19

‘Roger, I think that I could help you here. I have two things that you need. Experience and industry contacts. Email me your latest story under ten thousand words. I’ll read it, improve it and send it to one of my people. You’ll be a published author within two weeks, I give you my word on it.’ 20

Roger sat back in stunned silence. He didn’t know if he should take this man seriously or not. But then he thought back to the success of his friend Jane. He liked the girl, but he knew he was the far superior writer of the two. If she could do it, then he was convinced that a far more polished writer, such as himself, practically deserved to be put into print. It’s strange how the mind can justify anything, when self-interest is at stake.21

Inevitably, and within a split second, his mind had already processed how he should respond to this offer. 22

‘Hank, I’m all yours. I’ll send you my manuscript tonight.’23

A broad smile spread through the wrinkled features of the elder man. His plan was going exactly as he had envisioned it. He produced a card with his email address, shook the young writer’s hand and quickly, and with amazing burst of speed for a man of his years, departed the library building. 24

As Roger sat down in that small, plastic library seat all thoughts of Jane had completely left his head. The questions about the man’s motivation for helping her (and now himself) were completely forgotten. He didn’t even question whether it was ethical for the man to make changes to his own work. 25

All he could focus on was his own literary career. ‘I’m going to be an author,’ he thought to himself, before quickly rushing home and sending his manuscript to the mysterious man. ‘I’m going to be an author. I can’t believe that I’m actually going to be an author.’ And as he sat in front of his computer screen that evening, with thoughts of book tours and lecture circuits on his mind, the email that would change his life winged its way to a man he knew next to nothing about.26

Everything happened, just as the old man had promised that it would. In two weeks time Roger Jovanovich was a fully-fledged, published author. The fact that his published story bore little resemblance to what he had originally written was of no concern to him. 27

All thoughts of a relationship with Jane were now instantly forgotten. She had phoned the day after the postponed meeting to apologise, but his mind was now elsewhere. He accepted her apology, told her that ‘yes’ he will be attending the next meeting, and forgot about her as soon as the conversation had ended. After all, he was a writer now, and all other things were of a secondary interest. 28