Amazing. he thought after finishing reading the chapter.
He highlighted the entire text of the chapter and copied it into an office program to see the word count. The number four thousand was displayed on the monitor.
Four thousand words! Peter was amazed. And it reads so easily and quickly, as if there were only two!
He drank the rest of his iced coffee and created a separate folder for the future book, inside which he placed an office program file.
Well, we need to come up with a name. he thought. «But first you need to figure out what the book will be about.» Lets say this book is about a writer who writes a book. You need to write down all the names that might fit.
Peter took the notebook that he had recently taken from the table and began to write down possible titles for the future book in a column:
«Peter and the Notebook.»
«Writer of the new century.»
«Young Writer»
«Only a writer.»
«The genius of the pen.»
«The devil is in words.»
«Master of Words»
«Genius of words.»
Having written several titles he liked, he began to choose the one that, as it seemed to him, could best suit the work he was going to write. After thinking for a few minutes, he settled on the title: «THE DEVIL IN THE WORDS.» He found it quite interesting and somewhat mystical. Now all that remained was to decide on the genre of the work and come up with a plot for it.
The bridge of the nose twitched again. Peter began to rub it with his fingers, as this tic greatly distracted him and did not allow him to concentrate.
Go ahead already! he blurted out.
The sister entered the room again.
I need to do English. Help me translate the words.
Come on, just quickly.
She put her English textbook on the table and pointed her finger at the words circled in pencil.
Here are these, translate them.
Peter opened a translator in his browser and began to type English words into it one by one, the translation of which immediately appeared in the next column. The sister wrote down the translation, and then the sound of the word.
Peter fiddled with translating the words for about fifteen minutes, and completely lost the essence of what he was thinking about before.
Thank you. said the sister when she wrote down the translation of all the words.
Youre welcome. Peter called out.
Christina left the room and closed the door.
Peter returned to his book.
Write a plot, or try to write how it goes. he thought. Ill see what they write on the Internet.
He entered the desired phrase into the search and began reading manuals for aspiring authors, where they wrote about how best to start writing a book. Most were inclined to believe that the book should be written according to plan. This was justified by the fact that if you write without a plan, you can forget what the book is about, lose the plot line, and in the end, simply abandon everything.
Well, okay, if I abandon it, then its not fate. Peter thought, and opening the program in which he was going to write a book, he wrote the title in large letters: «THE DEVIL IN THE WORDS.» It looked impressive.
He took the mug, wanting to take a couple more sips of coffee, but the mug was empty. Then he got up from the computer and went to the kitchen. There was no one in the kitchen. He calmly poured himself some coffee and went back to the computer. The mood was working. Now, when the title of the book was ready, it seemed that the main work had already been done, and a little more, and the book would be ready, but not just a book, but a real bestseller that would sell millions of copies and make Peter one of the most successful writers. And then, for sure, he will have everything, a house, a car, and things that he wanted to buy, but could not, due to the fact that he was unemployed.
A dog ran into the room a small pug that wanted to play. She grabbed onto Peters slipper and began to pull it from side to side, wanting the owner of the slipper to play with it.
No, Motya, leave me alone, I wont play with you, dont, go play with mom or Christina.
But the dog did not lag behind. Then Peter took off his slippers and put them on the table. Motya sat down next to the chair and stared at Peter.
I wont play with you, just go. he said, motioning with his hand for the dog to leave the room, but it continued to sit motionless and look at Peter.
Peter could not stand it, got up from the table, picked up the dog in his arms, and carried him out of the room. Having lowered it to the floor in the corridor, he returned back to the room and closed the door.
Where did I stop oh yes, the devil is in the words. he said quietly, replaying all the previous thoughts in his head. This will be a book about a writer. But this will not be just a book, it will be a real motivation for all aspiring writers who ever decide to write a book. Yes.
Having decided what the book would be about, Peter began to figure out where to start it. But absolutely nothing came to mind.
The hero will be called Peter. he thought, coming up with the main character. Why complicate everything? The book is about Peter, who writes about a writer named Peter. Simple and clear. Its like putting two mirrors opposite each other. Am I not a genius? Peter, who writes about Peter, who writes about Peter. And so on ad infinitum. One writer writes about another writer who writes about a writer. Theres definitely something to this. So, in St. Petersburg there lived a young man who dreamed of becoming a writer.
Peter wrote the first few sentences of the book. But the thought did not go beyond the idea. He sat for about an hour on the first paragraph, but still couldnt come up with anything.
Deciding to pour another mug of coffee, he went to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he discovered that the milk had run out.
The milk has run out. he said when his mother entered the kitchen.
So go get him.
Give me money.
Just give it, give it. How old are you now to still walk around with your hand outstretched and ask me for money? I could go and earn money myself.
Peter did not answer anything, but only harbored a grudge somewhere deep down. They were driven by dreams. He could not come to terms with the fact that he would have to work at a factory, live like everyone else, and be content with little. He wanted more, he wanted to reach out to Hollywood stars, he wanted to be part of the star society, part of those people who have yachts, cars, luxury houses, and who receive millions in fees for their works.
Here you go, buy two bottles. said the mother, putting a hundred rubles on the table.
Peter went into the room and put on his pants and jacket. Leaving the room, he took a hundred rubles, put on his sneakers, left the apartment, closed the door, and went outside. Sun was shining. It was the end of September. There were several cars parked in the yard. Children played on the playground, and their mothers sat on benches reading magazines and books. Some sat bent over their phones.
Having reached the store, Peter went inside. He took the basket and immediately headed to the dairy department. There he ran into a girl from his building. She recognized him, it was obvious, they had seen each other more than once, but had never spoken. She drove an expensive car, apparently worked for some large company, and had recently acquired a young man who visited her from time to time. Peter liked her. He would like to approach her, but he was very embarrassed about his situation. Now, if he sold at least one book, as he thought, and made money from it, he could call himself a writer, and then he could approach her. But he was unemployed, and her car cost a million and a half, no less, and she looked quite serious. She didnt look like the kind of girl you could just walk up to, like some schoolgirl at a school disco.