The Plot Bunny
The Plot
Bunny
Guardians, Book 1
Scarlet Hyacinth
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Dawn Sievers
The Plot Bunny © 2010 Scarlet Hyacinth
ISBN # 9781920484514
Attention Readers:
This book uses US English. Thank you.
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This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.
Attention Readers:
This book uses US English. Thank you.
PUBLISHER
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Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.silverpublishing.info
Dedication
For the wonderful friends that always manage to pull me out of writer's block.
My Puy, Rachel, Alice.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Marlboro
:
Altira Group / Philip Morris International
Playboy
: Playboy Enterprises, Inc.
Part One:
The Writer
Chapter One
Luc stared at the document on the laptop screen in dismayed frustration. There was only one word written in the damn thing, one single word mocking him, uselessly occupying 10kb of memory on his hard drive. The title of his next story,
Misunderstood
.
Yeah, right. Misunderstood. How cliché could you get? There were so many books about emo teenagers finding love and struggling out of their depression that it wasn't funny. Nothing shocked the world anymore, although Lady Gaga did try her best. Not that Luc wanted something particularly shocking for his next story. He just needed an idea, one single idea that could let the words flow and make that damn document occupy more space.
With a huff of annoyance, Luc pressed the "X" on top of the document, feeling the sudden urge to break something when the system asked him if he wanted to save his progress. What progress? He hadn't registered any for three months.
His first novels had sold like hot cakes and Luc's publisher had told him to take advantage of the moment, to use the profitability of his niche while it lasted. The public was fickle and one never knew when its tastes changed. "Vampires are hot today," she'd said, "but people ache for something new, for the next big thing. You can give them that."
Once, Luc had believed that. He'd truly thought he could become famous through his books, the idol of thousands of people and fanatics. He'd seen himself give conferences and hold speeches, dreamed so much. But life just didn't work that way and Luc's recent writer's block proved that better than anything.
He couldn't say his slump had any particular reason. He was perfectly happy living off money he'd earned by doing what he loved. He even had a handsome boyfriend with a mouth that could suck golf balls through a hose. But what Luc didn't have was ideas.
Luc picked up his cigarettes and left the room. He didn't think he could stand looking at the laptop for much longer. His steps led him to the balcony and he opened the French doors. The scent of begonias invaded his nostrils and the chilly autumn wind ruffled his hair. Luc leaned against the banister and lit a cigarette. In the darkness, the lit end of the Marlboro almost looked like a firefly.
Luc smiled bitterly at his fancies. Why couldn't his mind stay off stupid metaphors and come up with a plot?
Perhaps he was just trying too hard. Squeezing juice out of a dry fruit was pointless. And there he went with the metaphors again. Besides, he refused to think he didn't have any juice left. He just needed to recharge, take some time to rest and relax.
Nodding to himself, Luc tossed the untouched cigarette over the banister and went back inside. He scanned through the living room for his cell phone before remembering he'd left it in his study.
Carefully keeping his eyes off the still open laptop, he retrieved the phone. Two missed calls; one from his youngest brother, Taylor, the other from Simon. Perhaps he should get together with Simon, have a fun night out. He'd been too wrapped up in not working to do that lately.
Already feeling much better, Luc fast-dialed Simon's number. After a few rings, he started to get concerned. Where could Simon be this time of night? He wasn't the type to go clubbing without Luc.
Finally, Simon picked up. "Hi babe," Luc greeted enthusiastically. "Whatcha up to?"
"Ummm… nothing much." Simon sounded hesitant. "Just hanging."
"Oh. Then you're free to see me tonight?"
Silence reigned for a few seconds before the other man answered. "Not quite. Did you get my message?"
Luc blinked in confusion. "Message? What message?"
The reluctance in Simon's tone turned into annoyance. "The one I left to you on your home phone, and on voice mail. I can't believe this."
A low chuckle sounded through the connection, distinctly masculine, but unfamiliar. Luc's insides froze. "Simon? Who's there with you?"
"No one," Simon replied coolly. "Just a guy. It doesn't matter."
Luc opened his mouth to answer, but Simon stopped him before he could say anything. "Luc, I'm sorry, but this isn't working out. You're always so absorbed in your books and you never have time for anything else. Even when we do meet, you never talk about anything else but characters, plot, editing, and so on and so forth."
Luc blanched. "But I thought you loved that about me."
"I do. I did," Simon replied. "But Luc, I need a real person in my life, not a writing encyclopedia."
Feeling dazed, Luc just nodded. "It's okay. I understand."
Luc had always considered Simon one of the few people who understood. His lover shared a similar passion, only his obsession was sculpture, not writing. They'd been good together, simply because they could not accuse each other of neglect. Or so Luc had thought.
It occurred to him that perhaps not all was lost. Simon would still take him back if Luc promised to change. But in the end, could he make good on such a promise? Probably not. It wasn't fair to Simon to keep up a relationship that had no future. After all, with Luc lost in his writing and Simon in his sculptures, they'd end up fuck buddies at best.
"I'm sorry too, that I couldn't give you what you wanted," he told Simon.
Simon sighed. "I wish… no, never mind. See you around, I guess."
"Yeah," Luc automatically replied. "See you."
Simon disconnected the call and Luc stared at his cell phone, trying to process what had just happened. He'd been dumped by his boyfriend, a disastrous ending for a fourteen-month relationship. Luc didn't kid himself. He'd postponed their dates over and over. Simon had every right to end things, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Luc put his phone back on the table, dumbfounded. As he turned, the laptop's blank screen mocked him. "Yeah, fuck you too," Luc muttered.
Taking off his shirt, he retreated to his bedroom, his sanctuary, where he proceeded to cast away all his frustration with his best friend, his hand.
* * * *
Two months later
"This is shit," Dana Johnson said as she dumped the manuscript on the table. "I expected more from you. I can't believe this is written by the same person who gave me those brilliant works of art."
"
Well, the dungeons and dragons style just isn
'
t working out for me anymore,
"
Luc replied calmly.
Inside, he felt anything but calm. He knew
Misfortune
—
formerly known as
Misunderstood
—
was a bunch of crap. He
'
d basically spouted random stuff on paper, his frustration turning his every word
into
a big, fat cliché. His previous works, two fantasy novels set in an alternative universe, dealt with a theme quite common in literature, but somehow, he
'
d managed to give it a twist, change the old
orc-and-elf into something different. That spark had vanished now and it didn
'
t surprise him that Dana noticed.
His publisher was a slender red head who reminded Luc of the figure skater Marina Anissina. She could have been a model, but she'd chosen publishing instead and was great at it. Unfortunately, that also meant she was very critical of the works under her care. Luc felt both thankful and annoyed for that. He knew his novels couldn't have become so popular without her assistance, but he'd really hoped she could give him some real input, not just "this is shit".
"I'd say it isn't working," Dana snarled. She tossed the manuscript at him, offering him a disdainful look as he ducked. "You take this, and wipe your ass with it. It's useless for me. I want real writing, not this crap."
Mentally cursing, Luc gathered the scattered papers and gave a short bow. "Will do, my lady."
She obviously wanted to say something else, maybe end their meeting on better terms, but he didn't give her the chance. Opening the door, he made his escape. He held onto his manuscript like a shield as he passed people on the corridors, ignoring the curious looks he received. He knew he looked like hell. His once glossy black locks looked limp, having long ago adopted the cow-lick greasy style. Deep circles shadowed his eyes and spots appeared on his skin due to poor nourishment. By some miracle, he hadn't put on weight, but he still didn't make for a very appealing sight. He wished he'd put more effort into looking presentable for his meeting with Dana. As it was, he was starting to get desperate, and it showed.