(had Jason pull four random cards from The Storymatic, set timer for fifteen minutes, wrote short story, lightly edited)
After putting the final touches on her romance novel Forbidden Love Fruit, Dawn uploaded it onto every available digital platform for the low price of ninety-nine cents. She tweeted the release, posted a notice on Facebook, and sent an email to her small group of newsletter subscribers. Task complete, she popped the champagne and spent the rest of her evening relaxing with the television.
The following day, Dawn went back to work at the post office. Despite self-publishing fifteen romance novels, she still wasn’t earning enough as a writer to pay the bills. And so she spent her days selling stamps and weighing packages, and in the evenings she spun her tales of forbidden love and bodice-ripping passion. Writing brought in just enough money to fill the gas tank and buy a few bottles of champagne a month.
One week after the release of Forbidden Love Fruit Dawn was shocked to discover that the novel was selling, and selling well. In a single day, over three-thousand copies had sold from the combined retailers. Her blog received huge amounts of new traffic, the number of her Twitter and Facebook followers skyrocketed, and hundreds signed up for her mailing list. Dawn spent the next several evenings answering fan mail and arranging to send signed copies to the seemingly desperate fans. And last night, she stared in disbelief at an email from a Hollywood agent inquiring about a possible motion picture deal.
Back at work, Dawn smiled at all of her customers. She made small talk and laughed, all the while thinking, “This person doesn’t know they’re talking to a famous author!”
A handsome older man approached her counter. He carried no package, no envelopes. Dawn smiled at the man and asked, “Would you like to buy some stamps today?”
Frowning he replied, “You don’t even remember me, do you Dawn?”
Dawn blinked and gazed at the man’s brown eyes, his chestnut hair peppered with gray. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
“I was your Economics teacher in high school.”
Dawn’s cheeks burned. She opened her mouth to speak but her throat was suddenly dry.
He placed his hands on the counter and said quietly, “A hairy back? Small hands? Two minutes?”