telling you, I don’t know.»
Peter went back to the kitchen. He returned to the table and continued watching the series. He remembered seeing the books that the series was based on and thought that maybe he should write something like the series too. It seemed easier to write that way. But these thoughts still did not solve the main problem; they did not give ideas on what to fill the chapters with. The idea could be embodied in a story, put into a few pages, write that there was such and such a guy who wrote such and such a book, and then it was published, and he made a lot of money. But it was a story. Story! Not a book. No one has ever made money from stories, and not many have made money from books.
– I’ll write one chapter a day, and in about twenty days I’ll just finish it. – Peter thought, pondering his book. – The main thing is to have a desire to write. Although, perhaps, you should treat this as work, not wait for the desire to appear, but just write. But what if no lines are written at all? Give up everything? Admit to yourself that you are mediocre and have no literary inclinations? What about dreams? You won’t be able to come to terms with the fact that you will never have anything. Think about it, where else can you make money? You will end up as a loader at some factory, where you will work from morning to evening. And all that will happen in your life is a bottle of beer and computer games. – He put his head on the table. – No, you can’t do that, I have to think of something. I have to find a way to make a ton of money, but how?
My sister came into the kitchen. She had a textbook, notebook and pen in her hands.
– Help me do the math.
– Let’s go to.
Together they went to Peter’s room. The sister sat down in a chair and put the notebook on the table, giving the textbook to her brother. He took it and began to read the problem. Having read it completely, he comprehended everything that was said in it, and began to dictate a decision to his sister. She began to write it down in her notebook.
Peter was tired of standing with a textbook in his hands; he would rather sit down at the computer and continue working on the book, or at least search the Internet for some useful articles or blog posts that would help him write. He tried to solve problems from the textbook as quickly as possible, dictating solutions to his sister.
Having finished doing math, Christina got out from behind the computer and, taking a textbook and notebook, went to her room. Peter sat down in a chair. It was a moment of relief. He was so used to his chair that he received incredible pleasure from being in it. Everything in his room was done in such a way as to enjoy comfort, which Peter valued very much. He bought all his things when he worked at the factory. He worked there for a couple of months, and was just able to save money to buy a computer, a sofa, and a computer chair, not to mention other small things, such as a table, a bedside table and a carpet.
Working at the factory seemed like absolute hell to him. He hated the whole world when he was carrying heavy sheets of iron, or dragging them from the truck to the workshop. But there was nowhere to go. He woke up in the morning and, trying not to think about fatigue, went to work. Walking down the street, he tried not to notice cars and people who, as he believed, lived much better than him. They were happy, it was evident from their smiles. And anger accumulated in him. He never wanted to answer questions about why he was so sad or dissatisfied. He had no reason to be pleased. He wanted a yacht, he wanted a car, he wanted a separate apartment and a life, the same as the one that Hollywood stars had, but instead, a factory.
When he quit his job, he had no regrets. Of course, he understood that his mother would be unhappy, that she would be angry with him and let all the dogs go the first time, but he could not continue to work, his dreams were too colorful. He didn’t just dream, he believed that he deserved a better life.
– Do you have money? – asked the sister, entering Peter’s room.
– No. Where do I get them from?
– OK. I will go for a walk.
– Okay, go ahead.
The sister left the room. Keys jingled in the corridor, a clicking sound was heard in the lock, after which the door opened. Christina went out into the entrance and closed the door behind her. Peter was left alone in the apartment.
– Almost four o’clock in the afternoon. Maybe try writing another chapter? – thought Peter, looking at his watch. – Why not.
He opened the office program in which he wrote the book and continued writing. At first the text was difficult, there were no ideas for a new chapter, but after half an hour, Peter signed, and the glory began to appear on its own. Text began to appear on the empty sheets of the monitor, filling them.
Peter did not notice how four hours had passed. He realized this when the front door opened. Getting up from the computer, he looked out into the corridor. It was the mother. In her hands was a bag filled with groceries.
– Did you buy anything for tea? – Peter asked, turning to his mother.
– Yes, I bought it. Go and unpack the package.
Peter went out into the corridor, took a bag of groceries from his mother, and went to the kitchen. He pulled out all the food and put it in the refrigerator. A package of chocolate wafers was bought for tea. Peter opened it and took three strips. He returned to the room and sat back down at the computer. Taking a bite from the waffle strip, he took a mug to wash down the waffle with coffee, but the mug was empty.
Putting the waffles aside, he went to the kitchen to pour some coffee. He did this quite quickly, trying once again not to catch the eye of his mother, who at that time was fastening the leash on the dog’s body to take her out for a walk.
– Close the door behind me. – she said, since closing the door with a leash in her hand was inconvenient.
Peter took the keys and went to the front door. The mother left the apartment and he closed the door behind her.
Together with the keys, he returned to the room, sat down in a chair, put the keys down, took a bite of the waffle, and washed down the coffee. A mild taste spread throughout the mouth. He glanced at the monitor, looked at the text, then at the word count. The second chapter was finished. A feeling of self-satisfaction and joy reigned in the mind. But, despite the fact that the second chapter was finished, the whole book was still ahead. It is unknown how many chapters will need to be written for the book to look complete. Maybe twenty, maybe thirty. But where do you get ideas for so many chapters? This was probably the main question that tormented Peter. But now, he tried not to think about it, the main thing was that he had finished the second chapter. Five thousand words were over. It was a small segment of the entire journey, but it was very significant. Yes, Peter was not the same genius as those who wrote several hundred novels during their lives. But Peter believed that if he managed to write at least one book, it would certainly become a bestseller and bring him good money, with which he could buy everything he loved to dream about.
CHAPTER 3. A walk in the park
– Take a walk with Motya today. – said the mother, getting ready for work.
Peter was in the kitchen, pouring himself some coffee to cheer himself up. It was not early morning, about eleven o’clock. Usually at that time his mother left for work. My sister was already at school. Only he, alone, did not go anywhere, and did not do
