tongue. Although I did get the sinking feeling I was about to get screwed.
MarkBaynard: At least they bought you lunch first, right?
Abby_Donovan: It was like one of those breakups on TV where the guy takes the girl to a ritzy restaurant so she can’t make a scene when he dumps her.
MarkBaynard: Did you make a scene?
Abby_Donovan: Of course not. I was a complete adult about the whole thing.
MarkBaynard: So you ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, right?
Abby_Donovan: I used tremendous restraint. Well, except for the Dom Perignon.
MarkBaynard: Ah, the literary equivalent of emptying the mini-bar on your final business trip after your company forces you into early retirement!
Abby_Donovan: I would have stolen the napkins and ordered porn but they didn’t have BOOTY AND THE BEAST or BARELY LEGALLY BLONDE on the menu.
MarkBaynard: Why did they let you go?
Abby_Donovan: Tough economy … blah blah blah … flagging sales throughout the industry … yadda yadda yadda …
MarkBaynard: I hate it when they tell you the truth.
Abby_Donovan: My poor editor is even fighting for HER job. My advance was fairly substantial so this will allow her to put some black back into her books.
MarkBaynard: They want their money back???
Abby_Donovan: Which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t already spent it on shameless luxuries … like food … electricity … kibble for the cats … frappucinos.
MarkBaynard: What are you going to do?
Abby_Donovan: I’m considering suicide by paper cut.
MarkBaynard: Step away from the Chinese takeout menus. How did your agent react?
Abby_Donovan: She called later and made soothing noises about selling the book to another publisher. Which would be a fine strategy … if there was a book.
MarkBaynard: At least SHE didn’t dump you.
Abby_Donovan: I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole world discovered I was a talentless fraud.
MarkBaynard: A fraud whose very first novel made your publisher and agent a slew of cash and almost won the Pulitzer Prize for literature?
Abby_Donovan: “Almost” being the operative word.
MarkBaynard: Abby, the problem isn’t that you can’t write. It’s that you’re NOT writing.
Abby_Donovan: Et tu, Brute?
MarkBaynard: If your agent had a completed manuscript in her hot little hands, what are the odds she could sell it?
Abby_Donovan: Pretty high, I guess. It usually takes New York at least 5 books to figure out you’re a pathetic washed-up has-been.
MarkBaynard: If she sold it, you could pay back your advance to the first publisher and still have enough left over to buy a little kibble, right?
Abby_Donovan: And maybe a frappucino or two.
MarkBaynard: Then take those rocks out of your pockets, call your agent & tell her you’ll have a finished book on her desk by the end of the summer.
Abby_Donovan: Hasn’t anyone ever told you that women just want men to LISTEN to them, not try to solve their problems for them?
MarkBaynard: My wife tried but I was too busy solving her problems to listen.
Abby_Donovan: I don’t even know if I can have a finished book by the end of next year, much less this one.
MarkBaynard: You’ll never find out if you don’t sit your ass down in the chair and try.
Abby_Donovan: I thought you were supposed to be a DEmotivational speaker? You are SO fired. Sniff … sniff …
MarkBaynard: Oh God, you’re not crying, are you? I feel so helpless when women cry. What in the hell am I supposed to do?
Abby_Donovan: You could pat me on the back and murmur, “Poor dear … poor, poor dear” in a soothing tone. Or make me some hot tea.
MarkBaynard: Who do I look like? Julie Freaking Andrews? Screw that. I’m going to the fridge and getting you a nice cold beer.
Abby_Donovan: While you’re there, could you bring me the pint of Chunky Monkey? And a spoon?
MarkBaynard: Drink your beer float & listen to me. When you wrote yr 1st book, did U ever dream it was going
MarkBaynard: At least they bought you lunch first, right?
Abby_Donovan: It was like one of those breakups on TV where the guy takes the girl to a ritzy restaurant so she can’t make a scene when he dumps her.
MarkBaynard: Did you make a scene?
Abby_Donovan: Of course not. I was a complete adult about the whole thing.
MarkBaynard: So you ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, right?
Abby_Donovan: I used tremendous restraint. Well, except for the Dom Perignon.
MarkBaynard: Ah, the literary equivalent of emptying the mini-bar on your final business trip after your company forces you into early retirement!
Abby_Donovan: I would have stolen the napkins and ordered porn but they didn’t have BOOTY AND THE BEAST or BARELY LEGALLY BLONDE on the menu.
MarkBaynard: Why did they let you go?
Abby_Donovan: Tough economy … blah blah blah … flagging sales throughout the industry … yadda yadda yadda …
MarkBaynard: I hate it when they tell you the truth.
Abby_Donovan: My poor editor is even fighting for HER job. My advance was fairly substantial so this will allow her to put some black back into her books.
MarkBaynard: They want their money back???
Abby_Donovan: Which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t already spent it on shameless luxuries … like food … electricity … kibble for the cats … frappucinos.
MarkBaynard: What are you going to do?
Abby_Donovan: I’m considering suicide by paper cut.
MarkBaynard: Step away from the Chinese takeout menus. How did your agent react?
Abby_Donovan: She called later and made soothing noises about selling the book to another publisher. Which would be a fine strategy … if there was a book.
MarkBaynard: At least SHE didn’t dump you.
Abby_Donovan: I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole world discovered I was a talentless fraud.
MarkBaynard: A fraud whose very first novel made your publisher and agent a slew of cash and almost won the Pulitzer Prize for literature?
Abby_Donovan: “Almost” being the operative word.
MarkBaynard: Abby, the problem isn’t that you can’t write. It’s that you’re NOT writing.
Abby_Donovan: Et tu, Brute?
MarkBaynard: If your agent had a completed manuscript in her hot little hands, what are the odds she could sell it?
Abby_Donovan: Pretty high, I guess. It usually takes New York at least 5 books to figure out you’re a pathetic washed-up has-been.
MarkBaynard: If she sold it, you could pay back your advance to the first publisher and still have enough left over to buy a little kibble, right?
Abby_Donovan: And maybe a frappucino or two.
MarkBaynard: Then take those rocks out of your pockets, call your agent & tell her you’ll have a finished book on her desk by the end of the summer.
Abby_Donovan: Hasn’t anyone ever told you that women just want men to LISTEN to them, not try to solve their problems for them?
MarkBaynard: My wife tried but I was too busy solving her problems to listen.
Abby_Donovan: I don’t even know if I can have a finished book by the end of next year, much less this one.
MarkBaynard: You’ll never find out if you don’t sit your ass down in the chair and try.
Abby_Donovan: I thought you were supposed to be a DEmotivational speaker? You are SO fired. Sniff … sniff …
MarkBaynard: Oh God, you’re not crying, are you? I feel so helpless when women cry. What in the hell am I supposed to do?
Abby_Donovan: You could pat me on the back and murmur, “Poor dear … poor, poor dear” in a soothing tone. Or make me some hot tea.
MarkBaynard: Who do I look like? Julie Freaking Andrews? Screw that. I’m going to the fridge and getting you a nice cold beer.
Abby_Donovan: While you’re there, could you bring me the pint of Chunky Monkey? And a spoon?
MarkBaynard: Drink your beer float & listen to me. When you wrote yr 1st book, did U ever dream it was going
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