Ian was a writer by calling and a writer by passion. He had a little space in his house especially for writing. He set at least an hour aside every day (it is tough when you have a full-time job). He went to conventions and read books on writing. Stephen king was his hero.
“Not in the sense of what he writes,” said Ian, “Because it’s just silly nonsense. Living action figures and a monster in the lamp? Come on! But it’s very well written and a commercial success. No writer’s work has been adapted by Hollywood as much as his.”
“How about God’s?” said Emma.
“How do you mean?” said Ian. It was their turn to order coffee, they gave their names and took a seat. When the conversation resumed, they did not return to Emma’s failed joke.
“So anyway, how are you doing, Em?”
“Fine. I’m busy, it’s Brian’s confirmation next week. I have to throw a party, just like mom did for us.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” said Ian.
“I know, but it’s the neighbors, other kids’ moms. You know.”
“Hey, it’s a good idea for a short story. Or an episode in my novel.”
“How’s that coming along?” asked Emma.
“Great. I have it all planned out,” said Ian, tapping his temple.
The barista called out their names. Their orders were up.