Amish Jedi: In a City Far, Far Away

Episode 12.1 ~ John

Over the following week, Jason visits just as often as before, but he never brings up John focusing instead on me. Unfortunately, I have nothing to discuss with him about my writing life because I'm secretly slacking off on the book to focus on the story. With Christmas coming, I'm in a relaxed holiday mood and can't bring myself to do anything I don't feel like doing. Besides, there's shopping to get done since the English Christmas is in December. And Zooks has been very busy with gift basket orders. I spend most of my "alone" time in Tea and Tales with my laptop, Kindle, and bottomless cocoa mug.

On Tuesday morning, I'm sunk into my favorite armchair by the window with my feet up on the coffee table and my laptop balanced on my legs. The first mug full of cocoa wafts wisps of steam into the air as it waits on the side table. On my Hufflepuff-themed desktop, I click the stamp with the eagle icon I like to think of as an owl. It bounces three times and then my email opens. LOTS of orders populate. But what really makes my heart sink is the one addressed from my publisher. 

Cringing, I click on the email.

Miss Zook,
I hope you are well. I assume you are excited forThe Force Awakens. I'm emailing to see how the first book is coming along. We have just sixteen days until editing needs to begin. If there is any way I can help, please let me know.
May the Force be with you,
Mr. Hickey

I sink lower into the cushions and let out a low groan that no one hears over the frothing going on behind the counter. I'm still on the first draft and I don't even like it. There's no way I'll be able to get him a finished copy by December 31st. I'd have to work around the clock from now until then except for breaks for holiday events. Grrrr. Why did I ever agree to this in the first place?

I forward the email to my agent, and type,

Mr. Stobbe,
I don't think I'm going to make this deadline. Can we push it back a few weeks?
Zia

By the time I fill two Zook's orders, I already have a reply from Les:

I think asking for an extension would be a bad precedent to set on your first publishing deal. You are a great writer. I read your blog. If you write three entries a day, you should make the deadline just fine.
Les

Gah! I knew I wouldn't be able to get away with an extension with that man — knowledge that both assures and infuriates me. He says to write three posts a day like it is that easy. It's not. This is a book, not a blog. I can't just slap something together, add a few GIFs, a featured image, and call it a day. No one buys a book to read what they can read for free online.

"What's wrong?"

I gasp. 

"Sorry," John says, sitting in the armchair next to me. "You look like you're upset about something." 

"I am." I hand him my laptop. "Read." 

He hands me a brown bag from Bagels. "Eat." 

He's made me an Amish Jedi sandwich. A whole one. Just for me. John goes to work so early, and Teddy feeds him, that I haven't cooked breakfast or lunch in a week—which means I'm on an eighty-percent liquid diet. 

"Why does this have you in a bad mood?" he asks as I swallow the first bite. "You're almost done."

"I hate everything I've written." 

"I'm sure it's fine."

"You haven't read it."

"Then let me." 

I take another bite. Chew. Swallow. "It's long and boring."

"Zizi," he sets the laptop on the side table and leans toward me, "nothing written by you can ever bore me."