I, Writer … # 15
I’d answered an advert online.
Ghost Writer required. Hours to suit. Reasonable rates.
Excellent conditions. A job for life.
So, there I was, in a cemetery, leaning against a tombstone taking dictation from Dearly Departed. We’d worked out a series of alphabetic taps and scrapes. Not Morse code exactly but near enough. I won’t bore you with the details at the moment. Suffice to say, it worked. Dearly Departed had an eternity and I had time on my hands.
My spirited friend, who I shall now refer to as DD, had always wanted to write a novel. It’s never too late in my opinion. And besides, literature from the Great Beyond is always so classy.
The opening sentence had been very tricky …
I am damned.
Good. Quite good. A little bit more perhaps …
I am so damned.
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