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This is the nonfiction story of one man's quest to publish a fiction novel:
Chapter 61: Down Horsie
stressIn the time since my last post, I wrote a children’s novel about a boy who doesn’t like who he is, but after spending a night as a vampire (it makes sense, honest), he realizes he doesn’t have it so bad.
There’s plenty of excitement in that novel, but the real drama is unfolding behind the scenes, in my search for a house.
After losing the last house, Kristina and I hiked our shoes up over the saddle of that real estate horse and kept on riding through neighborhood after neighborhood. And we actually found one we liked better.
So that night we sat in a small sunroom at the front of our realtor's house. Black sky floated over the high windows. Various sized dolls floated face up within the river of the blue carpet. A cat shot back and forth from corner to corner, chasing a bug, its tail stuck straight up in the air, thus showing us the reason it had been nicknamed Butthole.
We sat in this room. And we discussed an offer.
The house had been lowered $5,000 four days before we saw it. Our realtor, that of the one who named her cat Butthole, suggested we lowball the seller an additional $10,000.
And for some reason, we took her advice.
The next day, I had to travel to the corporate offices for work. I had to meet with all the executives, I had to focus on work, while our offer drifted out there.
Floating. Like the dark sky. Like the dolls on the carpet. Like my sanity -- floating away.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. The text message from my wife was brief: seller is in florida. His realtor was made aware of the deadline.
Oh great, I thought. He's on vacation. He doesn't want to be bothered. He's not going to accept the offer.
One hour went by. Three. My phone buzzed again, but I was in a meeting. Kristina was calling, but I was in a meeting.
Sure, I'm concentrating on the work. Yes, Mr. CEO, that makes perfect sense. Did they accept our offer?!?!?!?
When the meeting ended I rushed out, breaking through the doorway like a scuba diver breaching the surface of the water. I checked my voicemail.
They didn't accept the offer. Of course they didn't, we lowballed them big time.
No, they didn't accept the offer. They countered. Just $2,000 higher.
Wait, what? Seriously?
And just like that, we had a house.
Well, not so fast. Contingent on the home inspection we had the house.
Ah, the home inspection. That's where the real drama began.
There’s plenty of excitement in that novel, but the real drama is unfolding behind the scenes, in my search for a house.
After losing the last house, Kristina and I hiked our shoes up over the saddle of that real estate horse and kept on riding through neighborhood after neighborhood. And we actually found one we liked better.
So that night we sat in a small sunroom at the front of our realtor's house. Black sky floated over the high windows. Various sized dolls floated face up within the river of the blue carpet. A cat shot back and forth from corner to corner, chasing a bug, its tail stuck straight up in the air, thus showing us the reason it had been nicknamed Butthole.
We sat in this room. And we discussed an offer.
The house had been lowered $5,000 four days before we saw it. Our realtor, that of the one who named her cat Butthole, suggested we lowball the seller an additional $10,000.
And for some reason, we took her advice.
The next day, I had to travel to the corporate offices for work. I had to meet with all the executives, I had to focus on work, while our offer drifted out there.
Floating. Like the dark sky. Like the dolls on the carpet. Like my sanity -- floating away.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. The text message from my wife was brief: seller is in florida. His realtor was made aware of the deadline.
Oh great, I thought. He's on vacation. He doesn't want to be bothered. He's not going to accept the offer.
One hour went by. Three. My phone buzzed again, but I was in a meeting. Kristina was calling, but I was in a meeting.
Sure, I'm concentrating on the work. Yes, Mr. CEO, that makes perfect sense. Did they accept our offer?!?!?!?
When the meeting ended I rushed out, breaking through the doorway like a scuba diver breaching the surface of the water. I checked my voicemail.
They didn't accept the offer. Of course they didn't, we lowballed them big time.
No, they didn't accept the offer. They countered. Just $2,000 higher.
Wait, what? Seriously?
And just like that, we had a house.
Well, not so fast. Contingent on the home inspection we had the house.
Ah, the home inspection. That's where the real drama began.
Matthew Ulmer @ BookSay
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