‘Time to retire,’ he acknowledges. Casting a glance around the room, he recalls late nights, the stress of impending deadlines. Twelve years of service.
His desk is covered with thank you letters from all over the world.
He remembers each story, from the competition winners to the rejections. His heart pounds at the thought of some people’s failure to add a comma after the title.
‘Time to go,’ his wife prompts. He squeezes her hand, relishing the opportunity to spend more time with her.
His mobile pings with a message from his successor:
‘Time to focus on your own writing.’
His desk is covered with thank you letters from all over the world.
He remembers each story, from the competition winners to the rejections. His heart pounds at the thought of some people’s failure to add a comma after the title.
‘Time to go,’ his wife prompts. He squeezes her hand, relishing the opportunity to spend more time with her.
His mobile pings with a message from his successor:
‘Time to focus on your own writing.’
