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    Writer's Island
    Writer's Island
    Writer's Island
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Writer's Island

    By Teresa D. Patterson

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    About this ebook

    New York Times bestselling author, Edmond Thompson, has a reputation for being arrogant and cocky. Even on his worst day, he has nothing on new-to-the-scene, independent author, Donté Hardy.
    Fresh out of prison, Donté has taken the literary industry by storm. He’s a known internet bully, pulling strings to make sure he and his authors’ titles remain at the top.
    Edmond can’t stand the fact that Donté, a snarky “Facebook author,” hasn’t put in the same amount of work he has over the years. He doesn’t deserve his newfound prestige.
    Donté feels that Edmond is just jealous and needs to throw in the towel on writing because his book sales have sunk like the Titanic.
    Both authors find themselves on Writers Island. There, they will be in seclusion for thirty days writing a full-length novel to present to their agent. If the book is accepted, they will receive a six-figure deal with a major publishing company. The deal will put Edmond back on the top and keep Donté from returning to prison.
    The men are dismayed upon learning they will have to write together. Will they be able to put their egos aside and come up with a best-seller or will stubborn pride cause them both to fail?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTeresa D. Patterson
    Release dateDec 26, 2017
    ISBN9781370043330
    Writer's Island
    Author

    Teresa D. Patterson

    Teresa D. Patterson came onto the literary scene with her debut novel, Project Queen, which was published by a small independent publishing company. It wasn't long before she realized having complete control over the creation and distribution of her books suited her better, compelling her to publish her own future works.Her first independent published novel was Ex-boyfriend. She went on to write several novels in multiple genres, which includes contemporary fiction, erotica, inspirational fiction, juvenile fiction, romance, and urban lit. She has written twenty-eight novels and co-authored one.

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      Book preview

      Writer's Island - Teresa D. Patterson

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Epilogue

      Word from the Author

      About the Author

      Other books by Teresa D. Patterson

      Connect With Teresa D. Patterson

      Writer’s Island

      Teresa D. Patterson

      Copyright 2017 by Teresa D. Patterson

      Published by Edit Again Publications at Smashwords

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      CHAPTER ONE

      After reading the first post, Donté Hardy wished he’d signed out of his account and logged off the computer but curiosity had gotten the best of him, so he’d kept reading. Now, his heart constricted, and he almost couldn’t breathe. His eyes widened and damn near bugged out of their sockets as he read post after negative post.

      He calls himself a publisher, but he’s nothing more than a crook.

      I’m not a crook. Fuck you mean?

      He’s not a man of his word, not to mention a bad business man. Very unprofessional.

      How can you call me unprofessional when you’re posting negative shit on my social media wall? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

      This nigga need to pay me my damn money! I ain’t seen a royalty check yet.

      I’m going to pay you. You’re just impatient. We discussed that issue, and you said you understood. So why are you trying to make me look bad now?

      With a clenched jaw, Donté Hardy scooted his chair back from the computer screen. He couldn’t stand to read another word. He felt a sudden despair spread throughout his chest. He feared he’d hyperventilate if he didn’t get his emotions under control. The publishing company he had struggled to build for the last five years was crumbling down around him. Before his eyes, his legacy might crash and burn, with little for him to do to stop it.

      I should have never signed those weak motherfuckers to my publishing company, he spat. I gave them a chance, helped to put their name and books out there, and they turn on me like this. Fuck them all. Like they say, these bitches ain’t loyal. They don’t deserve to be with my publishing company anyway. Loyalty Publications will go on without them. A few monkeys don’t stop no show.

      His cell phone rang. His face twisted when he answered only to have his author, Jaquan, bellow in his ear.

      Look, Donté, I have been more than patient with you, and after six months, my patience has run out. I need to get paid. I haven’t seen not one royalty check yet, bru. Not one. What’s up with that? Either pay me or give me back the rights to my book and stop making money off it. I’m tired of your ass getting rich off of my hard work. Don’t make me and my crew take a road trip. Trust me, that’s not something you want. You don’t want to find out how we roll, bru.

      Donté just listened to the rant with minimal conversation.

      When is this nigga going to come up for air? I bet he’s pacing back and forth, wearing a hole in his damn carpet.

      Are we gonna have to come get what’s owed to me or what? Jaquan huffed. Donté could hear him breathing hard over the line. Instead of telling him to fuck off, he’d try to calm him down. He didn’t need Jaquan and his posse of jean-sagging thugs doing a drive-by shooting on his crib.

      There’s no need for that, he finally said. I’ll pay you soon. I just have some red tape to sift through and after that, you’ll receive a royalty payment. You have my word, he lied.

      Man, fuck your word, Jaquan swore. Just cut that check, nigga. He disconnected.

      Donte’s foot began to tap on its own accord. The truth was, he hadn’t paid Jaquan or any of the other twenty authors he’d signed to Loyalty Publications in quite a few months. He couldn’t pay them because he wasn’t about to let the IRS fuck him again. Since they had recently garnished every cent that went into his bank account, he’d had to outsmart them. He’d moved the company’s money into a secret account. He couldn’t pay his authors from that account because if he did, he feared the nosey ass IRS would discover it, too. He refused to let them wipe him out because he was allergic to being broke. He’d just have to get used to the backlash from disgruntled authors until he got things under control. He’d deal with them...eventually. Until then, he had to convince others to sign with Loyalty Publications, Inc. so he could keep making money. He’d become accustomed to living a pretty lavish lifestyle, and he wasn’t about to go back to a prison cot and three hots. As long as he had authors, he’d have steady cash flowing in.

      Speaking of which, let me get Isis on the phone. I need her to sign this publishing contract so I can release her book next month, he said aloud.

      Isis was young so she wasn’t asking all the questions she should have been asking about royalty payments, book cover design, editing, promotion, etc. All she wanted was to see her book in print, which by the way, his company didn’t do. They only published electronic books. .99 cent e-books were the current fad. He’d continue to profit from it until the trend wore itself out, which didn’t seem to be anytime soon.

      It took him all of ten minutes to sweet-talk the naïve young lady into emailing him her entire manuscript in Microsoft Word format as an attachment. He forwarded her a contract that she e-signed and immediately emailed back to him. BINGO.

      Got ‘em, he said and laughed aloud. He sent an email to the cover designer. Of course, he’d have Isis’s bubble gum and lollipop sounding title changed. He needed something ratchet, because the more ratchet the title, the quicker it would sale.

      Confident that the designer would come up with a ghetto cover to match the book, he posted a few status updates on Facebook and Twitter introducing his new author, Isis. As soon as the cover had been created, he’d share it, not because he wanted to help the author out; only because he knew he would gain from doing so. However, the gullible little author would think he was promoting her book.

      Once he’d done that task, he forwarded the manuscript to his assistant so she could send it on to be formatted. That process shouldn’t take no more than two days, depending on how busy their typesetter was with other authors.

      He sat back and read all the comments to his post and watched the likes increase. Having so many people support him gave him life. It inflated his over-sized ego, too. He was dominating the literary game. He’d all but pushed the top New York Times bestselling black authors off the grid. He knew they hated him for it, too, but he didn’t care. As long as his name stayed on their lips, then he’d remain relevant.

      Speaking of New York Times bestselling authors, he clicked on the Facebook page of the one author he used to admire to see what he had going on.

      Not a damn thing.

      He laughed aloud. Edmond Thompson was a has-been, just a washed-up used to be top-selling author.

      How ironic that he used to admire him. He’d grown up reading his books; paid top dollar for the hard covers. He’d waited in high anticipation for his next book to be released, too. But that was a thing of the past because when he’d reached out to Edmond Thompson, he’d been dissed. Not only had Mr. Conceited dissed him, he’d mentioned something slick on Facebook about it, too. He hadn’t mentioned any names, but Donté knew who he’d been referring to. He didn’t appreciate being slighted by another author, especially one he’d had nothing but respect and admiration for. And for that, he’d never forgive his ex-favorite author.

      Mr. Big Named Author could forever continue to talk about how he used to be an icon, how he’d helped to pave the way for other African American authors, and blah, blah, blah. No one, especially Donté Hardy, gave a shit about any of that.

      He strolled down Edmond Thompson’s page and laughed when he read, "my books weren’t written just to entertain.

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