Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
He got up from the desk and stretched. When he was younger he could sit at the desk and write all day, but now that he was older his bones and joints complained. Loudly. Walking stiffly over to the bookshelf he looked at his older works, the literary works, and sighed. He enjoyed the “good old days” as people appreciated his craft, appreciated the effort he spent in finding just the right word to bring a scene or character to life.
He hadn’t been a hit-making machine as he only came out with a novel every eighteen months but he had good sales. Top ten in all markets. At least that is what the blurbs on his books all said. But he never successfully made the transition to ebooks. His publisher was partially to blame, trying so hard to hold on to the old ways, that they missed the boat when it cam to marketing and distribution.
And so he went solo. But people didn’t appreciate his work as much as an independent author, they wanted something fluffier, easier to digest. So he changed. Gone was Jeremy F. Lawrence, noted author, to be replaced by J.F. Cornwall, author of a book a month. His genre changed as well, going from high brow literature to … well, something that paid well.
He went back to his desk and tried to complete the scene that he had been working on.
His hand climbed up the inside of her thigh, slowly rising to where she needed it the most. She tried to move her center closer to his probing fingers, but his legs, spread wide on the soft comforter that lay on her bed, had forced hers so wide that she had no leverage. She ached. Her body throbbed with need but his fingers were tantalizingly far away.
Post a link to the story in the comments.