tale 66 the new acqaintance Written by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334 79 74

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The new acquaintance Half an hour before departure, the train was already on the rails. He chose a carriage in the back because he had the experience that fewer people boarded there. Nobody was on the train yet, so he settled in a compartment. The new book in his pocket was waiting to be read. He unpacked coffee, cookies and cigarettes, switched on the light and made himself comfortable. What a rest! A third of the book could be finished off. The train had been going for an hour. He was making good progress with his book, especially since no one was in his compartment, and he hadn't even noticed the conductor when he passed his door. The officer had known him for years and didn't want to disturb him while reading. Suddenly his door opened, he looked up, the book hadn't kept what it had promised anyway, he should have taken another one with him too. He looked into a bored but not ugly face. She sat down opposite him, he made room for her on the shelf, for which she thanked with a poor nod and pulled a file from her pocket. It had to be contracts; she corrected a few sentences here and there. The pile on her lap was thick, she delved into her work. His book was as boring as her face was bored. When the train passed a forest, it formed a dark background and a mirror appeared in the window. He could see her without looking directly at her. In this blurry reflection, she appeared mysterious. Why had she sat exactly into his compartment? Her pen fell to the floor and he quickly bent to pick it up. When he put it in her hand, he looked into her sad face. The first words were on his tongue: "My name is Peter." "Laura!" she replied. "Are the documents as boring as my book because I've been looking out the window for a while?" "We are masters at killing time!" "I actually like reading very much, but this book is not exactly what I would have imagined under its title and the author." "My work takes up a large part of my time, and I'm not always sure whether I really want it." One word gave the other, one thought lined up with the other. "Do you work a lot?" "If you want to make a career, you have no other choice. And what do you do when you have time to read books to your taste or lie lazily?" "I'm a writer." "Hm! A real writer? What has been published by you so far?" "I do not publish through publishers. You can read everything on my blog." "But that doesn't make you any money, does it?" "As long as you're unknown, you don't earn anything. In general, you sell author rights to a publisher. If you are lucky enough to write another box office hit, you will get a little more. But basically what the author should compose is prescribed. Advertising is the most important thing, so to speak! An example from music: Do you know Frank Zappa?" "I'm not entirely sure that I haven't heard his name before." "He was one of the greatest musicians of the twentieth century, but since he was too much a rebel, they tried to make him mouth dead. Then he founded his own record company. Unfortunately, of course, he lacked the distribution network. He didn't have his own record stores or newspapers and advertising companies, which is why he is almost only known to connoisseurs." "So you're saying that we are fooled and don't read what's really good?" "Very correct! Trends and fashion are more or less made. We are just the stupid consumers who buy what’s on the market. Usually something is highlighted, which then appears everywhere. Only very rarely does a real talent manage to attract the attention of a company and media magnates." "Well, in your opinion, these people decide what quality should represent." "But of course, it is only important for investors how much profit they can get from it. In a way, the biggest problem is that a consumer cannot be an expert in all areas and therefore often only buys good-sounding or good-looking things. You deal with contracts and law. If I sign a contract now, I probably have the same problem as a non-writer with literature.” The train stopped, his stop. He got up, put his business card with the blog address next to her on the seat, and went out. She smiled gratefully, as if to say, "How good that you didn't speak to me because I was able to finish the work that I need for the meeting." Continue with tale 67!

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