So if you’re friends with me on Facebook, you may have already seen this little exchange between me and Mister Man the other night. I had brought my laptop to bed with me because a friend asked me to read a recently finished manuscript. But as it happens, I, too, recently finished a manuscript and mentioned said completed manuscript to Mister Man. And here is what happened next:

Mister Man said, “Read your book to me.”
Me: “No.”
He: “Really, I want to hear it.”
He: “Seriously.”
Me: (Sighing) “Okay, I’ll read the first chapter.”
After three pages (mostly dialogue)…
He: “How long is this chapter, anyway?”
One and a half pages later…
Me: That’s the end of the chapter.”
He: “That was pretty good, I guess. So how many chapters does this book have?”
Me: “Thirty.”
He: “THIRTY!! That seems like an awful lot of chapters to make the poor kids read.”

Yep, he’s supportive that way.

The next night, Mister Man asked again if I’d read a chapter to him. To be honest, he’d been a pretty good sport about the ribbing he’d taken from the Facebook thing. So against my better judgement, I started the next chapter.

Which is also only five pages.

Five pages.

He was snoring (though he swears he was not) when I hit the end of page two. So last night, LAST NIGHT, he asked again if I’d read to him from my book.

“You only want me to read so you can sleep,” says I. “The minute I start talking, you start snoozing.”

“Not true,” says he. “I really like that book.”

“What’s the name of the book?”

“Uh…’night!”

Maybe you have a book, too. I don’t know who you can read it to but you can send it to the Master of the Inkpot Competition (David Fickling Books) and maybe get it read by someone who will stay awake long enough to get through the title.