― Émile Coué
“Mark Cooper is not a failure.”
He stared at the unshaven face before him. The Man in the Mirror shrugged and yawned.
“Mark Cooper is not…” He stopped in mid-sentence, unable to go on.
For two years now he had been reading Raymond Hart’s books and following his system faithfully. At first, the affirmations seemed to work.
“Every day in every way, things are getting better and better.”
And things did get better. His income started to grow, so he went out and bought more of the self-help books and tapes.
Gradually it dawned on him that his own murder mysteries weren’t selling—the increased cash flow came from editing the manuscripts of Clive Canton, whose Clanton mystery books were now on the New York Time’s Best Seller List.
“It’s not working, Ray,” he sighed, wiping a splatter of toothpaste from the forehead of the Man in the Mirror. “I’m a failure.”
Raymond Hart’s frown conveyed the message, “Such weakness—such pathetic ineptitude.”
Soft music played in the background. The girl with the Meg Ryan face kissed away his tears. “I believe in you, Mark—you can do it.”
He blinked and she was gone.
He groaned at his stupidity, put back the toothpaste in the medicine cabinet and shut off the light.
Maybe the morning paper might provide him with some inspiration for a story—or a job.
“Hey, Cooper—When are yuh gonna get a job and live in the real world?”
Harold Lemming sneered at him from the open window of his Kia as he backed out of his driveway.
Harold had gained some notoriety in the neighbourhood by re-telling the tale of Mark’s latest misadventure—a good idea gone wrong.
In order to test whether his hero could escape by driving blindfolded, Mark had carried out an experiment using his car.
Unfortunately, he drove into a fire hydrant. The Fire Department sent a truck to shut off the water and called the police who charged him with careless driving.
Harold convinced the neighbours that Mark was one brick short of a load.
Mark sighed and retrieved the newspaper, and saw Sarah Strassen, from across the street, wave to him. He smiled feebly and waved back.
Across the Street Sarah, as he called her, was gorgeous and single like him.
She worked in a bank or a library—he wasn’t sure, since he heard two different versions over the backyard fence. Anyway, she was definitely out of his league and only served as the inspiration for all his fictional femme fatales.
He went back inside and absently poured a coffee, glancing out the window at Sarah as she walked to work. She was so beautiful it hurt. He quickly pushed the thought aside and sat down at his computer to write.
At ten a.m. the phone rang. “Mr. Cooper? Is this Mr. Mark Cooper, the author?”
Mark almost spilled his coffee. Suddenly his mouth went dry and his lips felt like bark.
“Speaking,” he squeaked.
“Mr. Cooper, this is Bakersfield Publishing. We received your manuscript and liked it. We noticed you were a local author and wondered if you would be able to meet with us this afternoon, say around three?”
“Three …would—would be fine,” he stammered.
“We’ll see you then.”
It happened! It actually happened. A publisher liked his book.
“Maybe I was too hasty in dismissing my affirmations,” he mused.
“Let’s see now, he muttered as he tried out a new mantra.
Success is being attracted to me right now.
It was true. He could feel the vibrations from the universe as bliss radiated back to him, just as Raymond Hart promised. He was on his way.
At three o’clock, he was ushered into an impressive office and sat waiting for the Commissioning Editor.
The door finally opened and Sarah Strassen walked in. Her face was beaming.
“Hello, Mark. I’m so glad you could come on such short notice.”
“You’re the Editor?” Mark was stunned.
‘I am," Sarah smiled, "and I must say I’ve been admiring your work for some time now—a colleague from another firm received your query, but wasn’t taking mysteries at the time. She passed it along to me and I shared it with my Publisher and he loved it. While we were discussing it, your query letter to us arrived and that’s when we decided to offer you a contract.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” she smiled. “Why don’t we discuss the details over dinner tonight at Maxi’s in the Village?”
“That would be great.” He stared at her in disbelief. It had all happened so quickly.
“Do you mind if I ask what made you choose my manuscript?”
She paused, as if deciding how to answer.
‘Well, I heard about your accident with the car and I thought anybody who would go to that extent to test his writing was somebody I’d like to work with.”
Mark’s head swam as he tried to come to terms with what had happened—Then, it wasn’t Raymond Hart and his affirmations or vibrations that brought his success—it was his writing alone that got him in the door.
He left still in a daze, already fantasizing about dinner later that night with Sarah, the girl of his dreams.
When he was gone, Sarah sat down at her desk and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a copy of Positive Vibrations by Raymond Hart.
"The man of my dreams is coming into my life,” she chanted.
Blissful waves of energy enveloped her.
The universe was unfolding as it should.