Message From Viola Mari Read Online Free PDF

forgotten my notebook, which I wrote in, without fail, every day. I begged my parents to go back and get it. When I started writing a story on my thighs, they finally pulled over and bought me another one at a convenience store.”
    I laughed and our eyes met for an instant and then drifted apart. His athletic stride matched mine—without effort we nearly matched each other step for step. We strode down the maze of long hallways toward the street exit.
    “Sounds like you write a lot.”
    “Every day. If I don’t, I lose my rhythm.” He flashed me a smile and flecks of yellow and amber danced in his green eyes.
    Why is it I’m thinking about sex and not writing exercises? I cleared my throat. “How many books have you published?”
    “Just one. My agent’s trying to help me land a contract on my second one.”
    “Are your books sci-fi?”
    “Nothing other. But I do publish under a pen name. The book I had you read from the other day was my work.”
    “No way, really?” I felt a twinge of jealousy. He must have been in love or lust with someone at the time to write such a provocative sex scene. I wonder if they’re still together.
    “Really.”
    Wanting to stop the thoughts of his penis swollen and ready for another woman, I asked, “How did you get into teaching?”
    “My undergraduate degree is in English Literature and I also have an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Stanford. Over the years, many writers asked me for help with their work, and most of the time I couldn’t say no. I find it exciting to watch others discover their voices, the way I found mine.”
    “And how did you find yours?” I asked. Justin opened the door and held it for me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. We strode along the sidewalk, which cut across a grassy lawn and then met the street.
    “I’ve always been an observer. I thrive on watching how people interact with others and the quirky things that happen in day-to-day life. I enjoy putting thoughts that flow through my brain down on paper. As a child, I was a big Isaac Asimov fan. Now I create my own worlds.”
    “I used to read sci-fi books all the time, too,” I said, smiling. A gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into my face. I tucked it behind my ear. “But I never thought about writing them.”
    We walked across the crosswalk, approaching the sandwich shop.
    “Did you know you wanted to be an oceanographer the first time you put your big toe in the ocean?”
    “Not really. I imagined wearing so many different shoes as a girl—I wanted to be an Olympic athlete, a scientist, the first female President. In high school, there was nothing I enjoyed more than sprawling out on the floor in the library with copies of Oceanography Illustrated and Meteorites Today , reading articles about ocean depth profiles and the different varieties of meteorites until my legs went numb. I knew then what I wanted.”
    “Science fits you,” he said. “I certainly can’t imagine you as President.”
    I opened my mouth and shut it again. Don’t ask. You don’t want to know the answer.
    We paused outside the restaurant, absorbed in our conversation. “ Can you bring a meteorite to class? I’ve always wanted to touch one.”
    “Sure, I’ve got several metallic meteorite samples in my collection that have been sliced and polished. Inside the oxidized fusion crust you can see their amazing Widmanstatten structure.”
    “Fusion crust? Widmen what structure?”
    “The fusion crust forms as the burning meteorite enters our atmosphere. The Widmanstatten structure is the cross-hatched pattern nickel-iron crystals display in certain types of metallic meteorites.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.” Justin’s grin displayed sturdy, straight teeth.
    “Table for two?” inquired the hostess as we stepped inside.
    “Yes, please,” Justin answered. The woman ushered us toward a booth. Justin slid into a seat and laid his briefcase down. I took the place across from him but stopped my