Page 12 of Pick Me
“Well, damn, that’s the first time you’ve stopped typing in an hour,” my writer friend Nia Bishop said to me over her laptop.
I winked at her as I gulped some water. “Gotta love a sprint.”
Which thankfully had been happening quite a bit during our little writing jaunt to Bryant Park. Normally, I wasn’t one for
writerly dates, but my “say yes” campaign had me agreeing to meet Nia in the park despite the fact that we were surrounded
by Ping-Pong, shuffleboard, a knitting club, and a juggling class. If I wanted to be distracted, there were plenty of people-watching
opportunities all around me. But the words were flowing for a change, and to my great delight, I’d already knocked out a couple
hundred.
For the wrong book.
“How’s it going for you?” I asked.
Nia glanced around, then leaned closer to me. “I’m currently researching if a body encased in cement stays intact or if it
degrades,” she said in a low voice. “Turns out it slows down decomp, but it won’t preserve the body indefinitely.”
“Well, okay then.” I nodded. “I’ll file that away for future use.”
Nia and I had met on an online “submission commiseration” group.
Our debuts went out to publishing houses at the same time, and while Truth and Beauty had died a long, slow death, Nia’s debut, a horror novel called Formido , scored her a three-book deal at auction.
She’d gone on to win a bunch of awards and now had a die-hard fan base that clamored
for anything she put out. But her backstory included six unpublished books prior to Formido ’s success, so I considered her proof that perseverance eventually paid off.
“I need to stop researching and get back to work.” She pulled her mirrored sunglasses off and rubbed her eyes. Her dark pixie
cut was standing straight up, probably due to the fact that she fussed with it when she was feeling stressed. “I can’t believe
pantsing works for you. I’ve plotted an outline for every single beat of this book, and I’m still having a tough time.”
“I’m loving the freedom of it,” I replied. “I know who my characters are and what they want, so now we’re all going on an
adventure together as they bicker and fall in love.”
Nia propped her chin in her palm and frowned at me. “Maybe I should add some romance to mine?”
“Oh, totally. You’ve got all the elements of a great love story—stalking, murder, and corpse desecration. A feel-good Hallmark
hit for sure.”
She pretended to be insulted. “Hey, now hold on a minute. She doesn’t consider it desecration; those body parts are mementos .”
We both chuckled and refocused on our laptops.
I felt the pull to pick up where I’d left off, a welcome but foreign sensation lately. My cowboy books were always a delight,
but they weren’t truly my stories. I was executing someone else’s vision, which meant that I didn’t always agree with the choices. I’d even gotten in a few email wars with Piper when I tried to push back on unrealistic plot points.
“Do you have a title?” Nia asked, right as my fingers were poised above the keyboard.
I nodded. “I have two in mind: The Bowstringer’s Son or The Archer’s Paradox .”
“Ooh.” Nia’s dark eyes widened. “The son one is a little commentary on all of those books with daughter, wife, or girl in
the title. Let’s go, feminism.”
I laughed. Nia’s books all featured complicated women doing awful things that her readers loved. Her soon-to-be-published
sophomore novel, Speak Softly , was about a group of self-proclaimed witches who, depending on your belief system, used either magic or pharmaceuticals
to chemically castrate abusive men.
“I’m leaning toward the second,” I said. “Since they’re both master archers.”
Or my hero would be, after he completed his training with my heroine. I’d left off with my reclusive, angry lead named Einar meeting his teacher-to-be,
Zandria, when she accidentally strayed onto his property while pursuing a parasitic creature called a diogondii.
“So you’re cruising on your romantasy, but what’s happening with your ghostwriting stuff?” Nia asked me, not realizing that
she’d stepped into a minefield.
The vise that lived at the base of my neck cranked a little tighter. “It’s, uh, sort of in stasis right now.”
I didn’t want to spill the whole a-stranger-is-my-muse aspect.
“What’s the company again?”
“Liaison Publishing.”
Just speaking the name made me feel a little nauseous. I was basically cheating on one of my primary sources of income to
work on a book that had no guarantee of going anywhere.
Nia frowned. “Huh. I think I read some stuff on a forum about a dark romance writer not getting paid by them.”
“Recently?”
“Not sure,” she replied. “I didn’t check the date on the post.”
Liaison had always been okay about paying me. It took them over thirty days, sometimes closer to forty-five, but the money
ended up in my account eventually.
“Maybe other divisions are having problems?”
I hoped so, for the sake of my bills.
Nia let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I’m feeling very uninspired,” she said, staring beyond me at the group of older men tossing
metal balls in the gravel. “Let’s go play pétanque. Or get coffee. Anything but writing, because this is torture.”
“I’ve been living in that very headspace for too long, but I’m actually in a good place right now,” I said. “Sorry, not trying
to brag.”
“Consider me jealous.” She pouted. “I’ll shut up and do a deep dive on how fast lye dissolves a human body.”
“A literal burning question for me as well; please share what you find.”
I refocused on the not-blank page on my laptop, settling into the joy of two characters trying to ignore their blistering attraction to each other while jockeying for dominance.
My plan had been to write for an hour and then shift to poor, ignored Austin and Abby, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the tension of Einar and Zandria’s first contact.
My cowboy would have to wait.
A text came through as I was absolutely cruising through a tense moment of eye fucking. I peeked at it and discovered it was
Owen.
We’d been forced to end our Sunday morning session in a rush when the CPA front desk attendant called out sick and Owen had
to step in until backup could arrive.
Just finished Rogue Cowboy. SO good.
I smiled to myself. I loved an unexpected rave. Plus he’d finished insanely fast.
Thanks! But you said you had thoughts, which I’m sort of terrified to hear. FYI, the book is published so I can’t go back
and change anything.
Of course. It’s no biggie. I figured since you’ve got writer’s block my idea might help with your WIP.
Adorable that he remembered the acronym.
Hell yes, I’m listening!
We can talk about it at our next session. It’s sort of out there.
I squinted at my phone. What could he be thinking?
Very intrigued. Can’t wait to hear.
See you soon. Remember your POSITIVE ATTITUDE.
I laughed softly.
“What?” Nia asked.
“Long story,” I answered with a shake of my head.
A long story that was becoming a page-turner.