Something I Wrote

I always wanted to be an author, but I didn’t start writing until I had graduated from college and

got my first job as a librarian. At first that job was only supposed to last until I found a job at a

publishing company. Three years later I had applied for a few hundred jobs at different publishing

companies and had only ten interviews. I never really fell in love with being a librarian, but it had

benefits and let me stay around books all day, which is what I really wanted. It also allowed me to

join my very first book club (I know that sounds odd, but I just never seemed to be able to find one

that I liked). It was life changing.

One dreary day in early spring, the time when it’s too drizzly to wear shorts outside and too

humid to ever put any effort into your hair. Nobody was coming into the library at that time (they

must have decided that cafes were a much warmer environment). I was so bored I started to write this

story that had been in my head for months. I wrote from my lunch time to nine pm. As I was finishing

a familiar arm extended behind my back, “Carolynn, you know dear, I think you have what it takes.”

I smiled, “For what?” I started massaging my poor hands. “To write,” she slowly moved her arm from

my back and started packing up her books and her twisted knitting. “I’ve written a few books, but it

was hard as heck to get them published,” (she didn’t actually say heck though). Vicky put on her

cardigan as she wished me goodnight.

Since that day Vicky and I started to meet every Saturday for lunch. She made lunch on the even

days and I paid for us to go to a local restaurant on the odd days. We would write, talk, and then take

a few bites. Then the process would repeat. The process was extremely slow on my story. At first I

didn’t make much progress. My book changed drastically after each meeting with her. She started to

write a story of her own, but she would never let me read it. After a few years of doing this I started

looking for a publisher, Vicky acted as my agent (that was what she did before becoming a librarian

and author). I was already used to being rejected so I wasn’t all that stressed during this time. Vicky

wasn’t either. With every rejection I revised my book to be at least a little bit better. Sometimes the

revisions would take a few weeks and other times they would take whole months.

“Vicky will you ever tell me what your pen name is?” I had been trying to get her to tell me for

months, but she never budged. She sighed,”How about this, I’ll give you a signed copy of one of my

books in my will if you give me a few signed first editions of every book you write, deal?”

Flabbergasted I just stared at her for a solid few seconds. “Well?” she said. “Yeah sure that would be

great!” I said gratefully. “Deserts are on me today, Vicky,” I stated as I waved a waitress over to our table. Once we got our deserts we raised our glasses, “To a long and happy life, Vicky,” she reiterated the same phrase.

A few months later we finally got a message from a publishing company. We met with them

and I signed a deal to write three books for them. They hooked me up with an editor and went

from full time at the library to part time. Vicky and I kept having lunch on Saturdays together.

She gave me writing tips and I played with her dog and cats. I started inviting my editor to

the lunches and he became fast friends with Vicky. Aaron, my editor, started taking turns

hosting one of the lunches, apparently he was a very passionate amateur chef. The cats were

the only ones of us who didn’t gain weight.

Once the book was finally finished I tried to take a few weeks off of writing. It lasted three

days. “You need to relax more,” said a concerned Aaron. “Writing poetry is relaxing,” I

scribbled down another line, “besides I need to grow my horizons.” He chuckled as he flipped

some pancakes at his house. “Are you going to publish your poems as well?” Without so

much as looking up I shrugged, “We’ll see.” The doorbell rang before I could say anything

else. I walked over and opened the door to see Vicky holding a pan full of warm corn bread.

“So you do love me after all,” I drooled as she walked in. “Maybe a little,” she teased. As we

ate and talked Aaron’s phone kept buzzing. Once he looked at his messages he said, “They

just sent me the official cover for your book, Carolynn.” The room went silent. He handed his

phone to me and I squealed, “It’s gorgeous!” For the rest of lunch we celebrated and combed

the whole cover for details. It finally felt real. Before I saw the cover I had been fantasizing

about what it would look like for months. I had even had nightmares about horrible covers. It

felt like a huge weight had been lifted.

Once everything for the book was finalized they started planning my book tour, advertising

more, and coaching me on how to do my presentations. Then when the big day finally came

we had a huge party at a local bookstore. Vicky and Aaron both came. My parents and my

brothers visited; they were so excited. That night was absolute magic. The party was the

nerdiest and most wonderful thing to happen in my adult life, after publishing a book of

course. At this point I had already quit my job as a librarian and life was looking up.

The tour was a bit excruciating. “A bit” is a huge understatement. I was doing tv interviews

left and right on local tv station, appearances at almost every bookstore under the sun, and my

hand hurt like the dickens after every book signing. I didn’t see Aaron or Vicky for almost the

whole book tour, but we emailed a lot. Apparently Vicky was writing her next book. I was

extremely curious about it, but she would never give me any information about it. Throughout

the whole tour I kept writing poetry and started a sequel to my book. Who knew that I would

be able to contribute a note to the cacophony they call literature? Hopefully I will at least get

in a couple measures eventually, but for now one note was sublime.