Page 19 of What It's Like in Words
Are you insisting on a prologue? he asked.
After I had read him a section of mine, he had read me a section of his, and it was everything I knew it would be. Sardonic and intelligent and warm. Every word belonged to him. He wasn’t trying to be a writer. He was one. And I was just writing to stop a truck from smashing through my bedroom wall.
I nodded, and he looked up. Why? he said. You’re not writing a thriller. I answered that there were thriller elements, and his face crinkled. What does that mean, thrillerelements? It’s pretentious. Focus on the story.
I explained that I wanted to write something with a dark female voice, and he stretched his neck as if he was preparing for a fight. Honey, why do you talk like your gender is separate? Youarefemale; anything you write will have a female voice. You have to be honest, or the reader will see through you.
I asked if he meant that people should only write about things they have personally experienced.
I didn’t saytruthful, I saidhonest.
Is there a difference?
Yes.
I sighed, and he softened. Enola, he said, you’re a good writer, much better than Amy or Chris. You could write something great. But it has to come from you. You’re wasting time. And I say that as someone who spent their twenties wasting time.
Didn’t those experiences help your writing?
Sure, but I’m thirty-five and there are people making debuts at twenty-two.
It bothered me that he insulted people from the group. I hadn’t been back since we met, partly because I was afraid that he would make fun of me.
You know, you can compliment me without insulting my friends, I said.
I could, but what’s a compliment without relativity?
He continued typing like he was writing the next great masterpiece, and I pressed “Control-A” and changed my font to Garamond.
There, he said, holding up his laptop like a trophy. Fuck, I get so much work done at yours, honey.
I looked at my work, unchanged apart from the font.
I keep hearing of all this crap being published and Iknowthat my book will have an impact. I mean, all those guys from your writing group, none of those books will get published, let alone get agents—
Well, Amy’s is.
Is what?
Amy’s first book, I’m sure I told you? The one about the detective and the serial killer that turn out to be twins? It’s getting published next year. She has a deal—a big one. You didn’t know? It’s the 2015 lead debut for—
His face clouded over. Why are you telling me that now?
I don’t know. Because it’s true.
No, it’s because I pissed you off and rather than tell me I pissed you off you’re being passive-aggressive.
He removed his reading glasses and started rubbing his eyes.
I told him that I hadn’t meant anything by it, but that he shouldn’t feel threatened. Amy was just further along. She has an agent and has been on submission before.
He slammed his laptop down. You know why? Because of her—how did you put it?—dark female voice. I opened my mouth, but he pounced: Don’t defend her, Enola. She’s written about a female killer and a female detective. It’s the “thing” at the moment. What’s it called?
I don’t remember…
Enola, come on. What’s the book called?
It’s calledThe Dark Side of the Coin.
