Deep Cleaning

It was an awful day. Selene picked up an extra shift after one of the waitresses called in sick. Despite the extra money, she hated missing her writing time. Normally, she would spend the evening writing by Montgomery Pond, in the park near her apartment, on her laptop.

That was where she’d written her first book, By Grace of Night, draft after draft. Last month, it had finally been published. A dream come true—but Selene never felt at ease. The rent was still due, and the book wasn’t selling. She spent her work breaks and late nights refreshing her book’s GreatReads page, looking for any sign of traction.

She got home late and exhausted. She made herself a cup of tea—something to sip while she tried to squeeze in an edit—but all she did was stare at her laptop. Despite her best efforts, Selene never could write from her apartment. Her tight four-hundred-square-foot space felt too claustrophobic, the walls to close together.

After ten minutes staring at a blank screen, she gave up and checked her GreatReads page one more time.

She choked on her tea. There was a review:

I picked up “By Grace of Night” after I was intrigued by the premise. I thought it was going to be a mystery akin to “And Then There Were None”-- boy, was I wrong! After slogging through the first three chapters I found myself sick of the main character. The forays into the character’s past and mental state seemed endless and added no depth. Tip for the author: you don’t need to tell me every little detail about the dude’s crummy summer holiday for me to be invested.

I’ve read Selene Gautrand’s award-winning short story and was surprised by her awkward transition into novels. There were sparks of her imagination throughout the story, but she bogged down the energy with insipid forays into the thoughts and backgrounds of each character.

This book may cut it if you have to burn through four hours of your next flight. For everyone else, skip it.

– By Kee-yo-taye, 2/5 stars

It was worse than no review at all. The words blurred on the screen. She sunk into her chair.

Then her phone vibrated. It was Mom.

“Oh god, not now…” Selene said.

She had spent the last three years barely scrounging up a living in this city, trying to make it as a writer. Despite the setbacks, she’d made progress. Her award-winning short story had opened the door to publication, and eventually, she was finally published.

But her troubles didn’t end there. For a whole month, she waited in purgatory, hoping anyone would notice her book.

She'd respond to her mom tomorrow, when she wasn't feeling so hurt.

Right now, she had to dissect the review.

Since she was young, she had the habit of pushing through pain with analysis. Any feedback could be distilled into something meaningful—like taking worn-out gold, melting it down, and reshaping it into something beautiful.

Mechanically, she printed out the review.

She took out her red pen, underlined “I thought it was going to be a mystery”, and scribbled a thought beside it—then broke down crying.

She went to the only closet in her apartment, squeezing past the foot of her bed. In the corner sat a small box filled with every story she had ever written. Selene was only 24 yet she had already written dozens of stories.

She found one of her earliest pieces—a story about a girl who finds her missing dog—in a folder labeled “4th Grade.” At the top of the page was an “A+” she remembered fondly. The first time she saw that grade, she had decided she would become a writer.

Holding the old papers in front of her, she felt a slow, ebbing warmth rise from them. The sting of the review had not left—there were still tears—but the moment felt calmer.

She looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the closet door. She pulled up a pained smile that tried to meet her red eyes and drew the old story tighter to her chest.

Minutes passed before she was able to pick up the printed review again. She slipped her old story back in the “4th Grade” folder and created a new one labelled “1st Publication Reviews”.

She filed the review inside, closed the box, and tried to not to think about it for the rest of the night.

* * *

When Ashleigh wasn’t curating social media content, she was either partying or writing. Selene had met her at a women’s writing group when she first moved to the city.

Selene remembered how beautiful she looked—and how fearless she was. While Selene hesitated to share her work, Ashleigh would post rough drafts online without blinking. They saw each other less once Ashleigh moved in with her new boyfriend downtown.

That weekend, they met at an expensive café in the heart of the city—marble tables, hanging plants, the scent of bergamot and espresso. It had been months since they’d spoken, but Ashleigh’s eyes sparkled with something new.

“Next week I’m flying to L.A. to be on Lu on Writing! Can you believe it? Lu herself reached out to me two days ago— she read the story— and she was, like, ‘I have to have you on the podcast, I couldn’t put it down.’”

She scrolled through her phone, pausing now and then to look up at Selene.

Selene glanced at her own half-finished latte, then at Ashleigh’s untouched sugar-free mocha with whipped cream. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing—but part of her wasn’t surprised.

Ashleigh had all the luck. She’d only started writing only two years ago and was already outpacing her. Fifty thousand followers, a beautiful face, a full marketing campaign for her story Richard the Ripped Redneck—and now she was being invited on the biggest writing podcast.

“Oh—your book came out right? Outer Space Knight?”

“By Grace of Night,” Selene said.

“Right! How’s it going? You were always such a good writer—I bet it’s flying off shelves!”

“It’s alright.” Selene finished her latte. “Though I got a pretty nasty review the other night.”

“Ughhh, I hate those! I don’t even bother looking. Most people are great and give me five stars, but then some jerk will say, ‘1 start, book never arrived’ like I have something to do with that! I just filter the reviews to only show the best ones—I don’t need that kind of negativity!”

“I don’t know,” Selene turned her head, “Maybe I’m taking the review too hard.”

“You one-hundred percent are! Remember the first time the editor got back to you? You practically had a meltdown. You know what you need?”

Ashleigh set her phone face down on the table and whispered, “Wicca.”

“Wicca?”

“Yes! Like, the magic stuff! I’ve been following this like, ‘witch woman’ for a while now, and she is amazing for focusing on positivity. Like, the whole world is about the right energy—you have to invite the right things into your life!”

“That’s not really my thing…”

“You don’t have to change your life or anything! For example, before I wrote my book, I did this thing she calls ‘deep cleaning.’ You write out negative thoughts—all negative thoughts—on paper. The trick is to find the really deep negative stuff. When you get it all down—you’ll feel when—you have to destroy it with a symbolic gesture. Like, for me, I drove back and forth over it with my ex’s car.”

Her phone vibrated. She picked it up and laughed, typing out a message.

Selene looked past her to a mirror on the wall behind them. Her own tired eyes stared back.

“What’s the witch’s name?”

* * *

Selene binged video after video of Luna the Witch.

“Our mind isn’t a bank vault where we keep memories and experiences,” Luna said, her voice soft yet commanding. “It’s more like an ecosystem-- like a grove or a lake– where our memories and experiences live. Our minds adapt to those experiences, and those experiences adapt to our minds. We are at peace when the ecosystem of our mind is at peace…”

Selene was tired but pressed on. Something about Luna’s presence kept her going. She had spent the last few hours watching the witch unravel her mystic philosophy, and she felt hypnotized.

“Often, we want to remove our negative thoughts like a gardener pulling weeds. But this can be difficult—think about the ecosystem again. If we removed all mosquitos simply because we don’t like them, what happens further up the food chain? What happens to the spiders, to the frogs, to the mice, and onwards?”

The thud of the review struck Selene again.

After slogging through the first three chapters I found myself sick of the main character.

“Sometimes, though, we may need to reset. Catastrophe can strike, and desperate measures may be needed.”

You don’t need to tell me every little detail about the dude’s crummy summer holiday for me to be invested.

“For those in need, I will provide you with a powerful spell I call ‘deep cleaning.’”

I’ve read Selene’s award winning short story and was surprised by her awkward transition into novels.

“In a quiet place, write down the negative thoughts that cross your mind. Be open to the deepest thoughts possible. If a thought does not feel deeply negative, then strike it off the paper. Do this for up to an hour or until you have found your deepest negative thoughts. You will know when.”

There were sparks of her imagination throughout the story, but she bogged down the energy with insipid forays into the thoughts and backgrounds of each character.

“When your paper is ready, when it contains your deepest negative thoughts, you must destroy it with a very personal symbolic gesture, under the light of the moon. You could burn it in a bonfire by your favorite piece of nature or tear it up at the top of your secret hike.”

There were sparks of her imagination throughout the story, but she bogged down the energy with insipid forays into the thoughts and backgrounds of each character.

“Once this is complete, your mind will gradually be free of pressing negativity.”

This book may cut it if you have to burn through four hours of your next flight. For everyone else, skip it.

“I hope this spell can bring you relief. But remember, our memories and experiences are part of us. We are an ecosystem that needs balance to be at peace. Use this spell only as necessary, or you may cast away too much of yourself.”

Twenty minutes later, Selene had filled out one side of a piece of paper. But there was something missing.

She pulled out her writing box and looked once more at the harsh review. On the back side, she made more notes: I can’t write, I’ll never be successful. I’ll spend my whole life in the shadow of Ashleigh!

Then she grabbed her “A+” paper from fourth grade. I wish I didn’t hate myself so much. I spent over a year fixated on that book only for it to flop! Why can’t I just pick myself up again? Why can’t I just be like Ashleigh and push through and make connections. I wish I could just push away all of that negativity and write!

A tear hit the paper as she wrote. She had enough now.

She wiped away her tears, folded the paper carefully, and made her way outside.

She arrived at Montgomery Pond in fifteen minutes. During the day, she felt safe, enjoying the sight of families picnicking or playing on the grass.

That night, it seemed dark and ominous, though the full moon allowed her to see a little. She slipped through the park entrance and made her way to the pond. She brought out the paper and unfolded it slowly.

The pond was still as she crouched by the edge and slipped the paper into the water. Holding one end, she slowly watched the other twist beneath the water. The fibres expanded, and the ink began to fade.

She took a deep breath and pushed the entire sheet under, twisting it back and forth to let the water tear it bit by bit. Tiny fragments floated up and away until all that remained were small pieces drifting on the surface.

She stared at those fragments until the water settled, and she could see her reflection clearly. A little smile crept across her face.

Despite the smile, she worried if the spell would actually work. She stayed up for another hour, looking at herself in the mirror, hoping to see any change. Resigning herself to failure, she checked GoodReads one more time.

Right above the first review was another:

Selene Gautrand’s debut novel is a twisted, thought-provoking mystery into the depth of your average human being. The characters are raw and provoking but what sold it for me was her thoughtful and well-paced writing. I couldn’t put it down!

I bought this book before I boarded a nine-hour flight expecting very little. I was completely blown away. Would absolutely recommend it!

— By KayK, 5/5 stars

* * *

A familiar feeling came over Selene as she signed yet another book. She was tired.

“I loved your book! I love how it mixed fantasy and poetry and—sorry, I’m going to go on and on…” one fan said.

“When’s the next one coming out?” asked another.

It had been four years since that night at Montgomery Pond, and Selene had written two more novels: By Grace of Night: The Night in All of Us and By Grace of Night: Midnight. The latter was being signed one fan at a time on her whirlwind tour. Earlier that morning, her assistant had scheduled a meeting with producers interested in her writing a screenplay of her first novel. Life had changed so much.

Near the end of the line a fan held her original novel.

“Have you read Midnight?” Selene asked.

The fan giggled. “Well, yeah, I just really love your first one. I really connected with it when I first read it. I had a problem connecting with the other two—not that they’re bad! Sorry, I feel so stupid.”

“No! No worries—here…” Selene signed the inside flap of her book, “...if I’m being honest, it’s my favorite one too.”

Selene held on to that thought for a long time.

After the book signing, Selene had promised to meet Ashleigh at her new boyfriend’s home outside of the city.

“Isn’t this such a great view?” Ashleigh pointed toward the property’s immaculate garden and the carved woodwork throughout it.

“It really is. This whole place is… nice.” Selene crossed her arms. Her mind lagged behind everything, as if she had just woken up from a coma.

“So… when are you going to upgrade? I heard By Speed of Light is doing really well! You have to move out here. We’d be amazing neighbours!”

Selene doubted that. “You’re working on your fifth novel now, right?”

“I am! Dirty Dan’s Deal with the Devil. It’s got a really cool voodoo thing going on and of course it is hot. But I’m not letting you off the hook yet missy—how did the book signing thing go?”

“It was good—these tours are so draining. Tonight I’m off to a dinner event where I’m presenting too. It’s all go-go-go. It is nice to meet my fans. Though.”

“You know,” Ashleigh said, her face losing its permanent smile, “I’ve never actually met one of my readers. Like, I know they’re out there as these things are selling, but I just think it would be so awesome to actually sit down and chat with them. I envy you so much.”

“You—you envy me?”

“Yeah, you were always such a good writer but you were so hard on yourself! Clearly you took my advice, and did that magic stuff, because you look so confident!”

Selene actually giggled. The past four years, even the past few hours, felt like such a blur but this moment felt clear. A tear slipped down her cheek as she hugged Ashleigh.

* * *

Selene returned to Montgomery Pond for another evening of writing. The sun was low and warm, and a small breeze gave life to the trees. A handful of people were chatting on the grass. It was a perfect evening to write.

But every word Selene typed came out wrong. After an hour, a blank page remained. Frustrated, she closed her laptop and went home.

Although she now had an entire house to herself, no words came there either. That tired feeling lingered. She thought about the fan with her first novel, about Ashleigh, about the night at the pond.

She took out her writing box, now conveniently stored beside her desk, and pulled out her A+ story. But the familiar rush of warmth did not come. Why not?

She held the paper to her chest and looked at herself in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. A stern, empty face clutching pieces of paper.

She put the story back into the box and returned to the mirror. This time, something stirred.

Since that evening by the pond, she realized, she hadn’t really looked at herself. She’d gotten dressed, done her hair and makeup, checked her teeth—but she hadn’t noticed herself. Now, as she looked more closely, the details came back.

A thought surfaced. Slowly, she picked up the two star review she had printed out years before. This time, the pain wasn’t there.

She picked up a pen and began to underline, circle, and make notes. When she finished, she laughed.

Selene took the marked-up paper with her to her bare desk, carefully set it down, and began to write.