The Book

THE BOOK

~THE END~

Annabelle looked at what she thought were giing to be the last words that she’d have to type for The Book. That seemed like a million years ago.

She smiled ruefully. Back when she’d been a naive newby writer, she’d figured that once she’d finished writing The Book, all that was left was a bit of editing, finding an agent, and boom, she’d be on the New York Times best seller list.

Oh, how wrong she’d been. In hindsight, the writing had been the easy part–well easier than the editing. When she was writing, she’d only had herself to depend on. She either wrote or she didn’t. There were no other people involved in the process. It was all down to her abilities as a writer.

But now …

She’d been editing th first draft of The Book for what felt like a millennia. Then the second draft, and third draft … and what felt like her ninety-seventh draft. Finally it was ready to show to some “book people.” How many times had she edited the first chapter? Six, seven million times? How many hours had she spent bogged down in the minutia of the story? A billion? She was so sick and tired of reading about Rachael and Sven that, if she could, she would have hired a hitman to put them out of her misery.

She wasn’t even sure the book even made sense anymore.

She had to admit to herself that she was beginning to hate the damn thing!

Fahrenheit 451 came to mind. A lot.

*****

“I’m going to write a book,” Annabelle announced to her husband Kyle.

She’d walked into the family room, where Kyle was watching sports. Kyle was always watching sports. He was such a stereotype. Without even looking away from the television, he said, “That’s great, honey.”

She peered at him. Of course he wasn’t hearing what she said. “Yeah, it’s going to be a guide on how to murder your husband because he never listens to you.”

“That sounds amazing, babe,” he answered.

“I’m going to have to use you as a case study, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Uh huh” she said, crossing her arms. Not that Kyle could see her—he was still enraptured with the professional five-pin bowling tournament ESPN3 was broadcasting into their home. “I’m going to need to buy a three thousand dollar laptop so that I can write better.”

“Great.”

Now she was getting annoyed. “And I’m going to have to hire a writing coach. That’s going to cost a couple grand. And there are a bunch of new writer websites I’m going to have to pay to join.”

“‘Kay.”

“Kyle, are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” he said looking at her for the first time.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Uhh, yeah,”

Annabelle smiled. “Great! Thanks for saying yes. I thought you’d have a problem with all the money. And the murder.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed. “Money?”

“Yeah, for the laptop, writing coach, and subscriptions. I thought you might think it was too much.”

“How much money?” he asked, looking a tad worried.

“Oh not much—a bit over five grand.”

She was sure that Kyle blanched just a bit. “Five grand?” he squeaked.

“Yeah. And you agreed to let me murder you because you don’t listen to me when i talk.”

She stared at him. He did have the good manners to look a bit chastened. He picked up the remote and turned off the television.

“Sorry.”

Annabelle looked at her husband. “Uh huh,” she said.

“So, what do you need money for?”

Annabelle knew that if she said she needed money to write The Book, they’d be able to figure out how to make it happen. That wasn’t the problem. Kyle’s addiction to anything sports-related was the problem. It apparently caused him to go deaf to the sound of Annabelle’s voice.

She walked over to the couch and sat down. “I’m going to write a book.”

Kyle smiled and nodded. “Cool!”

“Yeah. I think I’ve got a story in here.” She tapped herself on the forehead.

“That’s really great, babe. You’re a really good writer. You should do this thing!”

“I’m going to use the space in the attic as my writing spot. It’s insulated, has electricity, and two very small windows, which means I won’t get distracted. All I need you to do is help me move a desk and a chair up there, so that I have a work space.”

“And the money?”

“I don’t need any money. Writing’s practically free. I just wanted to see if you were listening, that’s all.” She leaned into Kyle’s shoulder. “I’m gonna write the best book,ever!”

*****

When Annabelle thought about those early days, she felt almost nostalgic. Writing her ideas down, developing her world, setting the scenes so that they made sense. And the best part, creating her characters and getting to know them.

She had loved the job of creating the world for Rachael and Sven. It was like reading a new book, only she was in charge of everything. It had felt both liberating and empowering.

But now, not so much.

She didn’t enjoy the writing anymore. She didn’t believe in the story anymore. She had no illusion that The Book would end up on any book list, let alone the NYT’s best seller list. It wasn't that good. It wasn't good at all. She hated The Book. It was nothing but trouble.

She looked at the screen, and pushed herself away from the desk.

“I hate you!” she whispered to the screen. “I really, really, hate you.”

The problem was she wasn’t the only person who hated The Book. She was pretty sure Kyle hated The Book as well, but for completely different reasons.

*****

Annabelle had been squirrelled away up in the attic of their house writing The Book. She liked her space. It was quiet and removed from Kyle living his best life with ESPN. Or so she thought.

“I miss you,” he’d said about a month into the writing process.

“Miss me? I’m still here. I haven’t gone off to war. I’m just upstairs writing The Book.”

“I know, I know. But you’re always in your always writin The Book. I’m lonely.”

Annabelle’s right eyebrow had cocked upward. “Lonely? You’re kidding me, right?”

“No,” he’d said a bit wistfully. “We used to watch TV together, drink wine, and eat popcorn. Now I’m alone, and I have to make popcorn for one. You never want any.”

“Well, as an aside, I don’t eat popcorn while typing because I get grease all over the keyboard, so ….” She’d shrugged. “But, more to the point, you miss me?”

Kyle nodded. But Annabelle was still confused.

“Let me get this straight. You miss me? You’re lonely watching whatever you want on TV? All the sports, all the time?”

He’d nodded. “I’ve gotta admit. I’m jealous of The Book.”

*****

About half-way through The Book she hit a wall. She wasn’t sure how to continue with the story.

So Annabelle decided to get Kyle involved. She needed a beta reader for the first part of The Book anyway, and Kyle was whining about being lonely, so she’d ask him to be her beta reader.

Kyle wasn’t much of a reader, but Annabelle had faith. How hard could it be? She just wanted to know what went wrong with the story, and how to fix it.

She’d watched as he read her work over a couple of hours without saying a word.

When he stopped reading she asked, “Well?”

Kyle looked markedly uncomfortable. “It’s weird,” was all he said, not making eye contact.

“Weird?” she’d asked. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know … the two characters–”

“Rachael and Sven.”

”Yeah, Rachael and Sven. Well, all they do is talk … and have sex.”

“Yeah. It’s a romance novel. That’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Kyle looked from Annabelle to The Book. “It’s kinda like a porno–but with words.”

Annabelle was stunned. Her husband thought that she was writing a pornographic novel.

“But that’s the way all romance novels are written. Lots of sex. Sex sells.”

He gave her a side glance. “Uh, where did you learn about all the … stuff …” He raised his eyebrow. “... Sven and Rachael do? And why don’t we ever do any of that?”

Annabelle had to admit, she was a bit stunned. That was not the plot hole (pun unintended) that she expected Kyle to focus on.

“I don’t know to answer either question. I’ve read a lot of romance novels, I guess that’s where I got my inspiration. There are only so many different things you can do, I guess.” She shrugged.

Kyle lifted his gaze from The Book. You didn’t hire a tutor did you?”

Annabelle was shocked. “A tutor? Are you serious?” She leaned in towards Kyle. “Are you asking me if I’m sleeping with someone for ‘research puposes’?” Now she was getting pissed. “I’m offended!” she said, leaning back, folding her arms across her chest.

Kyle didn’t look shagrinned. “We never do half the stuff Rachael and Sven get up to. So how do you know all this–” he waved his hand over The Book. “stuff? There’s some real interesting things in here.” He tapped The Book and looked at her lasciviously.

Annabelle leaned over and grabbed The Book and lstomped out of the room.

*****

When she’d finally hired an editor, Bethany, she was surprised at the suggestions she made--before she even read The Book.

“Why don’t you set the book in New York City? It will be so much more exciting. You can make the city a character in the story.”

“I’ve never been to New York so I wouldn't know what to write about the city. Besides, the story’s written on a cattle ranch in Wyoming. I’d have to re-write the entire book.”

“But New York City is so much more exciting than Montana.”

“Wyoming.”

“Whatever. No one’s going to be interested in cows.”

Rachael had hired another editor. Actually, she’d hired a swack of editors–line editor, story editor, fact checker, and developmental editor.

“If Rachael is on top of Sven, she can’t be looking at the mirror on the ceiling without falling off”

And, “Is Rachael left or right handed? It matters because …”

“What do you think Rachael’s motivation is? Is it just sexual, or does she feel liberated from the confines of a male patriarchy?”

And all these editors had cost her a fortune–a fortune Kyle had been unhappy with because “you don’t need an editor for porn.”

Something that had started out as a passion project had spiralled into an expensive and divisive boondoggle. She just wanted to be done with it.

*****

Annabelle looked at the email. It was from her editor–about next steps for The Book. She clicked on the message, dreading the next thing she had to do for her albatross The Book.

“Congrats, Annabelle! Your book’s been accepted to be published!

She sat there, her mouth open. A dream come true? The best possible outcome? The way she knew it would always work out? A life’s ambition fulfilled?

In reality, she was happy The Book was going to be published. That meant that she would never have to look at it again.

She sent a smiley face emoji to her editor.