97 Pages

It was a secret. It had to be a secret. Every time Jess would tell someone about it she would end up losing the battle against her own apathetic nature. She told no one. No hype. No expectations. Nothing but the work. But now that it was done the bitch would be finding people to give it to. People who wouldn’t just kiss her ass or stroke her ego. Someone who would rip it apart. Find the meat and help her clear out the gristle. She needed someone mean. But not too mean. Being as green as she was she didn’t want to be totaled on her first ambitious venture.

She made no eye contact with the guy at the office supply store. She didn’t know why. She was certain he did not care. She had worked enough mindless jobs in her life to know that the guy printing it was just trying to finish the day. He was not scanning the pages as they printed to mock her work memorize passages to text his friends for a cheap laugh. She confirmed this when she glanced up and saw him checking his phone.

97 pages. $3.75. She held tight to those pages as she walked across the parking lot back to her car. She had an iron grip as the image of the whole thing fanning out and flying away in the wind pressed into her head. Once inside the car, Jess sat it next to her in the passenger seat. Who would it go to? Would it go to anyone? Would she put it away like so many other projects to collect dust at the back of a shelf? No. It took too damn long and she worked too damn hard. Someone was going to read it if she had to pay them (She wouldn’t pay them).

Her boyfriend was the obvious choice. He was an English major and was just enough of an asshole to be honest. Besides he would understand her wanting honesty, but who else? Writers usually had multiple people read through for feedback. They just didn’t use one person right? She wracked her brain.

Her mother was out. Her mother would be too nice. She was naively optimistic about the story’s chances but her mother would inflate the ego to bursting if she got a hold of it. She had always encouraged both of her children to express their creativity and she would practically crack in half if her baby girl handed her a fresh printed book.

Did she have teacher friends? She knew she didn’t. The older she got the fewer friends she had. The two friends that came to mind weren’t real big readers and she couldn’t really rely on them for good constructive criticism. They would blow through it with a bottle of wine (if they read it at all) and tell her it was great because they knew how to be friends.

She thought back to her college days. A professor maybe? She wasn’t close enough to any of them to even attempt a conversation. Besides she wouldn’t know where to start, she had been out of school for years so there was a good chance none of them would remember her. Besides she never graduated so she didn’t want that hanging over IF she had someone at the university to go to.

She might just post up at the local coffee shop and wait for one of those self-important douchebags to walk in and start pounding away in a chromebook on their latest manifesto. Miles away from their homes to make sure everybody saw them writing when in fact that were most likely piggy backing off the free Wi-Fi. Sure they were pompous egotistical and arguably sexist but… No, there was no but she did not want the opinions of a douchebag.

So who would it be? She could go to the internet. There were millions of strangers all over the world with nothing better to do than read shit online. She could go there but she liked the personal touch. The reach out. That’s why she went through the process of having it printed out. She wanted to have it handed back to her with little red pen marks all over it. Little signs that she could process and use to make her material sleeker, prettier, more approachable. She had gone through three times herself with a highlighter and a red pen and had completely exhausted her critical thinking. She needed new eyes and she would prefer those eyes in the head of someone she knew or at least could talk to face to face. Internet was out, for now. She decided to go to the local bookshops, maybe she could butter up one of the shop keeps enough to convince them to read it.

The Rook’s Nook was the very definition of a small town bookshop. A tiny labyrinth filled the small old building downtown, the aisles packed floor to ceiling with books of every imaginable subject. Of course due to the location there was a sizable section dedicated to regional history. The shop’s owners were two old women whom she long suspected of being either lovers or sisters (she had never asked). Both women were slender and similar in appearance but one had light red hair and the others hair had gone totally gray and was always pulled up into a messy bun on the back of her head.

 The store was old. It might have even been the original shop the building was built for but Jess doubted it. Due to the compact environment the whole place reeked of books. It was a bibliophile’s paradise. Handwritten signs hung over each section. At the front of the shop sat the counter in a constant state of disorder. Books and old coffee mugs littered the long laminate counter-top with a small clearing right next to the register for your purchases. The register itself was a relic. A big old-timey register, the kind they made toys of, with big numbers in the little window and a little bell that would loudly ding at the end of the sale right before the massive wood till shot out. It was amazing.

It was hard to be nonchalant in a room that was no bigger than a two bedroom apartment but Jess managed as long as she could until she had built enough courage to talk to the old woman at the counter, it was messy bun.

“Hello, find everything all right?”

“Yes, thank you” she had grabbed a cheap paperback to get the ball rolling.

“Wonderful.” she connected the breakaway glasses above her nose and studied the register

It was now or never.

“I was wondering if you had any books or know anything about getting a book published?”

It was a pipe dream but she needed a shoe in the door and it fit.

“O, are you a writer?”

“Well I’m trying to be.” Modest

“How marvelous, I always say there should be more women writers.”

“Right?!”

They shared a polite laugh, then messy bun spoke

“Well, of course a lot of things can be found on the internet.”

“I’m kinda old school” she was trying to curry favor

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I am too” her face lit with a wide grin

“I mean there are some publishing groups close by you can reach out to and send in your manuscript.”

“See I don’t even know if I’m at that point yet? Is there like a local writers circle or something like that?”

“Hmm I don’t think so. Plenty of book clubs. But I don’t know of any circles going.”

“Dang. I was hoping for some feedback.” She was laying it on thick

“What’s the story?”

“Oh it’s just a basic work of fiction. Day in the life type thing.”

“Would you mind if I looked at it?”

SCORE! FREAKING SCORE!

“Yea sure, if you don’t mind” her poker face was on point

“No not at all, it’s not like I have a lot to do and I’ve read most of these books”

“Really?”

“Eh the good ones at least” she said with a smirk

“Well I’m sure you know your stuff.”

“I know enough to not get into too much trouble.” She said with a smile

“I’ve got it in the car actually,” she said nonchalantly

“Wonderful.”

The transaction finished and Jess practically skipped to her car to grab her work.

Jess came back in and messy bun was still in the same place.

“Here it is”

“Terrific” she said eyeing the stack

Her hand lingered on the top for a moment. This was it. The first reader. Opening night. First pitch of the season the culmination of a year and half’s worth of work. She would be leaving the only physical copy in existence with a near stranger for an unspecified number of days. She knew very well that she had it saved on her drive at home and backed on a separated drive that she kept in a fire proof safe but she still felt a rush of anxiety as she took her hand away.

Messy bun could see it. Her poker face was gone.

“Don’t worry dear I’m sure it’s fine.” She said reassuring

“Sorry I just…”

“I know”

“You know, I’ve been coming in here for the longest time and I’ve never asked your name.”

“It’s Edith dear”

“You look to young to be an Edith”

“I used to tell my mother that all the time” she said smirking

“Well Edith I’m Jessica. Most people call me Jess”

“It’s nice to finally have a name to the face, Jess”