Authors: Tara Chevrestt
She hoped she was doing the right thing.
“Editors, please read the name on your pencils aloud,” Ophelia commanded.
“Roy,” the bald guy read from his pencil.
“Carmen?” Lucinda tucked her pencil in her cleavage and glanced around.
“Dez,” James stated.
“Tiffani.” The children’s books editor actually clapped her hands with her announcement.
“Victor.” Brent cast an eye at the group, looking grim and ready.
“Felicity.” The severe Ms. Friar arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.
Felicity heard all kinds of
damns
,
shits
, and
oh nos
behind her as each name was called and was pretty sure someone even muttered a
fuck
— probably Victor — but Ophelia left them no time to stand around and complain.
“You will have four hours to work with your assigned editor on your current work in progress. Your editor will report back to us what they think of your work, communication skills, and willingness to revise. Your time starts … now.”
“You can’t use this paragraph.” Ms. Friar pointed at the screen, glaring over her reading glasses.
Felicity stiffened in her chair. The show had set up tiny tables and chairs in each writer’s cave to make this situation easier — most likely for the editors, not the competitors. The round tabletop was big enough for a laptop and a notebook and not much else. Ms. Friar’s knees were almost touching her own. Beads of sweat spread across Felicity’s brow and traveled down the concave between her breasts, but the editor appeared cool as a cucumber, unfazed by the situation, by the job, or even by the close quarters.
She looked as though she ate authors for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
Swallowing back a sharp retort, Felicity asked, “What’s wrong with it?”
“Right here you have too many adverbs. That’s a sign of a lazy writer.”
Felicity felt as though she’d been slapped. Her face heated as if she had.
The editor ignored whatever facial expressions were playing a war on Felicity’s face and continued, “Why are you using so many LY words to describe instead of taking the time to give us vivid detail? You just throw an LY word in there, telling us he’s doing this slowly, when you could tell us in more words he’s moving his hands across her body as though unwrapping a precious gift, one corner at a time, as though afraid of tearing the paper as he unveils the contents within.”
Ms. Friar took her glasses off the end of her nose and sniffed as she wiped them on a tiny white square cloth. “Not in those words, but be more creative. I see lots of laziness. Waste of talent.”
Okay. Okay. Let’s dissect this. She just said you’re talented but lazy, basically, and you do use a lot of LY words
.
“All right. Let me try this.” A deep breath, a little lip biting, and a lot of typing later, Felicity turned the laptop screen back around so it was facing the editor. “Is this what you would like to see more of?” She waited with baited breath. Beneath the table, her legs were quivering.
Ms. Friar put her glasses back on her nose and stared long and hard for what seemed like hours, but really, only had to be minutes. Her expression didn’t change. It remained as hard and neutral as it had been when calling her lazy, but the next words out of her mouth lifted Felicity’s spirits considerably.
“It’s acceptable,” she admitted. “Now, let’s talk about what her eyes are doing. You have her eyes roaming over his body. Did they just jump out of her skull and decide to take a trip? She may want to hold on to those things.”
“Time’s up. Please hit save, close your laptops, and retire to the loft to await our judgments.”
Felicity hit save and turned tiredly to Ms. Friar as she lowered her laptop lid. “Thank you, Ms. Friar.” As they rose, they shook hands.
“Been a bit nervous, have we?” Ms. Friar frowned at Felicity’s sweaty palm and made a production of wiping her own hand on her handy cloth as soon as they parted.
“I was, but I must say I learned a ton.”
The editor pursed her lips and nodded, and Felicity paused, waiting just a beat, but when nothing else was forthcoming, she joined the throng heading up to the loft.
A strong hand on the back of her neck set her pulse to racing all over again.
“You gave me the fact-checker,” Victor growled in her ear, his breath caressing her earlobe.
“You would have done the same in my position.” She took in his handsome profile with a sideways glance.
“Oh, honey, you haven’t quite been in
any
position I’d like to see you in.”
Two weeks before, that comment would have bothered her, but now the sexual innuendo caused her body temperature to notch at least twenty degrees higher … and all the heat was in one spot. It didn’t help any that he left his hand on the back of her neck until they reached the top. If this was all about messing up her concentration and focus, she feared he would succeed before this competition was over.
“You gave me a children’s writer? A children’s writer? What the fuck?” Tiffani wasted no time and began yelling as soon as Felicity walked through the doorway.
“I’d think with your level of writing, that would have been a perfect fit,” Victor interjected smoothly, reluctantly removing his hand from the back of Felicity’s neck. He’d longed to move it, just not away. He wanted to move his hands to other parts of her.
Dez’s laughter sounded over Tiffani’s carrying on. Then, he said, “See Jane run. Jane runs to Dick. Dick is very big. Jane —” He broke into more raucous laughter, scrunched up in his chair, and hugged himself as tears ran down his face.
Victor chuckled, but made sure he stayed between Felicity and Tiffani as they walked across the room. He kept a wary eye on the angry writer. If she went after Felicity … he’d … he’d what? Do what he knew? What he’d seen growing up? Slap her around a bit?
No, but he couldn’t let anyone, male or female, hurt Felicity. He’d stand between them and be her shield if she needed one.
But aren’t you going to hurt her anyway when you beat her in this thing?
He shoved his thoughts aside and focused on the conversation around them. He didn’t want or need another headache at this stage in the game … for that’s what it was: a game.
“I’m offended by that, Dez. Why do you just assume Jane would run to big dick? I mean, really, that’s so fucking sexist and assuming.” Carmen threw a cushion at the mystery writer, but he still didn’t stop laughing.
Roy, as usual, sat there quietly. Nothing had gotten that man’s ire up but that one lone comment about two branches of the military.
He’s going to be a hard one to intimidate
, Victor mused.
“But do you realize you gave me the world’s sluttiest editor?” Carmen turned her focus on Felicity. “She’s a walking, talking example of what us women should
not
be.”
“What difference does it make how she is personality wise?” Felicity asked.
“Yea. Did she do a good job? Did she seem to know what she was talking about?” Victor asked.
“No. She said my heroine was implausible, too strong, that for the era she lived in, there was no way she’d be running all over the streets of Mexico without an … oh, fuck me,
duena
.” Carmen sneered, settling down into her armchair to sulk, her arms crossed.
“What year does your story take place?” Roy asked, surprising them all.
“1790.”
“She’s right, actually,” Roy said, looking serious. “The women’s rights movement wasn’t exactly moving yet.”
Dez laughed again. “All you women are still trying to move. Just face it, you’ll always be inferior. Ain’t a woman going to win this thing.”
Felicity gasped and stiffened. Carmen looked fit to burst, and Tiffani just sulked and glared.
Victor quickly turned his own laugh into a cough, hiding his smile behind his fist. Dez was showing some surprising personality traits as the show went on, and something told him the man was just trying to get the women riled up and emotional so they would make mistakes. And what kind of author had such bad grammar?
“I’ll show you,” Felicity said. “I’ll show you
inferior
. You’re going to
feel
it though, not
see
it.”
Victor shared a quick glance with Dez. Seemed his ploy would have an opposite effect. He didn’t know about Carmen and had no confidence at all in Tiffani, but his Felicity was bound to be more determined than ever to win.
His Felicity?
“Are you ready for judging?” Mr. Brown stood glowering at them from the doorway.
“Welcome back to your second elimination round. Your assignment was to work with an editor on your manuscript for four hours. Editing is one of the most important steps to publishing a bestselling book. If you can’t work with an editor on improving your work, you will not be the next bestseller.” Ophelia glowered at them, her brow creasing into a line.
“Ophelia’s right. I have had to work with many editors and they have given me very insightful advice. It requires a lot of working one-on-one and conversation. If you’re lucky, you grow very close to your editor and it turns into a great friendship as well. It’s important to understand that an unbiased eye on your work is key. As the story is already in your head, you may not always put it on the page adequately.” Nicole tapped a pen on the desk, and after a nod from Ophelia and Mr. Brown, she proceeded. “Victor.”
Victor gave his trademark nod and stepped forward. Nervousness rolled off the other contestants in waves, but he felt pretty confident. He was here to win.
“Brent said he was a stickler for facts, and considering the genre you have chosen to write, your ability to double check facts is a must if you wish to be successful. He was impressed with your fact-checking skills. Apparently, you were even able to show him a few sites he hadn’t heard of. Good job. You’re definitely at the top of your game.”
Nicole paused to smile at him. Was she flirting with him? What would Felicity think? A quick glance in her direction found her scowling. Smugness washed over him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“However,” she added, looking sheepish, “he says you have a problem with word overuse and at times you didn’t want to replace them. You want to tell me why?”
Inwardly, he groaned. “There was a section he said had the word blood too much, but what other word was I supposed to use? Red liquid?” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture.
Nicole’s lip twitched. “No, but sometimes you can reword or rephrase a sentence to avoid the repeated words. Refusal altogether is not acceptable. Keep an open mind and listen.”
Damn.
“Dez,” Allen Brown called.
“Yes.” The black man stepped forward, standing tall.
“We’ve had this talk before. What’s with the passive sentences? Your editor says he advised you repeatedly to switch from passive voice to active voice. You need to learn this. Is there a reason you had difficulty complying?”
“Perhaps he wasn’t clear with how he was explaining it?” Dez shrugged.
“When almost every other sentence begins with an ING word, you are overusing the passive voice. I suggest you do some research on the matter. Other than that, James said you were pretty compliant and open to suggestions. Also, great story.”
“Carmen.” Ophelia was taking this one.
The cocky woman stepped forward, arms crossed.
“You and your editor had problems. She said you refused to budge on your heroine being unrealistic for the time period you chose. Want to explain this?” The talk show host placed her hands on the stack of papers in front of her and waited patiently.
“I’m not making a heroine weak and submissive and catering to the male species on the whim of a slutty editor who lives her life that way. My book has a very strong woman. Strong women have lived throughout the ages. There’s just a conspiracy to delete them from history.” Carmen’s voice rose, and her arms began moving animatedly. “I am changing that. Do you know about the woman pope? She —”
“Carmen,” Ophelia raised a hand to halt the speech, “Carmen, from what I’ve read, you aren’t penning a historical fiction but a historical fantasy, and that’s fine if you are writing that genre, but you do need to be more realistic and true to the times and telling your editor she’s an embarrassment to her sex is not going to make you the next bestseller.” She sighed heavily. “However, good job on grammar and punctuation and all that jazz.”
Victor whistled under his breath. Wow. Carmen was something else … and he didn’t mean that in a good way.
“Hmph.” Carmen frowned, but said no more.
“Felicity,” Ms. Roberts said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You chose the hardest editor for yourself. You mind telling us why?”
Yes, do. I was wondering that myself
.
“I’m not here just to win a bunch of money.” Felicity’s voice was clear and sounded genuine. “I also want to learn. When I heard how much experience she had, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn from her and hone my craft.”
“That decision could get you sent home.”
An
oooh
came from Carmen’s direction, followed by a snicker from Tiffani. Felicity’s face fell, and her mouth turned down.
Suddenly, Nicole’s somber expression lit into a smile. “
Could have
got you sent home. Ms. Friar had nothing but good things to say about you. She says in the span of four hours, she managed to convey to you rules about punctuation, grammar, disembodied parts, purple prose, adverb over-usage, and plot holes. Not only did you listen and not argue, but you asked questions, then you fixed it right in front of her. She also says you have a decent understanding of point-of-view, something many first time authors can’t quite grasp. Excellent job.”
That’s my girl
. Victor grinned in her direction. Of course, she had head-hopping down. He’d told her. And he didn’t regret it.
Though she was shaking like a leaf by the time she rejoined him in line, she was visibly relieved as well.
Thank you
, she mouthed.
He winked back and tried to calm the sudden rise of his … libido.
“Roy,” Mr. Brown announced.
“Sir.”