Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) (66 page)

Chapter 6

“Estrella!” I jumped up out of bed and tangled my feet in my sheet. I grabbed on to the windowsill beside my bed to keep from falling. As I caught my balance, I didn’t realize that my hand had applied too much pressure to the curtain. The tension rod popped free and smacked me right on top of my head. Then it landed on my alarm clock, which caused it to start blaring again.

“Oh boy, what a way to start the morning.” I rubbed my head and kicked the alarm clock.

I tried to hang the tension rod back up with the curtains still on it. What I didn’t think about was my neighbor having a full view of my nightshirt up around my belly button. Once I got the rod back in place my gaze locked with the man standing in front of his window across from mine. He looked away and ducked out of sight.

“Oops,” I muttered and shook my head.

I drew my curtains closed and headed for the shower. If I could wash away the morning thus far, I might have a chance at having some good luck.

I emerged from the shower with a better attitude. So things had started out rough—that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t have a great meeting with Estrella.

I walked into the coffee shop and spotted Estrella right away. She was hard to miss, with her brightly colored flowing clothing. As I walked over to her, she looked up with a warm smile.

“Samantha, it’s so good to see you again.” She gestured for me to sit down across from her.

As I sat, I noticed that she held on to her coffee cup. So she hadn’t forgotten about my clumsy behavior. I grinned. I was determined that I would not spill a single thing.

“And you. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Estrella.” I sat down across from her.

The waitress walked over to take my order. Once I’d placed it, I turned back to Estrella. She simply smiled at me. I searched her eyes for a moment. I was beginning to think that she was enjoying torturing me.

“So?” I asked.

“So?” She smiled.

“Please, Estrella!” I heard the whine in my own voice that made me sound a like a five-year-old.

Estrella laughed and leaned forward.

“Okay, okay. Straight to the point. I’m impressed with your work.”

“Really?” I had no idea what I’d expected her to say, but what she did say made my heart leap.

“Yes. I can tell that you are truly writing from the heart. I think the subject matter is fascinating and you’ve managed to give a voice to many different kinds of women with one character.” She sat back again and took a sip of her coffee.

My mind was reeling from all of the kind things she had said. I couldn’t even think clearly enough to say thank you.

“But.”

“But?” I felt my throat tighten.

“But it needs some work.” Estrella’s smile thinned. “I hope you understand Samantha, that this is not an insult. It’s just that what you’ve written is so good, it deserves to be just a little better.”

“I don’t think I understand.” I could feel my joy quickly fading.

“What I’m trying to say is, when you have put so much work and effort into something, it’s important to make sure it is its very best. Now what you have is good, but with a little fine tuning it could be much better.”

I stared at her with uncertainty. I wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or upset. The bell over the door of the coffee shop rang, signaling more customers entering the building. I naturally turned to look. I watched as the members of the writers’ club filed in.

“Oh no.” I exhaled my words and tried to hide my face.

“What’s wrong?” Estrella frowned.

“I was feeling so confident that I told that writers’ group I went to that they should join me this morning. I was planning to read the first few chapters to them. What was I thinking?” I groaned.

“You were thinking like a genius.” Estrella reached out and patted the back of my hand. “The key to being a great writer is having confidence in your work, Samantha. Now what has changed? Don’t you feel confident in your story still?”

“But you said it needed work.” I met her eyes and prepared myself for the truth.

“Samantha, there isn’t a book that has been written that doesn’t need work. Writing is fluid and malleable. It is not something that is ever truly complete. It can always be trimmed or enhanced, depending on the mood of the person reading it. If you wait for the moment when it’s perfect—when it is finished—you will be waiting an eternity. You story is good. Read it, darling. Show them what you’ve created. After all, it is what Zara would do.”

I smiled at the thought of Zara standing in the coffee shop beside me. She certainly would not be intimidated by a little constructive criticism.

I stood up slowly from the table. I walked over to the barista behind the counter.

“Would you mind if I did a reading?”

She shot a sullen look in my direction. “Whatever.”

I smiled with gratitude and picked up the microphone. Then I turned to face my biggest critics, as well as all of the other customers in the shop.

Estrella smiled at me from our table. Her eyes sparkled with encouragement and a hint of nostalgia. For the first time, I thought perhaps she saw herself in me—when she was first starting out as a writer. I felt bolstered by her support, but the other eyes that lingered on me were much less encouraging.

Chapter 7

I drew a deep breath in.

“Thanks for the chance to use the microphone.” I smiled at the barista. She barely nodded in my direction. “As some of you know, I’ve been working on a book.”

Audrey snorted. It was my opportunity to have a meltdown. But I refused. I was not going to let one person’s bad attitude stop me from succeeding.

“Recently I completed that book. I wanted to come back here—to the place where I came so close to giving up the idea of being a writer—and read a portion of it before it is released.”

Estrella nodded and her smile broadened. A few other patrons put down their newspapers or tablets to look up at me. I felt the focus of the entire coffee shop upon me. For the first time ever, that felt fantastic. I wasn’t thinking about how I looked, or what others were thinking about me. I was excited to share the first few chapters of the book.

“So here it is, my labor of love—
Becoming Zara
.”

I began to read. I stumbled over the first few words before I got into a flow. Not long after I’d begun, I forgot that I was even in the coffee shop. I wasn’t even Samantha anymore.

I was Zara, on her journey. Zara, choosing a new life for herself. Zara, deciding that she was ready to truly begin living.

When I finished the reading, I was rather confused. I surfaced from the story and it took a moment for me to realize where I was and what I was doing. When I recalled my purpose for holding a microphone in front of a coffee shop full of people, I was greeted with a smattering of applause. It was no standing ovation, but it was not rotten fruit being hurled at me either.

Most meaningful to me were the looks on the faces of the writers’ group. Audrey still looked as if she might prefer a big pile of garbage to me, but even she was clapping. I felt as if I was ready to take on the world. To do that, I was going to have to welcome criticism as equally as I welcomed praise.

I had started my journey as a writer.

When I returned to the table, Estrella was waiting for me with a fresh cup of coffee.

“Wow, that was an experience.” I looked nervously at the table of writers.

“It was more than an experience. It was a declaration.” Estrella reached out and squeezed one of my hands. “Now, about the book.”

“What about it?”

“I have a friend that can edit it for you.” She handed me a business card. “She’s ruthless, but she’s good. What you have here, Samantha, is fantastic, but it needs polishing. It’s always good to have someone with no personal interest take a look and clean it up.”

“Okay.”

I tried not to feel too crushed. I didn’t think the story needed editing. After all, I’d read it over and corrected it, what felt like a million times. I’d hoped that she would jump up and down and cheer for me. Anything less made me feel like a failure. She must have noticed the shift in my expression, because her own softened.

“Samantha, this really is good work. If you’re going to put it out for the world to read, it’s important to take this little extra step. That way nothing takes away from the beautiful content that you have created.” She patted my shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, darling, if you are going to be a writer you have to develop a thick skin and be as grateful for the critiques as you are for the compliments.”

“I am.” I felt a little humbled by her words. “I just wonder what she’ll do to it. I mean, will she change everything about it? It is a very personal story.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t suggest her if she wasn’t the best person for the job.”

“Thank you, Estrella. You’ve really made this happen for me.”

“No, sweetheart, you did this. It’s your achievement. Don’t forget that.”

As we left the coffee shop I felt a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, I was excited that I’d been brave enough to read the first few chapters in front of an audience. On the other hand, I was terrified of what this editor might do to my book.

There was one more piece to the puzzle that I had to check on as well.

When I arrived at the apartment, I sent my book off to the editor. I didn’t even allow myself to call her first, as I didn’t want to change my mind. I trusted Estrella.

Once the story was flying through cyberspace I began preparing myself for what it might come back to me as. I had a feeling that it would be chopped to bits. I was still a little terrified of exposing myself and my writing to a stranger. Then I realized how absurd that was. I was about to share my writing with anyone who could download it and I was worried about having an editor comb through it? But there was a good reason to be worried. This wasn’t just some fiction I had slapped together.

This was me, typed out sentence by sentence, about to be ripped to shreds by the damning red pen.

To try to take my mind off the editing, I checked in with the artist I’d chosen to create my book cover. It was supposed to be sent to me the day before, but she was running behind. I sent her a quick e-mail letting her know that I was about ready to publish but needed the book cover as soon as possible.

After that I tidied up the kitchen to keep my mind off what the editor might be doing to my book.

About thirty minutes later my computer chimed, letting me know that I had a new e-mail. I walked over to find that it was from the artist. She had sent my book cover. I was very excited to see it. I’d given her some details about Zara, but I wanted her to use her creativity.

Chapter 8

I opened the file and a gigantic half-naked woman splashed across my screen.

At first I thought I might have stumbled onto one of those awful viruses that infect a perfectly innocent computer with pornographic images, but then I saw the title splashed across the bottom of the image.
Becoming Zara
.

Apparently Zara was only overweight in her breasts and had so much confidence that she thought a bikini was proper attire for walking down the street. I was absolutely repulsed by what I saw.

This was not Zara at all.

It showed none of her full body, none of her stylish taste in clothes, none of her air of confidence.

I closed the file and took a deep breath. I knew that people didn’t always get things right the first time. I didn’t want to send off a scathing e-mail. I needed this artist to create what I wanted, so I didn’t want to upset or offend her.

Once I’d typed out a reasonable e-mail pointing out the distinct differences between what I’d requested and what she had provided, I felt a little better. I still didn’t see how she could have come up with such a strange image of Zara. I began to doubt whether my description of her was clear enough in the book.

After lunch I checked my e-mail again and found that the artist had sent me another file, along with an apology.

Samantha,

I’m sorry for the mix-up. To be honest with you, I’m so used to creating these kinds of covers. Most of my customers want a certain type of cover that they feel will sell much better. I did create an image using your specifications but I thought you would reject it because—well, it looked rather average. I’ve included it here. Please feel free to request any modifications.

I opened the file, prepared for the worst. I was half-expecting Zara to be sprawled across a pile of hay or the white sand of a beach. Instead, the image that popped up took my breath away.

I felt as if I was staring directly at Zara, a woman who I’d never met, but who I’d gotten to know quite intimately as I wrote her story. She looked beautiful with her carefully chosen outfit that accented her curves and downplayed her problem areas. She had a confident smile on her lips. I was sure that from the image she was ready to take on the world. That was the Zara that I knew.

I quickly sent back an e-mail with glowing praise to the artist. I was quite happy with the book cover. Maybe her other customers were right, and the first cover would have sold better, but those were not the women I was trying to reach. I knew that if I was shopping for a book and saw Zara on the cover, I would want to give it a chance. I had no idea if anyone else would feel the same way.

Now there was only one thing left to wait for—the final edit. Would my story even still be my story when I received it back?

I tried to lose myself in a movie. I tried to get wrapped up in a new blog post. I tried everything I could to take my mind off my book being on the chopping block. I even texted with Max in an attempt to keep myself calm.

Are we still on for tomorrow?

Are you ready to tell me what we’re celebrating?

Not yet.

I’ll be there.

I’m taking you to a fancy restaurant, so you’ll have to try not to embarrass me.

Me embarrass you? Let’s hope they have sippy cups.

Ha ha.

Are you going to get all dolled up?

For you? Of course.