Chapter 18
Julien resisted the urge to rub his temples. His head was pounding, his jaw ached, and he just wanted this day to be done. He’d have to ask Javier at the front desk if the hotel could go into his room and cover up the mirrors because he didn’t think he’d be able to look himself in the eyes.
He forced himself to push his lips into a semblance of a smile. It felt plastic and insincere on his face, and by the way Jessica Baker’s fingers fluttered and eyes widened in panic, he knew she realized he was about to cut her time off.
But he only had three more days to find a diamond in the rough, a needle in a haystack. He couldn’t waste a second by gifting a writer his precious time when she so obviously wasn’t what he was looking for.
He held out his hand for her to shake. “Thank you so much for meeting with us, Ms. Baker.”
Her gaze jumped between his and Martha’s. “But . . . but I haven’t even shown you the book pages yet,” she protested. “It’s not long. You can thumb through them in just a few short minutes.”
“I’m sorry, but Squire has decided to veer away from illustrated picture books at this time.”
Her chin began to tremble. “But . . . your website. There isn’t anything listed. And when I signed up . . . nothing.”
Her sentences were choppy as she tried to make sense of the unexpected turn her meeting had taken. She’d get there eventually, the belief that Julien had wasted her time and one of her few opportunities this weekend to possibly get published.
In his defense, he hadn’t come to that decision until three pitches ago.
He’d overheard the editor at the table next to his break down the cost margins, something he berated himself for not looking into before.
Even though editing costs were lower with a picture book, that savings didn’t offset the financial burden of high-quality illustrations and elevated printing expenses.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, hoping this time she’d walk away without any more protest and save them both a touch of dignity.
If he had any left to save.
“Ms. Baker.” Martha crushed his hopes by speaking up and stopping the author’s departure. She twisted in her seat to look at the tables behind them. When she turned back around, her eyes held a firm determination. “Do you see that lady two tables back? The one in the houndstooth blazer?”
Jessica Baker’s gaze lifted over Martha’s shoulders, her brows coming down in confusion. “Yes?”
“That is Anna Shephard, acquisitions editor for Seedling Press. She seems to have a break in her schedule at the moment, so I want you to go over there and introduce yourself. Tell her that Squire sent you and that while we’ve decided to go in a different direction, we think you’d be a perfect fit for their brand.
They specialize in board books and early childhood picture books, if you aren’t aware. ”
“I know. They’re my dream publisher, but all their spots were filled by the time I signed up for the conference.”
“Well, now’s your chance.” Martha smiled her encouragement.
“Are you sure? Is it really okay to just walk over there?” Jessica hesitated.
“You have to take what you want, Ms. Baker. Never let an opportunity pass you by,” Julien chimed in. If he could get her to vacate the chair she was currently in, he could wave over one of the other aspiring authors loitering along the perimeter walls.
“Okay.” She stood, the same excitement she’d had when she’d first approached them back in her demeanor. “Thank you.”
Martha squeezed her hand. “Good luck.”
She whisked past them, clutching her folder of information to her chest.
Julien made eye contact with a man who looked to have about ten extra years of experience compared to Julien and waved him over. They’d been striking out with the women writers. Maybe the bestseller he was searching for had been penned by a man.
“What are you doing?” Martha hissed beside him.
He didn’t turn to look at her. He couldn’t bear seeing the reproachful look in her eyes. “We have time now. I’m not going to waste it by just sitting here when one of these writers who didn’t get a chance to snag an appointment with us might have the manuscript we’re looking for.”
“That’s not what I meant, and I think you know it.”
He did. She wanted to know why he was treating all their appointments without much kindness or consideration for their feelings.
He wished he could say Jessica Baker had been the first person he’d cut off in the middle of their allotted time, but she wasn’t.
There had been the writer who’d said her book was one of a kind and that there wasn’t a single comparative title to match it.
He’d tried to shoo her along, but Martha wouldn’t let her go without first gently informing her that her manuscript was in fact similar to both The Goldfish Boy by Lisa Thompson and The London Eye Mystery by Siobhan Dowd.
And that, in her opinion, her proposal would be stronger if it included comparables since there were rarely ever real trailblazers in children’s fiction anymore.
“You’re not acting like yourself,” Martha pressed.
Julien ignored her, standing and holding out his hand to the man he’d waved over. “Hello. Julien King from Squire, and this is Martha Aldridge.”
“Henry Tuttle.” He shook Julien’s hand with a firm grip.
Julien smoothed down his suit jacket as he resumed his seat. “Well, Henry. Why don’t you tell us about your work?”
Henry cleared his throat as he extracted a piece of paper and handed it over. “As you can see from my one-sheet there, I write historical fiction. I’m currently writing a series from the point-of-view of working dogs throughout history during some of the world’s most significant events.”
Julien peeked at Martha out of the side of his eye to gauge her reaction. She nodded along, her gaze scanning the paper between them.
“Dog books are pretty popular. Ellen Mills has had a lot of success with her Puppy Place series as well as Kate Klimo with Dog Diaries. Kate Klimo’s books are also written from the canine’s POV.” She glanced up and peered at Henry. “What makes your series stand out in a crowded market?”
“Great question. I’d say my series is what you’d get if you combined both the Dog Diaries series and Soldier Dog.
As far as what makes my books stand out, I’d say it’s the audience I have in mind.
Most animal books such as the two series you mentioned are targeted to younger readers between the ages of seven to ten with a reading level of about second to fifth grade. ”
He paused, and both Julien and Martha nodded.
“There’s a need, however, for those young readers who have accelerated reading levels.
Too often the books that are on their advanced level of reading are not appropriate for their age and maturity.
They’re left with books that are too easy for them and don’t let them grow from more challenging language while still being content-appropriate. My series will fill that need.”
Martha’s eyes shone with excitement. It was plain to see that she loved the idea. If Julien had to guess, she probably even had a few young library patrons in mind to give such a book to. He wasn’t sold, however.
“Sounds like a niche market when compared to the market as a whole,” he pointed out.
Henry dipped his head in concession. “Perhaps, but needed nonetheless.”
“I agree,” Martha quickly concurred.
True or not, reaching a handful of readers wasn’t going to preserve the legacy his dad was willing to risk his life for. Julien needed a book for the masses, not one that catered to a handful of gifted kids.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think—”
“We’d be interested in reading a sample of your work,” Martha said at the same time.
Both of them turned to stare at the other. Henry looked between them, but it wasn’t surprising when he chose to answer Martha instead of accepting Julien’s dismissal.
“The first three books are complete.”
Martha reached for one of Julien’s business cards that he’d stacked on the table. “We’d love to read your work. Please email us the manuscript of the series starter, if you will.”
Henry beamed. “Oh wow. Thank you so much.” He took the business card and made a hasty retreat as if he were afraid Julien would rescind the request for a full manuscript.
“A series like that isn’t what we’re looking for,” Julien said through clenched teeth. “You’ve only given the man false hope. Squire isn’t going to publish his books.”
“It should.”
“Do you honestly think his narrowed audience reach is going to bring Squire into the black?”
“No.” She turned to look up at him, her combative gaze transforming into one of beseeching.
“But I do honestly believe books like that are needed as well as books from the other end of the spectrum—easier to read but with an older age bracket of children in mind for the reluctant readers. Do you know how many parents in both camps come into the library looking for books for their kids and leave disappointed because most publishers think like you?”
“I get it.” Julien steeled himself against the entreating way she was looking at him. He had to stay the course, no giving in. “But that isn’t our objective, so I’d appreciate it if you stayed focused.”
Her lips flattened. “The objective and focus of crushing dreams?”
His jaw ticked. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You made at least three women cry this morning.”
“They need to toughen up if they’re going to go anywhere in this business.
Authors need rhino skin to survive.” He’d heard his dad say it often enough, so it must be true.
Personally, he thought criticism could be dished out with a healthy portion of kindness.
Then again, kindness took extra time—a commodity he didn’t have—and so he’d been forced to strip it from most of his language while at the conference.
Martha pushed her chair back and stood up. “I need a break,” she announced before storming out of the room.
He couldn’t blame her. He’d like to take a break from himself as well.
But what was he supposed to do? There wasn’t any way that he could make everyone happy.
All the writers pitching, this wasn’t their only chance.
They had other agents and editors they could pitch to.
Other conferences they could attend. Query letters they could send out.
Julien had this one chance. This one shot. If he failed . . .
He couldn’t fail. He refused to even entertain the thought. Too much rode on this trip being a success. He had his mom’s words repeating in his mind—whatever it takes—and the image of his dad collapsing in his office.
Afterward, maybe he could make things right.
When he had more time, when he’d done what he had to do to convince his dad to retire.
He had each appointment’s one-sheets, which included contact information.
He could send them an apology. A note of encouragement.
Maybe even put in a good word with his colleagues at other houses or with agents he’d worked with in the past.
In the meantime, he’d do whatever he had to do to meet his objective.