Chapter 6
The Puget Sound Book Company
101 South Main Street??Seattle, WA 98104
12/7/91
Dear Frida,
I hope you can read my scrawl. I’m wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, not to mention long johns under a flannel shirt and a sweater, but my hands are still cramped with cold. I’m so relieved you like Moon Tiger . I’ve been working hard to read all kinds of books so I can recommend what a person will want to read and not just what I want them to read.
I’m really honored you told me you want to write about wars. Your secret is safe in Seattle. I wish my secret was as interesting as yours. The reason I didn’t send you my novel is because it didn’t get published. I finished it after I graduated from college, and then I got an agent. A n awesome reputable Boston publisher called Little, Brown was interested, but the editor wanted some changes. She told me I needed to get closer to the heart of my character’s motivation, but every time I gave her a revision, she said I was further away.
It was about a young woman from a small town who travels around the world trying to learn as much as she can about life, but the more she learns the more she discovers how much she still doesn’t know. My editor had been to the Galápagos and New Zealand, and she said I nailed have an authentic grasp of those places. I guess the character didn’t feel real. The confusing thing is I’ve never been out of the U.S. except to Canada. I just used Lonely Planet guides. But the character is me. How can she not feel real if she’s me?
I mean, the story was basically inspired by my own life. I’ve been into books since before I can remember. My mom says I’d sit and turn pages even before I could read, and I was reciting Miss Twiggley’s Tree by heart with her when I was three. I read every single Time-Life book Bumpa gave us for Christmas. By the time I finished junior high I’d written half a dozen novels. Mostly mysteries and romances since I was into Nancy Drew and Harlequins and Love Story , and I thought I was the most literate kid in my high school because I read Gone with the Wind twice. Then I got into college. Talk about a wake-up call. I remember this English class where the professor told us to rewrite one of our stories in the style of Virginia Woolf. Everyone was totally excited about doing stream of consciousness. I had no idea what they were talking about. It got worse every time the professor assigned another author I didn’t know. I read as much as I could as fast as I could, but there was always more to read, which is how I got the idea for my novel.
I kind of wonder if it didn’t work because I could never figure out how to get my character to the place where she finally knew all the things she needed to know. I was really stuck, and about a month ago my agent told me it’s time to stop and maybe try something totally different. How depressing is that? Especially since I have no idea what I should write next. I keep reading popular books here at the store, and I’m definitely not a Tama Janowitz or Darcey Steinke. Even if I wanted to write a book like Suicide Blonde , which I don’t, I couldn’t. That first line about pink walls quivering like v – – – lips. No way. My co-worker Stella calls me a prude. She has wild auburn curls and is a total grunge chick in vintage dresses and Doc Martens. She reads edgy authors like John Fante and Oscar Wilde and thinks it’s funny to ask me inappropriate questions because I turn red. This makes me worry, what if I write another book and no one wants to read it because all they’re interested in is American Psycho and Damage ?
The secret part is that I haven’t told anyone at the store what happened because I was hoping when I got published everyone would take me seriously. The other day Dawn (she’s one of my co-workers who calls me perky) actually told me to quit telling customers to have a nice day. I asked her, “What if I want them to?” That totally irritated her. And it’s not just my personality that’s different. They all know so much about literature. Like this other co-worker Sven. We’re close to the same age, but the last time we worked at the front counter together, he was talking about Martin Heidegger like they’re best friends. I just nodded and then snuck away and looked up who he was talking about.
Yikes! Sorry about rambling. I had no idea all that was going to flood out of my pen. I’ll sign off now before I bore you to death.
Sincerely,
Kate
P.S. I almost sealed the envelope without explaining what I’m sending. I usually work the information desk at night with a guy named Roy. I told him about you. (I guess your secret’s not so safe in Seattle, but he’s trustworthy.) He adores British authors, and he says you have to read Black Lamb and Grey Falcon if you want to know about Yugoslavia. Rebecca West wasn’t really a War Journo Dame, but Roy says she covered the Nuremberg Trials for The New Yorker . She seems like she’s up your alley. (I’m glad I read Martha. I didn’t have to pretend I knew what the Nuremberg Trials were and then go look them up in the encyclopedia at the library.)
P.P.S. I’m still figuring out your next Surprise Me book.
P.P.P.S. I sold 104 copies of Moon Tiger last month.
P.P.P.P.S. I can’t stop thinking about what you wrote: “It’s the words that will last.” It’s so true. You can count on books. Like Claudia says in Moon Tiger : “Fiction can seem more enduring than reality. Pierre on the field of battle, the Bennet girls at their sewing, Tess on the threshing machine – all these are nailed down for ever, on the page and in a million heads.” I want to write something that’s worth being nailed down forever.