Chapter 10
There are a few people who voted against moving to Slack, but they were by far the minority, and by the next day, there is a new post pinned to the top of the Facebook group with a link to the Slack group.
The move comes at the perfect time; Haven has just joined the Facebook group the night before and made an introductory post.
I read her introductory post with a scowl on my face. To everyone else, it’ll come off as a perfectly nice message, but I know better. This is Fake Nice Haven. Haven who is trying to fit in. Why is she saying y’all? She’s not Texan, she’s—
I stop myself. I’m being petty, and I hate it.
I hate that she has this effect on me. You know when people who are in love say “I love who I am when I’m with them”?
Well, Haven has the opposite effect on me.
I hate who I am when I come across Haven.
I know I’m a good person. I like doing nice things for others.
But something about Haven just reaches through all the layers of goodness I have worked so hard to build around myself and seeks out the strands of darkness inside me, yanking it out, writhing, onto the surface.
I snap myself out of it and scroll back up to the pinned post. “Bye, Haven, hope I won’t see you on the other side,” I mutter, and click on the Slack link.
I promised myself to become familiarized with Slack, but all I’ve done is download the app. I created a Slack group, then clicked around in the empty space. I typed out a message, “Hi,” and then “Hello,” then got tired of talking to myself and quit the program.
The debut group Slack is a completely different affair from my solo Slack.
First off, as soon as I join, I see five channels have already been created by the mods.
There is a #general channel, a #celebrations channel, a #commiserations channel, a #questions channel, and a #random channel.
The #general channel is moving in real time, with messages popping up on the screen at a furious pace.
Over sixty people have joined the Slack group, and thirty-two of us are currently online.
I scroll down the list of names of people who are online and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t spot Haven’s name on it, then I turn my attention to the general chat.
Kelly: Omg this is so much better than the FB group! Thanks for creating this chat group, @Anna!
Mariana: Agreed, this is so cool! I love the fact that we’re just . . . chatting with one another! Thank you @Anna!
Others are chiming in, thanking Anna as well.
I quickly type out: “Yes, I love that we took the plunge here, great idea, @Anna!” and hit Enter.
Moments later, Anna, who also happens to be online, reacts to all our messages with the heart emoji.
I breathe a sigh of relief. See? I’m a member of this group. I belong here, unlike Haven.
Having established my presence in the #general channel, I peruse the other channels. The #questions channel has just one post in there.
Yuna: How long after you folks signed your contract did you get your edit letter? It’s been three months since I signed my contract and I still haven’t received my letter yet, and I’m starting to get antsy!
No replies yet. Good question, though. I type out: “I signed mine two weeks ago and still no edit letter either. ” But as soon as I hit Enter, I regret my reply.
Did that come off as callous? I didn’t mean for it to be.
I right-click on my message and delete it from the chat.
It disappears without a trace. I release a small sigh and start typing a new response.
“I have no idea, but I’m sure it’ll appear soon!
” No, that sounds stupid. Never mind. I switch out of the #questions channel and go to the #commiserations channel instead.
Alaina: My book Just got announced and it somehow has a one-star review on Goodreads already?!! WTF??
Her post has two replies.
Becca: OMG what!? You should report it to your publisher!
Stacey: Yesss srsly, wtf it’s obviously a troll since none of our books are even out yet! Report to Goodreads!
I’ve always been an avid reader, so I’m a total GR junkie, but from years of experience on Twitter’s #writingcommunity, I know that Goodreads, the largest book review site, is a source of sleepless nights and stomach ulcers for authors.
The more experienced authors always tweet about how authors should block Goodreads from their web browsers, but of course no debut author is going to listen to that.
In the whirlwind since my announcement happened—god, was that only yesterday?
I’ve been so distracted by the nightmare that is Haven Lee and her announcement that I have forgotten all about my own book.
I haven’t even checked to see if it’s up on Goodreads yet.
I switch from Slack to Goodreads and type my name into the search box.
Oh my god. It’s there. It actually is there.
The Happiest of Unhappy Days, by Fern Huang.
I stare at the computer screen for a long while.
There is no cover, of course, and zero ratings and reviews, but it’s my book.
My book is actually listed on Goodreads!
For a few moments, I merely sit, reading the title and the synopsis of the book over and over, marveling at the unreal sensation of seeing my book online like this.
I try to savor the joy, but it doesn’t last long before a certain curiosity uncurls from the edges of my brain.
I try to ignore it, but it grows like an itch, subtle at first, then increasing in intensity until it becomes unbearable and I must scratch it.
I watch in mute agony as my fingers fly across the keyboard of their own accord, ignoring my silent protest. Don’t do it, my mind begs, it’s not good for you, this is not healthy.
But they type “Haven Lee” and hit Enter.
There’s her book. She Asked for It. An average rating of five stars, from four reviewers.
How is that even possible? It was only announced yesterday, for goodness’ sake.
Who are these people—these losers—who are so quick to review books as soon as they appear on Goodreads?
Get a life! I want to scream at them. Haven’s book doesn’t have a cover yet either—of course it doesn’t—but somehow, her page looks fuller than mine.
Which is probably because her publisher has spent the extra time and effort on making sure her book has all the descriptions it needed to stand out on Goodreads.
I scroll down to the ratings and reviews. There are four ratings and two reviews.
Amyreads: If you buy just one book in 2020, let it be this one.
Seriously you guys, this is without a doubt the most important book you will ever read.
Inspired by the #MeToo movement, Lee has written a book with such complexity, so many layers, and just when you think you’ve figured it out, there are more surprises and twists to come that will blow your mind.
It’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life and I Love It.
The other review is only one line long, but somehow it leaves me feeling even worse.
Shelby’s Bookshelf: You must buy this book just trust me you need this book in your life.
Two five-star reviews. Not just five stars but absolutely rabid, passionate reviews.
Reviews that you just know came from people who will be talking about the book nonstop to their friends and families until they, too, go out and purchase the book.
I once read a Twitter thread about the kind of book that publishers and agents dream of getting.
They look for good books, but they dream of books that make people want to make others read them too.
The one-in-a-million book that catches fire and spreads like a piece of hot gossip because after reading it, it would be impossible to keep such a delicious thing to yourself and you need your friend to read it, too, so that you can meet over coffee or wine and go “Isn’t that book so freaking good? ”
From the look of everything I’ve come across, Haven’s book is poised to set the world on fire.
I pick up my cup of tea to sip, but my hand slips and I nearly drop it on top of my keyboard.
With a start, I realize that my palms have gone clammy, my chest tight like my rib cage has just shrunk and is now squeezing my lungs.
I force myself to step away from the computer and pace around the apartment once more, counting to five while doing some deep breathing exercises.
Back in high school, thanks to Haven’s bullying, I started having mini panic attacks.
Aliyah worked with me tirelessly to come up with a good technique to stop these attacks, and it’s been years since I had one, but now here it is again, my old friend rearing its ugly head.
I force myself to focus on my five senses, noticing objects I can see, smell, and feel, until the grip around my chest loosens.
Okay, I tell myself when my breathing is no longer labored, I need to stop this. It’s not good for me. I need to set boundaries for myself. No more looking up Haven or her book. Mind your own business.
I return to the computer and close the Goodreads tab. There, I huff, relieved. See? I can do the right thing. The mature thing. I go back to Slack. And this time, I find that Haven is, indeed, online, and not only that, but she’s started replying to the other authors.