Chapter 7
SEVEN
It didn’t go as badly as I thought it would.
I was a nervous wreck right up until the readers started filing in.
It became apparent relatively quickly that these readers were just excited to be able to hang out with authors—any authors—and they weren’t going to go crazy over one author and ignore all the rest. No, these were readers who loved books, not ones who loved only horror or paranormal romance and nothing else.
That meant they were the best kind of readers.
“So, you don’t like reverse harem?” a young woman asked.
Her name was Lexie Harriman. She was about twenty-two, if I had to guess—she’d been carded for every drink she’d ordered—and she was asking questions about being an author.
That told me she was at the event because she was interested in making writing a career path, not because she wanted to hear how Nathan was going to turn a giant blob into a hero at the end of his next book.
He was willing to tell that story over and over regardless. He’d made that abundantly clear. The guy was a tool—he had definite himbo energy—but was impossible not to like despite his bluntness and ego.
On the flip side, Brody was intense to the point of being distracting.
He gave his full attention to whoever was talking to him, was earnest with every response, and looked as if he wanted to flee to the bathroom to hide when he was triple teamed by three guys with matching Lord of the Rings tattoos on their forearms.
I forced myself to focus on Lexie’s question rather than on Brody. He was holding his own, however uncomfortable, and he was not my concern. Not even a little.
“I don’t hate reverse harem,” I replied, searching for a diplomatic response.
Then I shook my head. I couldn’t lie to Lexie.
She wasn’t asking because she was a reader and wanted to talk about something I’d written.
She was here fishing for author information. “Honestly? I don’t like reverse harem.”
Disappointment curved her lips down. “How come? Do you think people are going to lose interest in it?”
I had to work overtime to contain my smile. “I think reverse harem was a trend that turned into a trope.” I scratched my cheek as I debated how to proceed. I really did want to be helpful. “I’m not a trend writer. I also have to be true to what I feel in my heart to be able to write something.”
Lexie’s forehead creased. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to dump on anybody who likes reverse harem,” I said quickly.
“I think everybody should be able to read whatever they want, and they should be able to enjoy it without anybody judging them. For me, though, I can’t invest in a romantic pairing that doesn’t have two people being devoted to each other.
That was always my dream when I was growing up.
I wanted someone to love me and only me.
If there’s a third person there, it kind of ruins the fantasy. That’s just for me, though.”
Lexie didn’t look offended as much as thoughtful. “Hmm.”
“You’re younger,” I said. “Reverse harem has been a fiction thing for a good five years now. Your formative reading years were partially informed by reverse harem. That’s not how it was for me.”
“But … you think it will still sell, right?” she prodded.
“Of course.” I smiled, internally debating what I wanted to say next. “Is that what you want to write?”
Lexie instantly turned sheepish. “I’m not here to pick your writer brain or anything. I really am a fan.”
That made me laugh. “Don’t be ashamed of chasing your dream. I’m fine with you picking my brain.”
“You are?”
I nodded.
“Well, then, what would you write if you were just getting into it?”
She looked so hopeful I put real thought into my answer.
“I would write what you love to read because eventually, even if you become a mega bestseller, you’re going to lose interest in your own work if you don’t believe in what you’re writing.
Like, I might be able to crank out a few science fiction books because they’re selling well, but eventually, I would veer off because what I really love is vampires and witches.
I could write a mystery with vampires and witches and be okay as long as I can make it my own.
If it’s something that I have no interest in, though, that’s going to show in my writing. ”
Lexie considered it for what felt like a really long time. “That’s smart,” she said finally.
She looked so agog all I could do was laugh. “It’s been known to happen.” When I looked over, I found Brody watching me with thoughtful eyes.
Has he been listening? When he realized I was looking, he smiled and turned back to the reader he was talking to. We were never going to be best friends. That just wasn’t in the cards. But that didn’t mean a truce was out of the question. That would likely be better for both of us.
BARB HARRIS—OR BARB HARASSMENT, AS I was starting to think of her—was a superfan. She knew everything I’d ever written—down to details I couldn’t remember without help—and seemed disappointed when I couldn’t give her the keys to my paranormal universe.
“How can you not remember that?” she demanded. There was anger in her eyes. Like, real anger. “It was a huge plot point in your third book.”
“Dante not putting the book down when he was in the Legends library was a huge plot point?” I asked.
“He didn’t put it down. That means he left with it.” Barb was adamant, her tone accusatory. “You said nobody could leave the library with the books. There’s a magical alarm that goes off when they try.”
“Nobody left with a book,” I assured her.
“Dante didn’t put it down.”
“Just because I didn’t write that he put the book back, that doesn’t mean that he didn’t.”
The look that took over Barb’s face was evil. “Um … that’s not how it works. You have to write what’s important. Dante didn’t put the book down. That means it was important.”
I didn’t want to burst her bubble. I had a rich fantasy life when I was reading too. Sometimes, however, readers took things to the extreme in a very bad way. This was one of those instances.
“I promise you that Dante didn’t take a book from the Legends library,” I assured her. “The rules are still intact.”
“But you didn’t write that!” Barb’s voice ratcheted up a notch. She was intense.
Uncertain what to do—she seemed close to a meltdown—I glanced over and found Brody watching us. He’d clearly picked up on the woman’s tone. Rather than flee, which would have been the smart thing to do, he edged closer to us.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, a tepid smile on his face.
I took advantage of his appearance to distract Barb. “Have you met Big Butt…” I caught myself before I could finish it out. “Have you met B. B. Bates?” I asked.
Brody gave me a dark look before shaking his head. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was trying to hide a smile. “I write fantasy,” he said to Barb, clearly not expecting that to mean anything to her.
“Oh, I know,” Barb said, bobbing her head. “I have a list of things to discuss with you too.”
“You do?” Brody looked surprised. I didn’t blame him. There wasn’t a lot of overlap between paranormal romance and high fantasy, even though my books were a bit of a hybrid that solidly straddled the line between urban fantasy and high fantasy. They were separate readerships.
“Yes.” Barb turned her full attention to Brody. “I want to know why Rapscallion didn’t return to his father’s kingdom to explain about the sword before he went on his adventure.”
Brody looked completely caught off guard. “Um … he did.”
“No, he didn’t.” Barb vigorously shook her head. “I’ve checked three times. Rapscallion left on his adventure and never said anything to his father, and yet his father doesn’t seem too worried that he’s no longer in the castle.”
The way Brody worked his mouth, reminding me of a fish out of water, had me ducking my head. He saw my smile of course, but avoiding eye contact stopped me from bursting out laughing.
“I guess I don’t remember that part,” Brody said finally.
“How can you not remember it?” Barb hammered him. “Are you even writing these books? How can a reader remember details better than the author? That seems impossible to me.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Unless you’re just the guy they trot out to pretend to be the author.”
Brody made a sputtering sound. “What?”
“Oh, she’s going somewhere with this,” I intoned in a low voice.
Brody didn’t look at me. His attention was firmly planted on Barb. “I swear to you I wrote the books.”
“Or AI did.” Barb was clearly a suspicious person.
“It was not AI. I assure you. I don’t believe in using AI.”
“Then why don’t you remember?”
It was an impossible question to answer. Nothing he said would placate Barb. To my surprise, he was sincere when responding.
“As writers, we imagine every scene in about eight different ways,” he explained.
“We also have a fully formed picture in our heads, where we catalog the big details and sometimes misplace the little ones. You look at that scene as something full and finished. In my head, that scene went eight different ways, and the little details don’t matter because I have to focus on the big details. ”
Barb didn’t immediately respond. She seemed to consider it for a long time. “You could be bullshitting me,” she said finally.
“I could be,” Brody said. “But I’m not.”
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll let it go this one time. I’ll be watching you, though.” Her gaze moved to me. “Both of you.”
I managed to hold my laughter in until she pointed herself at Nathan, who was on the other side of the bar. “Apparently, she has a list for everybody,” I said when I was done laughing.
Brody shrugged. “I do like that she’s an equal-opportunity complainer.”
“Right?” I sighed then rubbed my forehead. “Only about an hour to go.” So far, I’d managed to avoid taking my five-minute breather. He had too.
He nodded. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“No, it’s been pretty fun actually.”