Saturday 16th September
I t was definitely not the morning to have to try, and fail, to round up a goat, Karmela thought bitterly as she followed Iain and Sybil up the track, her legs stinging from scratches earnt in the scrub, while her hungover brain rattled noisily around in her under-sized skull.
Sybil had of course caused the problem by running after the creature in the first place. Somehow Iain had managed to grab her collar, the dog pulling him to the ground in the process and enveloping them both in a cloud of dust. Now Iain was limping very slightly while Sybil’s tail hung lower than Karmela had ever seen it. Master and hound made a sorry pair this morning, and Karmela would definitely need another shower before breakfast, not to mention some painkillers.
Iain stopped a hundred or so metres short of the courtyard, waiting for her.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was not the best start to my morning, I must admit, but I think both Sybil and the goat need to take some responsibility.”
He smiled a kind of half-smile. “I’d like to make it up to you. Take you out, except…” He looked down at his trainers.
Karmela sighed. “Except you would not want me to think it was a date. I know. Your simple apology will do nicely.”
He was still looking down. Maybe she had been a little abrupt, but it was hard not to be. Why, oh why, did he have to rub it in? It was bad enough that he had changed his mind about her, without having to remind her in this way. Especially when she had the hangover from hell, which was definitely making her grouchy. Then Sybil stepped forwards, her elegant head nudging Karmela’s hand, so she crouched and fondled her ears.
“It is all right, beautiful girl. I forgive you.”
After taking her painkillers, Karmela stood under the shower for the longest time. She did not care if she missed breakfast because she was not hungry, and there were plenty of coffee pods in her room. Neither did she want company, but missing the morning session was unthinkable. She was here to write. To write and nothing else, and if it took every last gram of mental strength she had left, she would do it. They were already a little over halfway through the month. Unfortunately, she was not halfway through her story, but if she really got her head down over the next couple of days, then the target of finishing her first draft was not impossible. That and that alone must be her focus.
Thankfully Jo suggested a relatively short morning session, given that most of them were hardly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after the night before.
“I thought I’d tell you a little about the publishing process,” she said, “then all you have to do is sit back and listen. Although I do appreciate not all of you are aiming in that direction.” She smiled at Susan.
“Oh, but it will be so interesting,” Susan replied. “When we have authors visit the library they’re always asked about their path to publication.”
“Mine was a little unusual,” said Jo. “So I’m going to keep things quite general, and I’ve prepared a handout too– some simple advice about approaching agents and publishers, and dealing with the inevitable rejections.”
“I don’t really understand how agents fit into it, and whether you have to have one,” said Diana.
“That’s as good a place to start as any,” Jo replied, and began to explain.
Karmela pulled out her notebook. The process might not be quite the same in Croatia, but the basic principles probably were. With not even half of the very first draft of a book complete, publication seemed so far away that she had given the practicalities of it little thought. But of course she had dreamt about bringing the Ragusan women’s story to the widest possible audience, and making her mother proud.
By the time Jo finished talking, Karmela had filled a couple of pages with hurried script, so she sat back, shaking out her fingers while Jo asked if there were any questions.
Sophie leant forwards. “You said the way you were published was unusual. Can you tell us about it?”
Jo nodded slowly. “Of course. It’s simple and I was very lucky. My husband had a friend who worked in the business and he asked him to look at the manuscript. He liked it and wanted to acquire it.”
“Well of course he did,” added Susan. “It’s a wonderful book– one of my favourites. And from a lesbian viewpoint it was marvellous to see such mainstream success for a queer romance.”
“That’s something I wondered about when I was reading it for my book club,” said Sophie, “how you, as a straight woman, came to write that particular story.” Something about her tone of voice, and the way she folded her arms once she had finished speaking, put Karmela on her guard and had her antennae twitching. When a student asked a question that way either there was some sort of agenda behind it or they expected to be able to score a point.
But Jo was smiling. “It’s something I’m often asked, and the answer is that love is love.”
“No, but why write that particular story? What inspired you?”
A shadow passed across Jo’s face, there and gone in a flash. “I didn’t plan the book, so it’s hard to say. It took years to write as well. Which reminds me, the length of time from putting the first word on paper to publication– even from acquisition to publication– can be surprisingly long.”
Sophie looked set to open her mouth again, but Iain cut in with a long-winded and tortuous question about cover design. Whether it was a deliberate ploy, Karmela could not be sure. Jo had hardly missed a beat, and yet… perhaps they had both noticed? Or maybe, knowing Jo was keeping a big secret, they were both looking too hard for something that was not there. Either way, the last thing Karmela wanted was to waste her time discussing it with Iain.
The Ragusan Republic was calling. Her happy place. Her safe place. And then she realised she had not looked at it in quite that way for over a year. For a moment the thought shocked her; escaping there was something the old Karmela had done.
No, this was nonsense. She was not escaping. She needed to go there to write her book. But what else did the old Karmela do? She buried pain and pretended it did not matter. The thought made her more than uneasy, but now was not the time for distractions. If nothing else, she needed to up her word count before speaking to her mother tomorrow.