Chapter Thirteen Savannah
| Thirteen |
Savannah
“Okay, I’m ready. Hit me with it.”
He laughed. “Don’t look so nervous! I loved your pages! The premise is compelling. Darcy reminds me of you. Is that intentional?”
She shrugged. “Maybe not consciously. And I think she may be a wee bit more accomplished than I am. I don’t have a black belt in karate. But I’d like to think I do have her drive.”
“I would agree with that. I hope you’re not a crusading vigilante knocking off criminals.”
She laughed. “Would that be so bad?”
“Touché. You’ve got the bones of something good here. Darcy’s motivation could be developed a little more. I’d like to get a better sense of her emotional depth, but for a first draft, it’s good.”
Savannah struggled to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t her first draft, she had polished those chapters many times. But she’d asked for honesty, so she swallowed her disappointment.
“When you say her emotional depth, can you give me an example?”
He sat back, thinking. “We know she’s determined to exact vindication for these women who’ve been victimized.
But we don’t know why. I mean, sure, everyone wants justice.
But what makes Darcy go to the extremes she does?
Why did she learn how to shoot and train in martial arts?
What’s the trauma or backstory that made her who she is? ”
“That will be revealed eventually, but I was trying not to bog the story down with too much backstory early on.”
He nodded. “That’s a good instinct. I’m not suggesting you tell us everything, but a few hints make us want to know more. You’ll get there. Keep going. Everything can be fixed in revision. The important thing is to keep going.”
“Did you write other books before Promise Me Never?”
He raised his eyebrows. “No. I’m an exception, though.
Not many authors have an auction on their first book.
” Seeing her crestfallen face, he put a hand up.
“No, don’t be upset. It comes easier to some people.
But if you work hard, you can get there.
Most writers have a drawer full of unpublished manuscripts before they get a deal.
Once you hit your stride, find your voice, you’ll be unstoppable. ”
“You’re just being nice.”
He shook his head. “No, trust me, I’m not that nice.”
“Do you think—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
She sighed. “Well, I was wondering if you might give me some advice. Some more notes. But I don’t want to impose.”
He took a moment to answer, and she worried that she’d ruined everything. She put a hand up. “Bennett, please forget it. I can hire an editor. It’s just, I admire you so much. And I thought—”
“Of course. I’d be happy to. It’s not something I normally do, but for you, no problem.”
She scrutinized his face trying to discern if he was sincere, and he seemed it.
“You’re sure? It’s fine if not.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I said yes. No worries.”
But she was worried. This could be her last chance. No, she thought. You’re better than that. Remember. Goal. Plan. Work. She could do this. The more she wrote, the more she edited, her book would emerge worthy of publication. And who better to help her get there than the brilliant Bennett Bryson?
They finished their breakfast and rose from the table.
“I’m going to hit the head. Mind grabbing me a coffee to go?” Bennett asked.
“Sure.”
She walked over to the counter and was about to order when someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Millie?”
She turned, then froze. Shit. She quickly scanned behind the woman to see if Bennett was coming out of the bathroom.
“You must be mistaking me for someone else.” Before the woman could respond she ran from the restaurant and around the corner, her breath fast and shallow, her heart like a drum in her chest. What were the chances she’d run into someone from Maryland here?
She pulled out her phone and texted Bennett.
Felt faint. Too hot in there. I’m on a bench over at Hudson Yards.
She put the phone in her pocket and released a breath. That was too close.