Chapter 1 #2
Writing a book was harder than Meg had imagined.
Sometimes she felt like she had control of the nonfiction book about how to become your own Nancy Drew.
Sometimes she thought the book was controlling her.
The good part of the process was that it gave her an inside look at what authors like Lilly went through when creating the product.
The bad part was she felt like an imposter a lot of the time.
Lilly’s advice? One page at a time. Don’t look back until it’s done, then you can see if it works or not.
Meg was beginning to think the “or not” advice was what eventually would happen.
But she was going to finish it, mostly because she was tired of changing lanes when things got hard.
She would finish this book. Whether or not it sold was out of her hands.
But she could help it along. Like by attending and learning from the local writers. Which is why she was here tonight.
This presenter might not have been worth the time to attend the meeting, but as her mother always said, “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” Besides, Meg could probably find at least one tidbit in the talk to get her excited about writing.
Apparently, Lee Anderson hadn’t had the same upbringing. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his emails. He looked over at Meg when her food was delivered. “Wake me when she’s done.”
Meg had finished eating when the speaker finished her presentation. Crissy had listed out ten comparisons, and Meg had written them down, wondering if her amateur investigation book would be appropriate for self-publishing. She wanted the book in bookstores. And that meant an agent and a publisher.
Lilly had read the first chapter of Meg’s guidebook and told her it was promising, so at least one person thought she might be on the right track.
Besides, she wasn’t going to worry until she finished the book.
She took notes on marketing ideas and wrote down any editors who seemed to be accepting queries in her area.
But she was mostly there for the hour of sprint writing and the happy hour afterward.
She’d already met several nonfiction writers and they’d been friendly.
She just hadn’t made any new friends. Yet.
The group transitioned into a quick write-in. Thirty minutes of uninterrupted writing. Meg opened her laptop and got busy.
Lee found her again during the happy hour. “Did you get any words?”
“Four hundred new words and a chapter read and tweaked. I swear, every time I look at a page, I find a typo or something I want to say differently. Does the editing ever stop?” Meg sipped her wine as she scanned the group.
Crissy was still holding court over by the bar talking about how she published.
“That’s why I write for newspapers. I have a deadline so once it’s out of my hands, I’m done.
I can’t play with it forever. So many people go over the first three chapters of a project and never move on.
I’d love to write a book someday. Maybe like Anthony Bourdain, an exposé on the state of restaurants in the Pacific Northwest.” Lee shrugged and looked around the room. “Someday, I guess.”
“I don’t know about Someday,” Meg said.
Lee turned toward her, a frown narrowing his eyes. “What?”
“There’s Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…” She tapped her fingers as she listed off the days of the week. “And it all ends with Sunday and starts over. But Someday? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Okay, fine. You got me. I need to just shut up and do it. Like in the Nike ads.” He grinned and finished his beer.
“I’ve got to catch the ferry, but I like you, Gates.
Why don’t you come with me to dinner tomorrow night?
I’m reviewing a local restaurant. But we can’t let them know that’s why I’m there.
You can be my cover. No one ever expects a food critic to have a sidekick.
And we can talk more about writing nonfiction.
I’ve got a few contacts you might want to interview. And my paper will buy your dinner.”
“Sounds good.” Meg glanced at her watch. She had a new project from Lilly she needed to start tonight. Especially since now, she wouldn’t be home tomorrow night. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Which one and what time?”
He opened his phone. “My reservation is for eight at the Local Crab. Do you know it?”
“Yeah, I’ve met the chef before. Maybe I’m not a good sidekick for this one.” Meg hoped Lee didn’t have a reputation for trashing restaurants.
“Don’t be silly. You’re perfect. I’m just a friend from Seattle.
He’ll never suspect anything, and I can get a clear reading on the meal without them trying to impress me.
” He snapped a picture of her as she was taking a drink.
He laughed at her widened eyes. “I like to remember where I meet people. That way I don’t forget their names.
Although you seem pretty unforgettable.”
Meg shook her head. “No sweet-talking your writing partner. This is just about writing. I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Good, because I’m not either. I just got out of a long-term relationship a few months ago and my head is still not clear from her games. So we’re just friends, right?” He scanned the room as he talked.
“Exactly.” Meg finished her wine and set her glass on the counter. “I’ve got to run. Watson is probably waiting for me.”
“Oh, so there’s a boyfriend?” Lee called after her.
She shrugged and headed out the door. If Lee was looking for something more, Watson would keep him from misinterpreting her agreeing to go to dinner.
She liked Lee, as a possible friend. Besides, one of the rules of investigating was to find out more about others, not give out all your personal information.
It was a skill she was still working on.
Meg didn’t want to be an open book. Especially when she was working on an investigation, she needed to learn to be more invisible. It said so in her book.
As she left the Island Diner, a small blonde waved at her. Meg waved but didn’t go back inside.
She’d practice her casual interviewing skills on Lee tomorrow night. Maybe she’d find out more about the food critic. And he could be her second writing friend. Lilly Aster was her first. Even if the famous author didn’t know they were friends.
Meg was playing the long game.
She was almost home when she realized who had waved at her. Irene Olsen. The cruise salesperson who she’d been avoiding since she’d had coffee with her months ago.
The woman was relentless. As Meg hurried up the stairs, her phone buzzed with what was probably the first of many messages she’d get from Irene.
This day wasn’t turning out to be one of Meg’s favorites.