Chapter 27
Maggie’s trying to figure out how she can expand her novella when Ingrid calls.
She’d spent the better half of the day convincing herself that it was the right move to query those agents.
Willa thought so, as did her writer friends.
Didn’t Ingrid herself say at dinner, You gotta drive it like you stole it, because if you hesitate, some underqualified guy will take it from you?
But it was a TikTok video that finally cemented it for her.
This woman was talking about the difference between rich people and poor people: Rich people know how to futurecast. They know how to envision themselves in the future and live in that mindset rather than always living in the energy of the present.
The woman then threw out a question: “Imagine yourself in ten years. What is the situation you envision for yourself?”
That’s when it hit Maggie that in ten years, she’s going to be forty-three.
She no longer has an infinite amount of time to figure it out and take her sweet time.
If she’s adding ten years to her age through this procedure, she should also be adding to where she should be in her career.
It’s a gut punch of a realization, which is why for the last hour, she’s been manically trying to plot, because career-wise, by forty-three, she definitely wants to be published multiple times over.
“Hey!” Maggie answers, putting her coffee down. “What’s up? I was actually just plotting the book!”
“Hi,” Ingrid says. There’s a tightness in her voice. Maggie furrows her brows, putting her pen down. Is she mad about something?
“How’s Cassie?” Maggie asks, guessing maybe there’s a problem with her daughter.
“She’s fine,” Ingrid says. “Everything’s fine. Actually…it’s not. I received five emails, all from various literary agent friends of mine in New York. They said that you queried them?”
Oh shit. “Uh-huh.”
“Did you tell them that I’m optioning your novel?”
“Ummm…”
There’s a long, deep, disappointed sigh on the other end.
“I’m really sorry…” Maggie says, the heat crawling up her neck.
She’s so mortified, if it were possible to crawl into the tiny speaker of her phone, she would.
Just so she wouldn’t have to listen to that insanely long sigh, which even her mother’s pales in comparison to.
“I don’t know what got into me. I just got really excited! About, you know…us working together!”
“I understand,” Ingrid says. “But you can’t use my name without running it by me.”
“I won’t, I know—”
“I mean, I think that goes without saying. It’s just unprofessional!”
“Totally.”
“These people…they all know me. I have relationships with them!”
Maggie closes her eyes. She wishes Ingrid would stop. At the same time, she totally deserves it. It was so stupid, she knows.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly, I’m so sorry!”
“I’m not upset,” Ingrid says in a tone that definitely sounds upset.
“I just don’t know why you would do it when I told you I was going to work on fleshing out the story with you.
” Her tone softens. “Did you honestly think that I would just let you cold query when it’s all done and not help you get an agent? ”
Maggie’s speechless. Now she feels awful. “No…”
“Maggie. Remember what I said in the car? Trust in the story.”
“I do trust the story, but I…”
“But you what?”
She dips her head. Finally, she says in a tiny, shaky voice, “I don’t have all the time in the world like everyone else anymore, you know?
I was just watching a TikTok about where I’m going to be in ten years.
I’m going to be forty-three, Ingrid. I can’t still be querying at forty-three.
” She shakes her head, immediately regretting how that came out.
“I mean. Of course you can still query at forty-three. People query at all ages all the time, but those people…they’ve been doing other things.
Or they’ve been trying for twenty years. I don’t have twenty years to try…”
“It’s OK,” Ingrid says. “I understand.”
Maggie nods, breathing in deeply. Does she? Does she understand the loud clock ticking? Can she hear it over the phone?
“You’ll have an amazing, full life and a wonderful publishing career, I promise,” Ingrid says. “But you can’t jump the gun. The story’s not a novel yet.”
“I know.” Maggie exhales.
“Focus on making it good. Keep plotting. That’s where your energy should be spent, not on trying to get one of these agents to bite. Make the story the best it can be with me. I’ll tell you when it’s ready. Then, when you query, believe me, you’ll get your pick of agents.”
Maggie’s relieved that Ingrid still wants to work with her. “Thanks, Ingrid. It really means a lot to me.”
“Happy to help,” Ingrid says.
Maggie gets up from her desk and starts unpacking her clothes. “How’s everything going with Summer Rain?”
Ingrid makes an ehhh sound. “The pitch is Monday morning. I’ve got the deck all done, but the story itself is taking a little longer than I expected…”
Maggie stops unpacking. “Well, if you need help, I’m happy to take a crack at it!”
There’s a long pause, during which Maggie holds her breath. Then Ingrid says, “I wouldn’t mind another set of eyes. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely!” Maggie says. “Send me over what you’ve got! I’ll get right on it!”
They get off the phone, and Maggie jumps back to her desk. As painful as it is to have to cancel all her agent calls, she sets her mind to making it up to Ingrid by acing her first writing assignment for a major movie.