Aspiring Novelist Pt. 03

Billie worked on a proposal for the cattle and horse ranch novel and sent it off to Under the Tree Publishing with the working title of 'Into the Saddle."

Her editor Jocelyn Winter emailed next day: "Hi sweet young woman. We accepted your proposal this morning. Gary our executive editor pointed out we have a publishing slot four months hence, so it's yours if you believe you can finish in sixteen weeks from today. What do you think?"

Billie called Jocelyn and they had a short chat and Billie said she could meet all her deadlines to have everything wrapped up in sixteen weeks.

"Good girl. If you want us to keep you before the public we require a minimum of three books a year from you."

"That's no problem for a professional writer. Believe me this novel requires a great cover to appeal to the widest possible audience."

"Accepted. Gary told me if you take the 16-week slot I'm to allocate your project good marketing push. I said what about eighty thousand and he said okay. it's about time we projected Miss Summers to book buyers and initially this one only goes hardcover."

Billie gulped, "You mean eighty thousand bucks?"

"What else could it mean darling? Bye."

"No wait. What's motivating the executive editor?"

"Oh sorry, I've left out that piece that makes all sense of this. I'm such a tease. We were told this morning the initial rush on 'Wretched Rachel' hasn't declined; in fact mothers and grandmothers are lining up to buy it. The latest figures show advance orders of 65,305 and according to our projections you just might be lucky and have your sales crack 250,000."

"B-but even 65,000 is huge for me?"

"Yes dear. Well you did tell me your goal was to gain acclaim as a young author. Guess what's happing darling? In 'Wretched Rachel' it's not only what you have to say but also how you say it. You are riding a wave."

Billie decided to go for a walk. As she was leaving the house she spotted Caitlin talking to Patricia and Caitlin waved her over. "Come and have coffee with us under the sun shade."

They kissed Billie and Caitlin said, "You look rather pale dear."

"My book 'Wretched Rachel' is only being distributed now and advanced sales have topped 65,000."

Caitlin said, "That's huge."

"Not really but it is for me," Billie admitted and the three of them stared at a courier van that had pulled into Billie's driveway.

Patricia laughed and said, "Oooh this must be your Pulitzer Prize."

"Omigod, it's my complimentary and my ordered copies," Billie squeaked as the courier man began loading the cartons of forty-eight copies of 'Wretched Rachel'.

Billie signed complimentary copies for both women who thanked her profusely. She then told them she was thinking of going into hiding.

"Why?" Caitlin asked. "You can't get much more removed than here."

"I agree," Patricia said. "Look it's just a matter of controlling people and your environment. Park your vehicle around at the front you're your house. People looking from the street will think you are out. Tell everyone not to visit before 5:00 each day and switch off your phone. Tell your publisher to send emails and don't read them until you finish for the day. You work up in the loft don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well how much more isolated than that can you get?"

"But still take breaks," Caitlin caution and if you want any shopping done just ask me after you finish work for the day. "Look why don't you eat with us two evenings a week and then find someone else who'll also cook for you?"

"That's me," Patricia said firmly. "Caitlin you do Mondays and Wednesdays and I'll do Tuesdays and Thursdays and Billie you can look after yourself the next three nights.

"Oh this is too kind and I have no wish to impose."

"It's our wish to be kind so shut-up Billie," Patricia laughed. "God I could really attack a wine."

Billie raced across to her house and returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses.

Under that new regime Billie kept the downstairs windows closed with curtains across and opened the loft windows that couldn't be seen from the road. The hardest thing was switching off her phone but she did that and then began drafting the principal characters of 'Into the Saddle' and wondered if that title might be considered ambiguous and therefore risqué.

The heroine she called Abilene Clarke, her mother Georgia and father Clinton. The closest neighboring ranchers were the Jones's and their elder son, the hero she called Ryan.

She'd used different names in the synopsis sent to the publisher that had been approved but it was the proposed story that had been accepted, not the names. Any way the new names were superior and she already loved the characters she'd constructed to suit those new names.

She logged off for the day at little after 4:30 and felt ready for a bath and then to toddle off to bed. Long periods of deep thinking tended to tire her. Oh damn she was expected next-door to eat with the Struthers. She answered a door knock and let in Silvana.

They hugged and kissed.

"Half a glass of wine?"

"No thanks, we are eating formerly tonight and I'll have some wine then. Jim's new girlfriend is coming for dinner and mom went me to ask would you mind if she invites Gene, um, to give balance to the table."

"I have you to sit beside me for balance."

"Aw mom wants something started between you and Gene. She's been talking about this with Gene's mother."

"Oh hell, she must know I won't like Gene being set up like this."

"The new girlfriend is Gene's cousin so that makes a difference doesn't it."

"Hmmm. I don't want to be ungrateful to your mother. Just say I think I said it was lovely to have my feelings considered and I said yes and what a lovely idea."

"God that wasn't your reaction when I first mentioned it?"

"All women lie Silvana and with your cunning streak I bet you lie superbly."

"My mom thinks you're the greatest thing since peanut butter. She's already being noticeably more pleasant to me after reading your book and saying things like 'I know how you feel darling' and 'please may I make a suggestion?' Christ."

"So you don't like her attempting the kid glove approach?"

"I suppose it's okay. She's not getting up my ass so much."

Billie winced. "Silvana are you in a rough gang at school?"

"How did we suddenly get on to friends at school?"

"Oh it doesn't matter only I never ever jeered to anyone about my mom getting up my ass."

"You never thought like that?"

"I didn't say that. All I said was I'd never talk about my mother like that."

"Oh so you didn't talk about her like that out of respect?"

"Something like that. Do you respect your mother Silvana?"

"Omigod what a question to be asked."

"Don't answer. Just think about it. Perhaps I am meant to be your role model."

Silvana left, looking thoughtful and possibly a little confused and Billie was pleased, thinking Silvana was at last showing signs of being prepared to look beyond herself in the early transition from teenager to young woman. It was a start but only a start and Caitlin would welcome it if she read the signs.

After a very enjoyable evening Gene and Billie left together and as a beaming Caitlin closed the front door Gene said, almost breathlessly, "We should have sex."

Billie's reply was simply to take his hand and lead Gene to her house, walking through the hole in the low hedge on the side boundary between the two properties.

Gene removed his jacket and placed it over the back of a dining chair.

Billie mentally approved of that action, taking it as evidence of a neat and tidy man.

He then removed a pack of condoms from the inside pocket of his jacket, forcing Billing to amend that earlier thought to evidence of a neat and tidy and prudent guy.

"What are they?" Billie said, pointing to the condoms.

Gene looked at her and swallowed noticeably.

She smiled. "Just teasing. If you're staying the night you probably will need all of them."

Gene's smile was partly a grimace. "You had me going a bit just then."

"Unzip and let me see what you're got."

He replied coolly, "Show me your breasts first."

"Okay let's call it a draw and come and sit on the sofa and I'll turn out these bright lights and then you be the ringmaster.

They sat on the sofa, straight-backed rather like a young couple just returned from church.

Billie sighed and dropped a hand over his groin and squeezed his cock.

Gene unleashed. He pushed Billie sideways, stood, scooped her legs on to the sofa. He then in a continuous movement ran his hand up under her skirt to her crotch, sprawled beside her and began kissing her deeply and mumbling something that became "This is heavenly... this is heavenly..." when they broke apart slightly for a breather.

During that first brief breather he worked his hand under her panty leg and hooked two fingers into the opening of her moist and very warm pussy.

"Oooh."

"Yeah baby."

Apparently they knew what that meant.

Gene was perhaps halfway through screwing Billie for the first time before she reminded him he wasn't wearing a condom.

"Oh shit."

"I hope not."

"What?"

There was no reply and he scuttled over the table to rip open the 10-pack and managed to open the smaller packet without too much fumbling and drag it on efficiently.

Gene returned to Billie's side wearing a sexy grin and his eyes widened as he looked at her stretching out her breasts by dragging on each nipple.

"Jesus," he said in awe and then groaned "Oh fuck" as he filled the end of the condom.

"Don't worry," Billie soothed. "I over-excited you that's all. You still have gas left in the tank don't you?"

Gene nodded hopefully.

"Oh good boy. Change your rubber and then bang me stupid. I'm well overdue for sex."

Gene left around 2:00 and dragged his weary body home, pleased that he and Billie had decided to date regularly. He thought that arrangement was because she wanted sex but she'd claimed she wanted him around for companionship and because he was such a nice guy. He grinned and yawned, saying bullshit, but then decided Billie was just like her name, quite the most interesting woman he'd ever met who was available to him, er, for companionship.

* * *

Although awaking at dawn next morning after Gene's largely athletic administrations, Billie felt emotionally alive and actually thought like swinging from the rafters.

Oh boy. She scooped some grits softened in fruit juice into her and left the tidying up to do during a work break.

Today was earmarked for sending off copies of 'Wretched Rachel' to family and closest friends. During that work she labeled as one of the best tasks a real writer could do if she did it herself, Billie began mentally planning her new novel and soon was stumped.

When was haymaking season on the ranch?

"Dunno?" she snapped.

When were the mares put to stallions?

Oh fuck, if Ben had told she that she'd forgotten. Perhaps it was in her notes but she required information like that in her head and not in notes or on the Web to avoid interruption to her workflow. She remembered Ben emphasizing that stallions had to be used for registration of thoroughbreds. Artificial breeding was not acceptable.

Billie sighed and thought this would be exactly the situation all novelists faced when setting a plot that was mostly outside the familiarity of their knowledge and environment. At least she had remembered bridles really were left hanging on the wall... to dry.

She tore of a pre-prepared label to put a book in a sealed plastic envelope and smiled, noting the addressee was Celeste B. Bush. She called Celeste.

"Hi my mentor."

"Omigod you little bitch. Because of you I've been put through the wringer appearing on TV and radio talk shows, talking to journalists and literary and non-literary women's groups and now the city council has commissioned a bust of me to be placed in the city library."

"Oh working hard for once in your life are you? It will have to be a pretty big bronze to include all of your big bust."

"Oh honey, I do miss your liveliness and warped humor. It's lovely hearing from you again. Tell me about your WIP (work in progress)."

"I'm sending you a copy of my latest."

"Oh yes. I saw the front cover of 'Wretched Rachel' on a book show on TV two nights ago. The reviewer awarded it four out of five stars and said it was a handbook for mothers of teenagers told at pace in the style of a ripping good yarn. Well done honey."

"Yeah other reviews I've received from my publisher are of similar tone. They appeared focused on the word 'handbook' despite it being a novel."

"Handbook is far more preferable than many labels reviewers heap on some poor authors darling. You haven't answered my question about WIP?"

"Oh the setting is on a cattle ranch that also breeds thoroughbred horses as a sideline. I was calling to ask..."

"Did I spend my early years living on a ranch and daddy and grandpa raised quarter-horses as a sideline to help make ends meet? No darling, as you know my early years were spent in an orphanage. But I can suggest that you talk to people around you who grew up on ranches. Another suggestion is if you switch and make cattle the sideline you'll draw in many, many more readers because millions of people have ridden horses but few have ridden cattle. You know I had thought it wouldn't surprise the young writer who told America on TV she was scared of horses was very likely one day set a novel on a horse ranch. The only surprise to me is it's come so soon."

"Why didn't you say something on that night after our TV interview?"

"Because darling it is best for a novelist to choose her or his own storyline because they'll then have complete ownership and love everything about their new novel sooner and possibly more completely."

"God Celeste, you know so much."

"Don't fail to enjoy the journey towards writing maturity Billie. Think of it as growing up. Would you want to throw away your youth?"

Billie said no and they talked on rather aimlessly as women like doing.

Billie dropped what she was doing and stood on the lawn drinking a soda facing the sea, the light breeze fluffing out her hair had these days was long and poorly kept. She thought about what Celeste had said and sighed.

She heard someone approaching and saw it was Caitlin who worked four hours each weekday afternoon in job-share as a receptionist for two attorneys.

They kissed and Caitlin put her arm round the young women's waist and said, "What is it darling, writer's block?"

Billie giggled and said no, she was still in planning stages of her new novel and just been talking to Celeste B. Bush who, as usual, had given her something to think about.

"Celeste suggested I talk to people around me who grew up on a ranch."

"Send a copy of 'Wretched Rachel' to the editor of our local newspaper with a note that you are residing temporarily here in Rockport-Fulton district. The newspaper will be interested believe me and will interview you. You can mention you want contact with local people raised on a ranch and perhaps still have connections with a family ranch."

"Oh that's a great idea, I take a copy in to the editor now."

"No use the softly, softly approach. Mail it and the editor looks at it and thinks about it leisurely rather than the editor becoming defensive in being confronted by a pushy woman. Know what I mean?"

"Oh yes I do. If the editor is male I ought to allow him to make an unbiased decision rather that have an excited red-faced women thrusting her tits at him attempting to seduce him into action."

Caitlin giggled. "Billie I didn't quite say that. You are almost too much for me at times."

Two days later a reporter and photographer arrived and Billie was interviewed as a transient local celebrity. She received dozens of calls that produced valuable feedback. She selected two couples who lived nearby and they came to Billie's house for two weeks Monday, Wednesday and Friday and worked with her from 10:00 to 3:00 with pre-lunch drinks and lunch supplied. That allowed Billie to extract solid information prior to lunch, having her questions such as work routines season by season established. Then with the wine and beer being consumed the chatter automatically fell into reminiscence about 'the good old days' of growing up on a ranch and then the understanding of hardship laced with better times they experienced when they took over their respective ranches.

Another valuable contact was a young widow who'd come off a horse ranch out of Dallas whose husband had been killed when hit by an out-of-control concrete delivery truck when returning home in his much lighter truck from taking some surplus yearling cattle to market. The 34-year-old widow, about to marry an attorney, was a tremendous source of information because she'd be began riding a pony she received for her fourth birthday and scarcely a day had past since when she hadn't gone riding. She was now a partner in a riding school and Billie enrolled at the school and learned to ride properly. Shortly after the final briefing for Billie's research she received an invitation to attend Angela and Ron's wedding with partner.

Toweling semen off her chest, Billie said to Gene, "Would you like to take me to a wedding?"

"No."

Billie bit her lip knowing she should have asked him before wearing him out having sex that destroyed billions of his brain cells.

"Why not."

"I find weddings and birthday parties boring."

"Wouldn't that be related to the type of people at the center of the occasion and their families?"

"I suppose so."

"You called in one afternoon and had a drink with the bride-to-be."

"Who that blonde divorcee with the really hot tits?"

"Widow actually and her name is Angela and yes she does have a lovely shape."

"Who's the bridegroom?"

"Ron West."

"Oh really? And what does Ron do?"

"He's an attorney near where you work, across at Portland."

"God that's Ron West who brought a 32-foot cruiser from us and we service it and his dad's boat and also Frank his partner's boat."

"Well lucky you. I should think most of the guests would be boat people in that case."

"Yeah sweetie, I'd really like to go to that wedding with you."

Billie was pleased with that acceptance but the outcome that really interested her was discovering the difference between a woman and a guy about going to a wedding, a difference that could be universal. A woman like her would go to the wedding to see how the women in the wedding party were dressed and to share in the bride's radiating happiness whereas a guy would be keen to go only if he knew other guys who'd be there. She sighed and thought it was a wonder Gene hadn't asked would they serve beer.

"Yeah it would be good to go to a wedding," Gene yawned. "Any idea about what food they'll be servicing and, um, the type of drinks?"

"No."

"Well that's okay. You know in that sort of gathering I might come into contact with someone interested in buying a boat."

"Try the bride," Billie scowled. "She might wish to trade in a horse for a boat."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter."

CHAPTER 5

Billie Summers preferred to start writing at page one, chapter one. She'd thought about the opening that would go something like this:

... it was an exceptionally hot day and Maria the house-help had gone forty miles to the supermarket to stock up. Heavily pregnant Georgina Clarke knew if she put out the washing on the line now she could bring it in dry before the breeze got up, bringing with it red dust. She reached up to pin the second edge of a sheet, knowing she was not supposed to stretch in her condition. She felt a pain rip through her and fell, screaming. Miraculously, over at the barn husband Clinton was just about to start his farm bike when he thought he heard a faint scream. A cautious man, much like his father and nothing like his hot-headed blonde wife, he started the bike, slewed it around, and raced off to the homestead where he found his fallen wife in labor. He kissed her and she whimpered but managed a smile, her blue eyes filled with tears of pain. Clinton yanked out his phone and it shot out of his grip and went flying. He cursed, grabbed it and called the nearest neighbor for help. Half an hour later Abilene Christine Clarke birthed on a gurney just outside the doors of the Moorland Hospital, 150 miles away. Georgina was homesick for her hometown and had blurted Abilene and Clinton had been rather surprised because he'd thought he and his wife had definitely decided on Ruth if it were a daughter or Tom if a son. He opened his mouth to object but then had second thoughts, thinking Abilene sounded rather cute. "Please take real care of Georgina and Abilene," he urged as he was pushed aside. One of the emergency nurses heard that and later wrote down on the name card on the cot, "Abilene. Mother Georgina Clarke'...