You Can't Do That! Ch. 01

When the manuscript came back it looked like it had been dipped in red ink. I found out later most romance novels are seventy to one hundred ten thousand words. Mine had just a hair over one forty. They suggested trimming it down to just over a hundred thousand, and I tried several times, but ended up with a finished product of right outside one hundred twenty.

They sent it back once more before they were satisfied. I got a rare phone call.

"We would like to publish your book, Mr. Smith, if we can agree on a few things. By the way, this call is recorded, for legal purposes."

It was one of the most interesting conversations I'd ever had.

"First, Mr. Smith, it is our policy to never publish a single book, we always insist on a mulitbook deal, two minimum. Do You think you have another in you?"

Yes I did. When this first started looking like it was real, I started thinking of other things I wanted to write. I told her I was already working on one.

"Good. Send us a a synopsis, and if we like it, you'll have your contract."

"Excuse me, but we haven't talked about money."

She laughed.

"Good, you're not a sheep. Send us the synopsis, and we'll talk money."

I did better. I sent her the first six chapters.

I got a packed manila envelope three days later on UPS. It was from the publisher, and the first envelope inside said "read me first".

"Congratulations Mr. Smith. We have decided to offer you a contract. It is included. Get a lawyer, have him review it. If it is satisfactory, sign and return it. The minute we receive it we will begin the process of getting your first book published. Call me after the first of the year, on January fourth or fifth, after three o'clock my time. There's a few things we'll have to cover that I prefer not to do on the net. Until then."

It was a small, two page contract. I went to a lawyer two towns over. I still wanted to keep it secret. He reviewed it, found it straightforward.

"It's about as simple as it gets. You do this, they do that. Breech of contract if one of you fail to fulfill your obligations. Good luck."

I called on the appointed day.

"Mr. Smith, good to hear from you. I just got your contract. Now, general information. It will be about nine months before we publish. We only release a specific number of books per quarter. It reduces competition and boosts sales. As you saw in the contract, the money side is pretty simple. We never give advances, it's a straight royalty deal. You're an unknown quantity, so the first book will be priced at four ninety five per download. You get three dollars per hit, we get the rest. And you HAVE to pay taxes on your share."

"You'll need to get a separate bank account just for us, and we'll send you a program you can load on your computer that will automatically deduct the proper amount and send it to the IRS. There's a program you can get that does the same for your state taxes. I suggest you get it."

"Now, if your first book is successful enough, we'll price the second at seven ninety five. If you do well, and want another contract, the next book will be priced at nine ninety five. With me so far?"

"This part is really important, so stay with me.

You mean nothing to us at this stage, so don't get cute ideas or notions of grandeur, or we'll drop you like a rock. This is a business, and the point is to make money. The more hits you get, the more money we make. If I tell you to do something, do it and don't argue. You understand?"

I felt like I had just been chewed out by a high school teacher..

"Yes, ma'am, I understand."

She immediately got a little friendlier.

"Thank you. Now on to more pleasant things. We really like your book. It is our policy to feature three new writers every quarter, and you'll be one of them. We'll also release the first three chapters a month ahead of the publish date, maybe get some orders before it's released. We're going to put it into general release and push it in our section for younger girls. The next one is a little more mature, so we'll keep it in general release. We estimate your first will be available September 1, and we will be pushing it a month before. It is also our policy to never release two books by the same writer less than six months apart. If we didn't, you would basically be competing with yourself for readers."

"Now for some really good news. We're totally owned by Loveland Publishers, and they're second only to Harlequin in romance publishers."

"My best analogy is this. If we were baseball, we would be the farm system. It's our job to spot and develop talent. When you're good enough, IF you're good enough, you get called up to the majors. In our case, if the amount of downloads for your books reaches a certain number, Loveland takes you. If that happens, you'll have to get an entertainment lawyer and an agent."

"The minimum return on a Loveland paperback is one hundred thousand, and most do two to three times that. And that doesn't include movie rights. The right studio picks you up, and you could get paychecks with six zeros behind it. How does that sound?"

"A little unreal, to be honest. I'd like to ask a few questions, if I may. How does the money end work? More importantly, how much do you think I'll make off the book? Just a ballpark figure."

I could hear the smile.

"I keep forgetting you're not a lamb. Realistically, it's hard to tell. As I said before, we've decided we'll put you in the featured writer section."

"That means you'll be one of three that are singled out. Again, the number of hits determine your income. I feel confident yours will do well, especially in the subgroup we're pushing you in. Teen girls are extremely loyal. You'll have a fan base by the time the second book comes out, so that one should double or triple the original numbers. Only time will tell."

"Realistically, you may make as little as five thousand up to more than fifty thousand on you first book in a year's time. Double that for your second book. I have a woman who has been writing for me for eight years now. She usually puts out three books a year, and averages between one hundred sixty and two hundred thousand a year. Not a bad income, wouldn't you say?"

Not a bad income indeed.

"Before I ring off, we need to talk about your name."

"What's wrong with my name?"

She sighed.

"It's a mans' name. Ninety eight per cent of romance readers are women. They identify with women. We'd like you to write under a female name. There are certain words women identify with. How does Samantha Strong sound?"

"Wasn't there a porn actress in the eighties with the same name? What kind of message would that send?"

"I doubt if twelve to seventeen year old girls would know that. All I'm trying to do is get the readers to buy."

We argued about it, and compromised by agreeing to use my first initial and let them guess.

..............................................

I followed her instructions to the letter. I finished the second book and was on the final editing when she gave me one of her rare phone calls. I had asked her to use my cell, I would answer quicker and was still intent on surprising Sheila.

"Well, Larry, you've fulfilled your contract. I think you're probably the best writer I've come across in a long time. We'd like to offer you another contract, for three books this time, contingent on the numbers of your first novel."

I was hesitant. Realistically, I didn't want to do this for a living. It was more of a hobby that I thought I could maybe make a little money out of. Three spiral bound notebooks on my computer desk were filled with outlines for five more books, so I wasn't out of ideas.

"I'll have to think about that. Let's wait until the first book has been out for, say, six months, and talk again."

She was shocked. Apparently nobody had ever turned her down. It took about five minutes before she understood I was serious. There was no friendliness in her tone when she said goodbye.

................................................

The book came out on schedule. I resisted it for a week before I checked the account. There was a little over three thousand dollars in it, meaning at least a thousand had been sold. In a month, nine thousand more sold. My editor called, giddy.

"Congratulations, your book was our top seller for a debut offering this month, and top seller overall. Judging by these figures, you may exceed a hundred thousand this year, before taxes. If you do, you'll be the only first time writer to reach that mark. You may not get another contract from me. Loveland is paying attention. Remember what I said, if that happens you'll be making some serious money."

She sighed.

"I wish I could keep you. And a heads up, somebody from Lifetime read your book. Somebody high enough up the food chain to do something about it. We've had overtures, wanting to get in touch with your agent. Now would be a good time to get one, and that entertainment lawyer we talked about."

We talked for a few more minutes, and as a gesture of gratitude I promised to sign the three book contract. It would keep her standing in the organization high, and if Loveland didn't sign me I had a fall back.

..................................................

Our rekindled intimacy faltered again. It got so bad she was barely civil to me.

I tried to be understanding, I tried to be calm. I tried to be reasonable, but sometime after the two hundreth rant about something insignificant, something snapped.

"SHEILA! Do me a favor, shut the hell up! I don't give a rat's ass on the subject and I'm not going to debate it with you. In fact, I'm not going to debate anything with you, ever again. If you can no longer hold a civil conversation with me, stop talking. Good night!"

I stomped off to the bedroom and slammed the door. She never came to bed that night.

I was still pissed when I got home, so I fixed something simple, something I knew she wasn't fond of, ate by myself, and put the rest up. I hope she remembered how to use the microwave.

I was reading when she came in. She looked in the kitchen. I felt rather than saw her enter the living room.

"Are you ready to have dinner? Think you can do that without getting childish?"

Her attitude hadn't mellowed. When I told her I had already eaten she stomped into the kitchen and started rattling dishes. I stuck my head in the door.

"When you get done, clean up after yourself."

She went from red to purple to pale in the space of a minute. Before she could start I cut her off.

"I meant what I said yesterday, Sheila. If it's not civil it better not come out of your mouth. I've thought about it all day, we need some help, maybe counseling. I don't think we can get over this without it. I still love you, but you're not making it easy. Think about it, give me a decision tomorrow. Good night."

I went to bed. Three hours later I felt her slide into the bed, but she didn't try to touch.

I got up, noticing the dirty dishes.

It was a rough day at work, vendors failed to deliver, customers were wanting delivery early, and I was stuck explaining everything and putting out fires. I was glad to get home.

Sheila wasn't home by nine. I didn't worry, sometimes she stopped for a drink with friends, but by eleven I was worried. She didn't answer her cell, none of her friends knew where she was. I was fearing the worst when she called.

"Sheila, are you all right? Where are you?"

"I'm at home, Roy."

"You're not making any sense, Sheila. I'm at home and you're definitely not here."

"No, I'm not at your home, I'm at my new apartment. I've decided we need some time apart."

My head was reeling.

"What? What are you doing?"

"Trying to decide if I want to stay married to you. We don't get along anymore, and I don't know why. Maybe if we spend a little time apart we can fix it."

"Sheila, I don't think that's a........"

"Good night, Roy. I'll call you in a couple of days."

She hung up. I called back and it went straight to voicemail. I was stuck. She wouldn't talk to me and I had no idea how to find her. I looked through the house. Most of her clothes were gone, a few pictures, little knick knacks she was fond of.

After a sleepless night, I called the hospital where she worked and asked for her. I finally got hold of her backup supervisor, and she told me she had taken two weeks vacation. So much for our trip to the Grand Canyon.

I worried. I sulked. Five days went by and she never called.

Then that night came a wave of anger so strong it scared me. Fuck her! Want to play games? Okey dokey, let them begin.

I called a lawyer recommended by a friend. She was supposed to be brutal. My appointment was at four.

She heard me out.

"What do you want? Do you want to burn her down? Scorch the earth under her feet? Or do you want something gentler, a nice split, everybody goes their own way? Or do you want her back?"

It stopped me cold. I realized I really didn't know what I wanted to do. I admitted as much.

She seemed to relax.

"All right, I propose you start like this. File for legal separation. It'll get her attention, and shorten your wait if you can't get back together. This will make her realize the potential consequences of her actions and talk to you. Now has she taken any unusual amounts of money out of your accounts? For your safety, if she hasn't, I can get the accounts froze, or you could just withdraw half and put it in separate account for now."

She went on for a little longer, asking about investments, retirement plans, did we still owe on our house, things of that nature. I gave her full disclosure and was just about to leave when it hit me.

'Uh, Ms Wright, I just remembered something. I have money in another account. I don't touch it, hardly think about it, but it's there. I know now that I'm a client you are bound to confidentiality, but I'm going to ask you to give me your word on this. Please don't be offended."

I could tell she was, slightly, until I told her the story. She started smiling just before I got done.

"I can't believe it! You're R. Smith! My daughter just read your book and raved about it. I'm in the middle of it now, so don't tell me anything.

So, how much money are we talking here?"

I finally smiled at her.

"I guess it would ruin your day to tell you they all turned out gay and joined the touring cast of a Broadway musical. Not really. At last count, and it changes daily, it was right at seventy two thousand, after tax, last week. Not a fortune, but it's growing everyday. Plus, in two months my second one comes out. Just a word of warning. I don't know how old your daughter is, but this one is much more adult."

She frowned thinking.

"If you divorce, you'll have to declare it, and most likely the second. I can hear the argument now, it was written while you were still married, so it's community property. Just want you know up front.

It was my turn to frown.

"All right, she's the reason I started writing in the first place. I may sign a contract for three more books in the near future, what happens then?"

She clicked her pen, a nervous habit.

"My best advice? Don't sign anything until you reconcile or divorce. If you divorce and sign, then she gets none of those monies. If you reconcile, it won't matter. Now, with your permission, I'll reach out to some contacts, try to find out where she is. If I do, should I have the papers served?"

I hesitated, then nodded yes. The die was cast. Let the chips lay where they fall. Yadda yadda yadda."

It helped fuel the fires when I checked the accounts the next day. She had already taken half.

.................................................

Sheila hadn't called me four days later. I tried and her number was changed.

Then Becky Wright called me.

"Found her. She's in a condo five blocks from the hospital she works at. Still want the papers served?"

"Damn skippy. And I want to be there when they are."

She argued against it and we compromised. She would tape it and I would watch it at her office.

It was actually pretty funny. They caught her as she was going to her car. She was dressed very nicely, much better than she had been the last few years with me, and was smiling.

The server approached, a young girl that looked like she was still in high school.

"My goodness, are you Sheila Smith?"

She said she was with a puzzled look on her face, trying to place her. The girl smiled again.

"You've been served." she said, handing her the papers.

Sheila's smile disappeared, replaced by wonder and then anger.

"That sonofabitch!"

She grabbed her cell phone and tried to call. It was funny watching her when she found it dead. I had cancelled it last night. Fuming, she got into her car and drove away.

Becky Wright smiled.

"Well, you got her attention. Let's see what she does. But I need to bring something to your attention. You don't get a condo like that overnight. She had been planning an exit for awhile. That means she'd made a decision to leave several weeks before, at least."

What she did was go on about a hundred rants on the phone. I didn't respond to any of them but kept them. I got a new phone, and only kept that one so she would have a contact number. We hadn't had a house phone in years.

She started calling me at work. I answered the first one and she started ranting. I hung up, asking the receptionist to explain to her that if she could keep a civil tongue in her head I would be glad to talk to her. When she explained it to her the first time she went on a rant and she hung up on her.

Three days later she called again. In a subdued voice she asked if I had a minute. I shut the door to my office.

"What do you want Sheila?"

There was a few second of silence, then a little sob.

"How could you do that to me Roy? Serve me papers?

I only wanted a little space to figure out my life."

I wasn't in a sympathetic mood.

"Poor Sheila. I'm giving you all the space you want. I filed the papers to make my life simpler. Now, either way it goes, I'm protected. Nice of you to take only half the money, makes it a lot simpler down the line."

She was trying to explain.

"I was afraid you would get mad and keep me from it. It's my money too."

"Not any more, you already got your share. I moved what was left, so don't try to go back to that well. I have to go, so tell me what you want from me."

"I...I just wanted to talk to you. Please be patient. Please."

I could feel the anger rising, and I fought it.

"Go ahead, Sheila. Take all the time you need. If I'm still here when you want to come back we'll try to start over. But I need to make sure you understand. This separation isn't a get out of marriage free card that you can use to see others, then come back and say no harm no foul, we were separated. If I even think there's another man involved, there's no coming back.

Think about that while you find yourself."

I hung up.

................................................

Another five days went by before she called again.

"Why haven't you called?"

"Well Sheila, it has a lot to do with not having a number to call you at. All the contact point I have is the hospital, and you're still on vacation until tomorrow. I think I'll still go to the Grand Canyon. I'll send you pictures."

She started crying.

"Why are you making this so difficult? I'm sorry I messed up our vacation, but I needed this. But now you're ruining it. I end up brooding about you. Why are you so angry?"

I held my breath, counting to ten.

"Well, let's see. My wife of thirty two years turns into a screaming bitch, gets mad when I've had enough, moves out while I'm at work and won't tell me where she's at, and takes half our money.

On reflection, I can't fathom where the anger comes from."