Page 4 of Bending The Rules

I lifted an eyebrow, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she used a towel to wipe her mouth. “Wait, you wereonthe tire swing when this happened?”

“Uh huh!”

“That sounds dangerous, muffin. You gotta be careful at school okay?”

She groaned. “Daaaddy! It wasn’t like, superduperfast, justsuperfast.”

“Oh, so superduperfast is where things get perilous then?”

“Yeah!”

She giggled as I pulled the sleep bonnet over her head, covering her eyes with it. A grin still covered her face when I pulled it into the right position, then patted the top of her head.

“Ready for bedtime?” I asked, a question I knew would be met with pouting, and my little girl didnotdisappoint me. She lamented all the way into her room, while she turned the lamp on, and until she was under the covers.

I pulled the bench seat away from the vanity mirror she didn’t need, up to the bed, and dropped to a seated position. “You want to see what the homegirl Keena is up to for a few chapters?” I asked, and the pout melted right off her face. I grabbedKeena Ford and the Second-Grade Mixupfrom the bedside drawer, and put it into her excited hands. I didn’t bother trying not to smile as she eagerly flipped to where we’d left the bookmark last time, and began to read out loud.

I let her have my full attention as she carefully relayed the adventures of a little black girl who wasn’t much older than her, with a big puff of hair just like hers. We laughed, talked about what was happening, and I got shushed several times as she made her way, stopping on occasion for help with a word. She got through two of the short chapters before the tiredness became apparent in her voice.

“That’s enough for tonight Bri-Bri, okay?”

Even though she was already half-asleep, she whined as I took the book away, putting the kitten-covered bookmark at our new stopping point. She was still grumbling as she climbed from under her covers to kneel beside the bed, where I joined her.

She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, bowing her head for her simple prayers. I sucked my teeth when she ended them by asking for a puppy, then helped her back into the bed and tucked her in.

“I love you muffin.”

“I love you too daddy.”

I turned off her lamp, and switched on her night light, then left her room to head to my office. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and tossed it onto the desk, then dropped into my chair.

I was glad to be at home.

The last few months had been a whirlwind of traveling, signing books, and grinning in the faces of people I couldn’t stand. Oh, and pressure. A virtual ton of pressure from my agent to sign a new contract with Lion Literary, the major company that had published my last six books.

Iwasn’tsigning another contract.

The book that satisfied my contract with them was done. Released into the world with every single one of their ridiculous criteria met. The reviews weren’t great – in fact, I was being eviscerated, but apparently, the right amount of snarky attention pushed numbers. I was toeing the line of – another – New York Times bestselling title, for a book I couldn’t even be paid to read again myself.

But I was happy.

Because I wasdone.

No more sanitizing my characters or their language for a certain audience, appeasing the sensibilities of editors who didn’t “get” me or my work, limiting myself to specific types of stories. I was finally free to do whatever the hell I wanted, and I wasn’t giving that up.

I could understand why my agent was pissed about me refusing a six-figure advance though. Still, that couldn’t be the driving factor behind my decision. It had to be about what it had always been about – what was best forme, and my family.

Being stuck in a contract that didn’t make me happycouldn’tbe the answer to that.

So then… what was the next step?

Did I venture out on my own, self-publish? I already had an audience, so it was definitely an option. But hiring editors, marketing, graphics… none of that shit appealed to me. I just wanted towrite.

But on my own terms.

Which, in a typical contract, would be a problem.

I pushed out a sigh, and stared at my computer screen. It was prompting me for a password, which I already knew I wasn’t about to type. There was too much on my mind tonight to even think about writing.

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