Page 40 of Lucky in Love
Instead, he spent the day driving through the nearby mountains, stopping frequently for short hikes and photo ops.
He mulled over the things he’d learned from the authors the previous night.
“If you’re serious about writing a book, you need to set a schedule,” a woman named Sylvia told him. “A certain number of hours or daily word count goals will keep you on track.”
“And don’t edit your first draft,” Nancy said. “Just get it on paper and worry about fixing it later.”
They offered software suggestions, various ways to outline, and numerous productivity hacks. Some of it was useless. He didn’t need a plot for a photography book or a climax and resolution in a travel guide. But some of it would come in handy.
He’d shared his current ideas—a guide of generic travel tips, a history of his personal experiences, or a compilation of photographs—and they discussed the pros and cons of each.
When he mentioned the daunting task of sifting through the thousands of pictures he had, they advised him to just take the whole project one piece at a time.
First, decide which book to write. Then divide it into like topics or similar places. Next, organize and outline each section, and finally, start writing.
They didn’t make it sound easy, but after talking with them, it at least seemed doable.
Toward the end of the evening, things took a turn, and soon he realized why Alex had shied away from hanging out with them.
While they were quick to give helpful, practical writing advice, they were even quicker with their unsolicited, brutally honest guidance on his love life. Or lack of one.
It started as an interrogation. They would ask an overly personal question, ranging from how he felt about Chloe cheating to how deep his insecurities went over getting fired, and then sit, poised over their notebooks, shamelessly ready to jot down his innermost feelings, presumably to later regurgitate into their books. He dodged as best he could and gave superficial answers.
Once they moved on from the inquisition, he got a lecture on love and redemption, which quickly morphed into a personalized action plan for how to find love. One that somehow had him wooing Alex! Because, “wasn’t that feisty cabin manager just the type of woman he needed?”
They ticked off a list of her exceptional qualities and advised him that when he made his move, it was essential he use something they called a “grand gesture.” He wondered how long they’d actually known Alex.
Had they forced her into a similar conversation? Is that why she’d been so cagey by the boathouse?
He escaped before things got too intense, but it was like fighting quicksand. They only let him go after he agreed to meet them again the following evening.
They promised no more intimate questions. Swore they just had a few scenarios they could use some XY input on. He didn’tsee how that could hurt, and since he had nothing better to do, he showed up again the next night.
Alex had hemmed and hawed about hanging out with the writers, so Brody was surprised when she limped into the rec cabin that evening.
“I know whyI’mhere,” he said. “How’d they get you?”
“I was promised baked goods.” Alex looked around suspiciously. “I don’t smell anything good though.”
“Alex, honey.” Sylvia approached. “I was just getting started. Black Forest cake coming up soon. You and Brody can sit here while I make it.”
“I sense an ambush,” Alex muttered.
All at once, they were surrounded and forced to sit side by side at a long rectangular table. The women lined up on the opposite side, notebooks and pens at the ready. It felt like a joint job interview. Even more so when the questions started.
“How old are you, Brody?”
Brody looked at Alex, who shrugged. “Thirty-five.”
Alex’s head swiveled to him. “Seriously? I thought you were older.”
“Why?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. Seems like you’ve done a lot and been a lot of places.”
“How old areyou?” he asked, ignoring the nudges and whispers coming from the other side of the table.
“Twenty-seven.”
