Page 21 of All the Right Words
When they arrived at the study, despite the disclaimer, Gina still didn’t expect the dimly lit bric-a-brac filled cube she had to insert herself into. Brenda sat down in a swivel chair at a cluttered desk in front of a tiny window and turned around, gesturing at a stool she’d placed in the corner. Gina sat down and was almost knee to knee with Brenda.
‘Right, so what do you want to do then?’ Brenda said. Gina heard the slightest edge of nerves in her voice. She was a woman who expressed her general anxiety through anger, which had always been clear about her. Gina could understand that, though she came at things slightly differently. She used sarcasm as a shield, irony as her sword, cynicism as her armour. She didn’t know how well that would serve her with Brenda. She would have to tread lightly.
‘Well, why don’t you tell me what you’ve got?’ Gina asked.
‘Oh, that’s easy. Nothing,’ Brenda said, her eyes shiny with terror.
Gina knew immediately that her problem was every writer’s problem. Pressure. Because she had probably figured out that Parker Press would live or die on her pages. It's funny how they had to sit in the tiny room for Gina to see it. But maybe not. Here, there was nowhere for Brenda to run.
Gina knew that she could not display any surprise, any negativity. She needed to be care-free for Brenda. She had to care not one jot. She smiled easily. ‘If you didn’t have twelve books under your name already, that might be worrying. But you know what you’re doing, so we need to unlock it, right?’ Gina didn’t know where this was coming from, this peppy cheerleader, but she was mighty glad to see her.
‘You don’t… think I’m fucked?’ Brenda asked.
‘You?’ Gina laughed. ‘No, not at all. You’re a machine when you get going, right?’
Brenda looked as though she’d forgotten that. ‘That’s right,’ she said slowly. ‘I wrote Murder on the Catwalk in two months.’
Gina raised an eyebrow. ‘Wasn’t that your biggest seller?’
Brenda smiled, cheering up by the second. ‘It was!’
‘So, it’sbetterwhen you produce the book quickly,’ Gina pointed out.
‘Yes. Only… I don’t exactly… I don’t know what this book is going to be.’ She paused. ‘I haven’t even got an idea.’
It was worse than anyone suspected, but Gina steadfastly refused to panic visibly. ‘No concept at all?’ she asked lightly.
‘I’ve had ideas. But everything I think of, I realise I’ve done it already.’
‘I guess when you're prolific, that’s gonna happen,’ Gina said enviously. ‘But maybe we could just, I don’t know, talk about ideas? See what happens.’
‘I told you, I don’t have one,’ Brenda snapped.
‘Actually, you said you hadn’t thought of anything you felt was original. So, ideaswerehad,’ Gina challenged tentatively. ‘Walk me through what happened.’
Brenda folded her arms and sighed. ‘Well, the first idea I had was about an abandoned child that grows up to exact revenge on everyone who forced her mother to give her up. But I did something like that for Rock the Cradle. And then I thought I might do a locked room mystery. But I did that for The Night Caller. And then I wanted to do something about a bunch of friends who cover up a murder, but I’ve done that onethree timesalready. I’ve done twins, murder cults, amnesia. Everything!’ she cried, throwing her hands up. ‘I’mspent.’
‘Well… What’s your usual muse? I hate to ask this, but where do you think your ideas come from?’
‘Never ask a writer that. It’s a bloody stupid question,’ Brenda told her irritably.
Fair enough, better rephrase. ‘I mean, do you ever… look into your own life for inspiration?’
‘No,’ Brenda said, tightening her already folded arms. ‘I do not. Not a lot of murder in my life. I mean, the feelings my characters feel come from a real place. But plot? That wouldn’t work. My life is boring. All I do is work. Until recently.’
‘OK, well, I ask because when I worked for Michael, there was this one writer he had,’ Gina began.
‘Who?’ Brenda asked quickly.
‘I can’t say. But this writer wrote science fiction. And she didn’t think it was about her life. How could it be? It was based around an underground industry that dealt in dream recordings.’
Brenda frowned. ‘That sounds like a dreadful book.’
Gina swallowed down a lot of feelings. ‘Well, anyway, the writer needed to redraft a particular bit, and she realised she could use something that happened to her. It was a-’
‘And what would you suggest I utilise from my life?’ Brenda snapped. ‘My cat’s health problems? My family’s propensity for type two diabetes? My divorce?’
‘Actually, whataboutyour ex?’ Gina asked.
