Page 33 of The Library of Second Chances
The woman blushed and seemed embarrassed that Lucy had caught her looking through the shelf.
“Do you haveHydrangeas on Hill Street?”
Lucy nodded. “I do.” She moved to the left of the woman and plucked the title off the shelf. “I read it when it first came in. It’s a lovely book.”
“I feel a little silly.” The woman opened the book and turned it so Lucy could see the author photograph on the back flap. “It’s my first book. I still get a little thrill every time I find it in a bookstore.” Her cheeks still flushed pink, her eyes not meeting Lucy’s.
“You’re Debra Brannon.” Lucy smiled. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations!” Walking over to the counter, she said, “Please, I’d love it if you’d sign the two copies we have. It’s always a treat when authors stop by and sign their books. We have a few local authors, but it’s rare to have anyone who doesn’t live here in the store. Where are you visiting from?”
“Raleigh. My family used to vacation here when I was a kid, so I decided to bring my boys this year. They’re teenagers, sothey’re probably not even out of bed yet. I just came downtown to write in the coffee shop for a little bit and when I saw you were open, I couldn’t resist the urge to come in and look for it.”
She took the marker Lucy held out for her and signed the book in her hand while Lucy grabbed the second copy off the shelf.
“I’m so embarrassed though. It must seem a little self-aggrandizing to go into bookstores just to see your book on the shelf.” She shook her head as she handed the first book back to Lucy.
“Please, don’t be embarrassed. As a former aspiring author myself, I can’t imagine what it would be like to actually see your book on a shelf. It must be exhilarating.”
Debra’s eyebrows knitted together as she looked up and handed Lucy the second book. “Formeraspiring author? Why former?”
Lucy shrugged, forcing a smile. “Getting published just wasn’t in the cards for me.”
Debra pursed her lips. “Hmm, I bet there’s more to that story. Publishing is a tough business.” She shook her head.
Lucy turned away to put the books back on the shelf. Debra didn’t understand. She’d actually managed to get her book published. Deflecting the attention away from her shortcomings, Lucy asked, “What’s the book you’re working on about?”
Debra took a step closer. “How many books have you written?” She wasn’t going to let the subject go.
“You don’t want to hear about my writing. Really, it’s nothing.” Lucy stepped around Debra to go straighten books on a display table that sat in the middle of the front part of the store.
“I live to talk to other authors,” she said, following Lucy. “Writing can be a lonely game sometimes.”
Lucy offered her coffee and they moved to sit in the armchairs by the front window since the rest of the store wasempty and quiet. Debra talked about how she’d started writing short stories for fun, never even showing them to anyone. Then she participated in a month-long writing challenge that gave her the push to write a full novel. Lucy was familiar with the challenge, as she, too, had participated years ago before completing her first manuscript.
“Let me tell you how many books I wrote before that one over there landed here on your shelf. Five.” She held up a hand, each of her fingers spread wide. “The first two were so horrific I’ve never let anyone see them. The next one got me an agent, but after a year of being out on submission she told me it was dead and to write another one. So I spent a year writing the next one only to have the same thing happen. That one”—she pointed toward her book—“is lucky number five. It took me ten years of writing before I got to hold my book in my hands. And you know what? It was worth every single day.”
Lucy stopped her coffee mug halfway to her lips. She couldn’t believe the author behind one of the summer’s most praised debuts had been writing for ten years—and had kept writing even after two rounds of rejected submissions.
“So fess up.” Debra motioned in Lucy’s direction. “How many books have you written?”
“Two,” Lucy said quietly. In the past, she’d hesitated to admit she’d written two books that had never been published.
“Two?” Debra said as if Lucy might as well have written nothing at all. “Did you ever try to get an agent?”
“Yes. I have an agent. Or at least I think I still do. She actually sold my first book, but the publisher went under before it was finished. Leona—my agent—tried to find another home for it, but when it didn’t sell, she told me to write another, so I did. That one didn’t sell either.”
“Honey, getting an agent is huge. Most agents only accept a handful of new clients a year. If you landed an agent with your very first book, you’re basically a prodigy.”
Now it was Lucy’s turn to blush. “I think it was just a fluke maybe. I mean, no one wanted my book after the first publisher folded. And obviously they had some issues if they had to fold. And then they all passed on my second book. Not everyone is meant to be an author.”
Debra shook her head. “There are a million reasons why an editor passes on a book. Maybe they just published something like it. Maybe your main character has the same name as the kid who bullied them in elementary school.” Debra shrugged. “Maybe they just ate bad egg salad for lunch and hated everything they read that day. Allyoucan control is sitting down and writing a good book.”
Lucy sighed. “But how do you know if you wrote a good book? If the publishers are all telling you they’re not interested, how do you know it’s not because your writing just stinks?”
Debra thought for a moment before answering. “What’s your agent like?”
“Leona? She’s basically straight out of central casting. Exactly what you think a New York literary agent would be like.”
“So she’s blunt?”
