My boss, Bentley Burlington-Duke, tobacco heiress and philanthropist, had left the bustle of Manhattan and returned to her home state to open the foremost agency in the South. So far, she’d made good on that goal, and we all hoped this festival would finally prove to our doubters that we could operate from Tahiti and still be successful. As long as we had the Internet and a group of ambitious agents, we’d continue to rival any of the agencies from the Big Apple.
Just as this thought was passing through my mind, one of the guest speakers arrived at my table and stared at me in awe. I returned the slack-jawed stare, for this woman could have been my twin. Like me, she appeared to be in her midforties. Tall with feminine curves, coffee brown eyes, and hair the color of roasted hazelnuts, the only noticeable difference was that her skin was more peach-toned than mine. Remarkably, we’d both paired a paprika-colored blouse with slacks. Mine were black and hers were tan, and I’d chosen flats while she’d opted for heeled boots in highly polished leather, but still, the overall resemblance was extraordinary.
“They say everyone has a double,” I said and held out my hand to her. She clasped mine and shook her head in wonder.
“I’m Melissa Plume.” Her voice was lower in timbre than mine. “Senior editor for Doubleday Books.” She handed me a business card, which I slipped in my purse without looking at it.
Handing her a packet, I smiled and told her my name. “And we have books in common, too. I don’t suppose pepperoni is your favorite pizza topping.”
Returning my smile, she said, “Anchovies. Still, we could fool my husband, if not my mother. How’d you like to fly up to New York and pretend to be me whenever I need to tell an author that their series has been canceled?”
I waved away the offer. “No, thank you. I have to deliver plenty of rejections as it is. That’s why this festival is going to be so much fun for me. At this stage, the place is teeming with possibility. The writers are determined, eager, hopeful. They’re like marathon runners poised at the starting line, their adrenaline pumping, their hearts filled with expectation.” I stopped, knowing that I was getting carried away. “I wish it could always feel like this.”
“The serious writers won’t give up, no matter how many rejections they get,” Melissa said, gazing at the crowd. “They take classes, join critique groups, and edit their books again and again until someone like you believes they are ready. It might take them ten years to get published, and their first book might tank. But the real writers, the ones whose veins run with ink, who talk to characters in the shower, who’d make the perfect material witness because of their powers of observation, those people never give up. They can’t. Writing is an addiction. If they stop, they dry up and wither away.”
“I hope that speech is part of your lecture.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’ve got a whole notebook of such inspirational gems. See you in there.”
Once all of the morning’s panelists and guest speakers had checked in, I waded through the clusters of aspiring writers milling around the Espresso Yourself and Sixpence Bakery kiosks. Makayla, who was steaming milk in a stainless steel pitcher, called me over and handed me a caramel latte without skipping a beat. I told her we’d catch up later and forced myself not to be tempted by the sight and smell of chocolate croissants, pecan twists, cinnamon buns, triple berry muffins, and apple strudel that Nell was selling with the alacrity of a newspaper boy with a dramatic headline.
Walking around the room with my latte, I double-checked the signage and was reassured that the rooms designated for the panels were easy to find. Vicky had me pose with a few of the attendees as she snapped some photos.
“I want to post a bunch on the agency’s website,” she explained. “Good PR.”
I decided to sit in on “Crafting Your Nonfiction Proposal,” which was being mediated by my coworker Franklin Stafford.
The room was packed. I had to settle for a seat in the last row, and my heart swelled with pride when Franklin switched his microphone on and introduced five of his clients. Under his guidance, the published authors shared stories of how they’d become published. Their narratives were heartfelt and humorous, and it was clear that all of the writers had faced challenges on the road to publication. The allotted hour elapsed before anyone was prepared to leave.