After attending Melissa Plume’s insightful lecture on the future of the publishing industry, I rounded out my morning by serving as a mediator on my own panel: “Cozy, Soft-Boiled, or Romantic Suspense: Identify Your Mystery Genre.”
I’d invited four authors to sit at the table in front of the room and discuss which elements helped classify their novels as a particular genre. The most engaging speaker turned out to be Calliope Sinclair. Flamboyant as ever, the author of dozens of bestselling romance novels was a local hero. She was the small-town North Carolina girl who’d made it big, and her love of the craft shone through every piece of advice and anecdote. Dressed in a voluminous royal purple muumuu, turquoise leggings, and an emerald green scarf, Calliope was as showy as a peacock, but she responded to questions from the audience with a passionate sincerity that stole the show. The other authors didn’t seem to mind. Being far more reserved than Calliope, they were certainly happy to let her represent them all.
At the end of the panel, I sidled up to Calliope and asked if I could treat her to lunch.
“We really need to talk about your current project.” I was determined to convince her that she’d have to revamp the final chapter of her book if I stood any chance of selling it.
Calliope consulted a diamond-encrusted watch. “All right, but I’d rather not wait in line for one of Big Ed’s sandwiches. I have a facial this afternoon and don’t want to be late.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “My skin always gets so dry in the fall.”
Knowing I would likely regret asking, since Calliope had expensive taste and I tried to keep my business expenses within budget, I said, “Where would you like to go?”
“Let’s walk over to How Green Was My Valley. They’re featuring Indian dishes on their hot food bar and I simply adore lamb rogan josh over a mound of basmati rice.”
It was a relief to leave the din inside town hall and step out into the brisk air. We made our way to the organic grocery store, passing storefronts decorated with fluttering ghosts, black cats with electric yellow eyes, jack-o’-lanterns of all shapes and sizes, and glow-in-the-dark skeletons. Usually, Calliope didn’t like to walk anywhere, especially under the threat of rain, but she was in an especially good mood. She pointed at an Elvira costume displayed in the window of a trendy boutique with delight.
“I haven’t bought an outfit for tomorrow night’s Halloween dinner dance. What do you think? Should I try it on?”
I struggled for the right reply. Calliope couldn’t fit one leg in the black latex dress, let alone two. “Why don’t we eat first? I don’t want you to miss your facial.”
Diverted, Calliope increased her pace. In the grocery store we were welcomed by the scent of warm apple cider. A clerk handed us samples and we sipped the cinnamon-spiced brew as we perused the hot food bar. Later, after we’d both made a dent in our lunches, I swallowed a mouthful of fiery chicken curry and put down my fork.
“You were amazing during the panel.” I’d learned to begin conversations with Calliope with a compliment. “You kindled the writers’ dreams, yet tempered them just enough with a dose of reality.”
Calliope’s eyes glimmered. “It was such fun! I remember exactly what it felt like to be one of them.” She put a hand over her heart, her jeweled rings twinkling. “I remember that burning sensation in here. Night and day. I knew that I’d either publish…or perish!”
We laughed over her theatricality. “And do you still think you have room to grow? To learn new things, even though you’re already an international bestselling author?”
She smiled. “I never get tired of hearing people say that. But the answer to your question is yes, I am absolutely open to stepping out on a limb. That’s why I dearly want you to sell my latest project. And that’s why you’re helping me find a new publisher who will allow me to break out of my genre. History, romance, intrigue! It’s a winner.” When I failed to agree, Calliope eyed me warily. “Don’t you think so?”
Summoning my courage, I said, “Right up until the last chapter. It’s a gem, Calliope, and you know that’s not just lip service. I’m a true fan. And have been since long before I was lucky enough to become your agent.” I paused. My next statement required delicacy. “You mentioned some of this project’s best qualities. The lovers from different social classes, the historic London setting, and the murder of a chambermaid blend beautifully. But the out-of-body experience in the final chapter doesn’t. It appears out of left field. It would be like Santa Claus delivering the State of the Union address.”
Calliope shuffled a forkful of rice around on her plate, her mouth stretched into a deep frown.