10

William had grown accustomed to people approaching him at events and sharing, what they believed to be, their exciting news. They wanted to be a writer!

Ooh, yay for them.

For some reason they thought he’d find this information fascinating. His standard reply to end the conversation was, “Really, have I read anything of yours?”

He recalled his thoughts about Orelia at their first meeting at Bountiful Books. In hindsight, ironic was the best word for that meeting and his unpreparedness for her future success. And his failure (that hadn’t entered his mind of course). He’d found it amusing that an unpublished author even had a pen name.

Though Orelia Mason, as an author’s name, did have a ring to it, he now thought. Something to do with the syllables, like James Patterson or J.K. Rowling, it ran off the tongue. He didn’t think William Barnes sounded as lyrical, but back then his sales certainly hummed a merry tune.

Bountiful Books was in his home city and had sold thousands of his novels, his publisher had informed him. So he felt duty-bound to indulge this wannabe author. Show her his gracious side.

He used his usual line, Have I read anything of yours? knowing the chances of her replying with a title in print were slimmer than a book on the wit of engineers. Apologies to engineers.

Orelia wrapped her arms around her body and hunched her shoulders.

“Oh no, nothing published. What I mean is, this has become a dream. I read somewhere that if you write, then you should call yourself a writer. I’ve written a book, so that makes me one, right?”

Without pausing for an answer, she continued as though afraid they had limited time. Which they did.

“Mr. Barnes, only yesterday I finished writing my first manuscript. Now I’m completely inspired. You’re wonderful. Not that I could ever create work as amazing as Suffer Them.”

He didn’t love the way she’d shortened the title, but he thought best not to correct her. The sooner he could extricate himself the better.

“You’ve made me look at my work through different eyes,” she said.

“That’s flattering. And scary,” he replied working to maintain his smile. After these long signing events, he sometimes lost touch with his facial muscles and couldn’t be sure if he was smiling or how sincere he appeared.

He decided to give her a few quick words of encouragement, then he and Morris could go.

“Well, my writing secret is… just do it. Keep going. Write. Then repeat.”

“Oh, I am. I spend every spare moment on my manuscript. Weekends, evenings, even while on the bus. I wrote this book in three weeks but I’m not sure it’s any good.”

Orelia unwrapped her arms and reached over to grasp his hand, as if he was the Pope and she wanted to kiss the papal ring.

“Mr. Barnes—”

Whether from excitement or nerves, the woman had a strong grip. The contact was over-personal and uncomfortable. In an attempt to make her aware of this, he tapped the top of one hand and said, “Please call me William.”