I cried the first time I read that scene. Out of all the Noa Callaway aphorisms that have touched me over the years, that was the one I most wished I could have shared with my mom.

I would have loved to know whether she felt brave at the end.

In Alix’s editorial letter, she waged a scorched-earth campaign on the novel’s second act. I agreed with her suggestions, but if I had to account for all those cuts I was asking a bestselling author to make? I’d be getting high behind my desk, too.

“It’s going to be a great book,” I said to Alix.

“It better be, for what we paid for it,” she said, pinching out her joint with her fingers. “This draft is twenty thousand words longer than it needs to be, but if I know Noa, it’s going to be like I’m auctioning off the crown jewels when I suggest we lose one word.”

I couldn’t make out the precise threats and accusations shouted through the walls that morning, but after two hours on the phone with Noa, Alix emerged on her way to a very long lunch. She asked me to email Noa’s assistant to arrange the messenger to deliver the edited manuscript in hard copy.

I wrote to Terry and introduced myself. I cc’ed Alix and Noa as directed, though Alix told me Noa never got involved in logistics. I couldn’t help fangirling a little and mentioning the fact that the love interest’s last name, Drenthe, happened also to be my middle name. How reading this manuscript was the first time that my middle name hadn’t struck me as a punishment. I was not expecting an email back from Noa herself two minutes later.

Dear Drenthe,

Welcome to the hell of working with yours truly!

I should be able to peel myself off the floor long enough to receive your package around one this afternoon.

I have never labored over anything the way I labored over my five-line response to Noa Callaway:

Noa,

The rowboat fight scene is one of my favorites. Not just in this draft. In any novel I’ve ever read. But I agree with Alix that it’s not serving this story. Maybe it’s the opening scene of your next book?

If ever you need someone to grieve the darlings that must be cut, email me. They’ll get a moment of silence over here.

To my unending amazement, throughout the next week, I got an email from Noa every day, with the subject lines: Cut Darling #1, 2, 3, and so on. Each contained a single line, a paragraph, or a plotline on the chopping block.