“Yes. I’m Autumn Winter. I’m here to meet with Cricket Tidwell and some other authors.”
“Welcome Autumn.” The woman smiled widely. “The rest of the group is already here. They’re in the conference room right over there.” She pointed to an open door.
“Thank you.” Autumn stepped across the hall and stuck her head inside the room.
An older woman sprang from her chair. “Autumn?”
“Yes,” Autumn nodded. “I’m Autumn Winter.”
“Welcome.” The woman waved her into the room. “We’re glad you’re here.”
“Thank you for allowing me to join your group, at least for tonight.”
“We hope you find our group’s input useful and decide to join us on a permanent basis. I’m Cricket Tidwell, owner of The Book Nook.” The woman pointed to an empty chair. “If you’d like to have a seat, we’ll go around the table, introduce ourselves and share a little about our writing.”
Autumn eased into the empty seat and her heart sank when she noticed the others in the room each had a manila folder and yellow notepad in front of them. “Oh no. I just left work. I forgot my manuscript. I was in a hurry and didn’t want to be late.”
“It’s okay, dear.” Cricket patted her hand. “You can bring it next time, if there is a next time.” She changed the subject. “I’ll start with me. I’ve been writing under my pen name, Cricket Tidwell, for over twenty years. I write non-fiction, mostly cook books, crocheting books and cat care. The three C’s.”
The woman at the other end of the table spoke. “I’m Stephanie Rumsfield. I’m the newbie of the group, if you don’t count Mercedes, who isn’t here tonight. I write romance books…think Harlequin and I’ve been writing since the early 90s. My boyfriend and I moved here from Montana earlier this year.”
The man seated next to Stephanie cleared his throat. “Welcome Autumn. I’m Tom Muldoon. I’ve been writing thriller/suspense novels for years, although I don’t write as often anymore. It’s more of a hobby for me.”
The young man next to Tom spoke. “Hi Autumn. I’m Austin Crawford and I write historical mysteries and recently started releasing books in a new Civil War era series.”
“And Austin recently made it to the Publisher’s Weekly bestseller list,” Cricket said.
“Ah, so we have someone famous in our midst,” Autumn joked.
“Why don’t you tell us about yourself, what book you’re working on and why you decided to become a writer,” Cricket said.
Autumn’s eyes widened. “I…uh. I work as a copy editor at the Savannah Evening News and, to be honest, my goal is to become a news anchor. I started dabbling in writing. It seemed like a natural fit...” Her voice trailed off.
Stephanie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “What genre are you writing in?”
Autumn said the first thing that popped into her head. “Outer space fantasy. Romance.”
“You mean like space opera romance?” Tom asked. “That’s an interesting genre.”
“It could also be considered sci-fi romance,” Stephanie said. “It is interesting. What’s the premise of your story? I’m intrigued.”
“Two warring families escape an exploding planet earth and join forces on Zebulon to save their species from extinction,” Autumn said. “I don’t have my notes and I’m a little nervous. I can’t remember the details.”
“What’s the name of the book?” Austin asked.
Autumn’s mind raced as she tried to think of a name. “Zebulon Galaxy: The Final Frontier.”
“Sounds like an old Star Trek movie,” Tom said.
Autumn laughed nervously. “And I thought I made it up.” Her armpits grew damp and she shifted in her chair.
“We’re making Autumn nervous,” Cricket said. “Sorry dear. We’re excited to have you here since we’re down one with Mercedes gone.”
“Who is Mercedes?” Autumn asked.
“Mercedes Garlucci,” Austin said. “She lives nearby and writes mafia mystery and suspense. You would like her. She’s about your age and has some great ideas.”
“I’m sure I would,” Autumn said. “Writing mob books would be interesting.”
“We’re not sure if she’s coming back,” Stephanie said. “She’s being investigated.”
“Stephanie,” Austin said.
“What? It’s not like it’s a secret. If Autumn works at the newspaper, I’m sure she’s heard all about it.”
“Being investigated?” Autumn squeaked.
“She’s under investigation after she found a man’s body down by the river,” Tom said. “It’s not fair to talk about Mercedes when she’s not here to defend herself.”
“I agree,” Austin said. “Let’s discuss our work in progress.”
Autumn attempted to appear interested in the other authors’ books, but she was bored to tears and caught herself dozing off twice.
The second time it happened, Cricket called her out. “You seem very tired, Autumn. Are you feeling all right?”
“I took an allergy pill on my way here and they always make me sleepy,” she yawned.
“It’s getting late. I think that about wraps up our meeting for tonight.” Cricket stood, a sign the meeting was over. “Do you think you’ll join us again next week Autumn?”
“I’ll try. I do appreciate the invitation. It’s a little intimidating to see how far all of you are in your writing careers while I’m still working on the draft for my first book.”
“We all had to start somewhere,” Stephanie said. “You mentioned you were a copy editor at the Savannah Evening News. Are you ever in the market for part-time work? I could use a good copy editor.”
“Me too,” Austin said.
“Between work and trying to write, I don’t have a lot of free time, but I can ask around to see if anyone who works in my department is interested in making a little extra
