“That’s great and gross. Nancrites,” Autumn repeated. “What if they want more details?”
“Ask them if they would like to read a copy. Tell them you’re too nervous to talk about it.” Mercedes guided her friend down the stairs and into the alley. “Your main goal is to tell them you’re considering sending your manuscript to a publisher and are looking for suggestions.”
“And who are you looking for?”
“Jon Luis’ publisher is, I mean was, The Batton Group.”
“Got it.” Autumn circled her thumb and forefinger and gave her an A-OK before easing her helmet on and fastening the strap. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She tucked the file folder and manuscript inside her backpack and slipped it on.
When Autumn reached The Book Nook, she hurried inside, waving to Tillie on her way to the meeting room where Tom Muldoon, Austin Crawford and Cricket Tidwell were waiting. Stephanie wasn’t there.
Cricket turned when she caught a glimpse of Autumn darting through the doorway. “You made it. We were wondering if you were going to show up.”
“I’m a little late.” Autumn eased into an empty seat. “I was halfway here and realized I forgot my manuscript.” She pulled the file folder from her backpack and set it on the table. “Is the other woman coming?”
“Yes. Stephanie is on her way. Ah, there she is,” Tom said.
“Sorry I’m late.” The woman hurried into the room. “My car battery died and I had to get a jump. I’ll probably need another one to get home.”
She dropped her papers on the desk. “Hi Autumn. Glad you could make it.”
The group began to discuss the progress they’d made on their manuscripts the previous week. Austin was almost done with his first read through on his next book. Tom told the group he’d finished publishing his new book two days earlier and planned to take some time off.
Cricket reported she’d started a spring cookbook she hoped to have finished by early February. “What about you Stephanie?”
She rolled her eyes. “Harlequin wants me to write another in my Charlotte Laine Regency Series.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Austin asked.
“Nothing, I suppose. The money is good. My problem is that I can’t stand the main character. I’m thinking of killing her off.”
“You can’t do that,” Cricket said. “It will be career suicide, especially if your readers are attached to her. What’s her problem?”
“She’s too nice, too sweet…syrupy sweet.”
“Maybe you could give her some sort of contagious illness,” Autumn suggested. “That way, you can cause her to be bedridden and then segue one of the other characters, one that you do like, into playing a larger part in the book.”
“Great idea,” Stephanie grinned. “That might work. How about you?”
“It’s a slow go,” Autumn said. “Maybe I picked the wrong genre.” She patted the file folder. “I brought my draft with me in case anyone wants to check it out. I was thinking that maybe it’s time for me to start researching publishers. Does anyone have a suggestion?”
Austin lifted a hand. “I’m indie all the way. Publishers take too much of your money.”
“I’m no help,” Stephanie said. “The Harlequins are traditionally published through their own company.”
“I had a publisher,” Tom said. “I’m going indie this time around. Austin is right. They want too much of your money, plus I would never recommend mine, so I’m of no help.”
Autumn turned to Cricket.
“I’m traditionally published, what with cook books and such; there are too many photographs for mine to look good going it alone. My publisher handles mostly non-fiction.”
“What’s the name?” Autumn asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cricket shook her head. “They won’t even look at space opera books.”
“Try researching ABoards on line. It’s an author’s forum and they have some great tips and info for newbies,” Austin suggested.
“Awesome,” Autumn jotted the name on the inside of the file folder. “Thanks for the tip.”
The group discussed their works, offering suggestions to the others and Autumn was proud she was able to add her two cents, based on her experience as a copy editor and employee of the local paper.
The meeting flew by and finally it was time to go. Desperate to give it one more shot, Autumn reached for her file folder. “No one has any suggestions on publishers?”
They all shook their heads.
“When you gonna invite us out to your ranch?” Austin turned to Tom. “I drove by it last week, on my way to a friend’s place. I remember you telling me what road it was on. It has your monogrammed initials on the gate, right?”
“Yeah. TM. I’ll invite ya’ll over maybe next month,” Tom said.
“We can meet at my place, too,” Stephanie said. “It’s kinda cramped but in a great location, not far from the Savannah Civic Center. There’s a nice pub-type restaurant below our apartment. We could meet for dinner.”
“That sounds like fun,” Cricket said. “Although I don’t mind having it here, a change of scenery might be nice.”
“I might be able to make it too,” Autumn said. “I’ve been working a little overtime. We’re down a copy editor and looking for a replacement, but I would be interested.”
“Maybe Mercedes will be back by then,” Cricket said. “I should give her a call to check in. I’m starting to grow concerned.”
“Maybe she fled to Canada. New York isn’t too far from there,” Stephanie said.
“I hope I get a chance to meet her,” Autumn fibbed. “What does she write again?”
“Mafia, mobsters, mystery,” Tom said. “We like to joke around with her that she seems to know an awful lot about it. Course she is from New York and
