Chapter 13: Conversations (page 3)
by Emmet
I realized, feeling foolish, how that must have sounded, and quickly elaborated. �I mean, once you make those changes, which shouldn�t take long, what do you want to do with the story?�
�I, I don�t know�� she fingered the corner of the top paper.
�I said several months ago, you�re going to start needing to show these to other people. That�s why we write, isn�t it? To be read?�
�Yes� but� well, you�ve read them.�
�Broaden your audience, Grace. You could leave it lying around your house. Leave it on your coffee table, for example, sort of accidentally �
�On purpose?� she added, looking at me directly.
I smiled, and she did too.
�And that�s for family feedback. You could also,� and I pulled out the contact list and handed to her, �send it to a magazine.�
�What, like a student publication or something?�
�No,� I said. �Like a real publication. Like The New Yorker or The Atlantic Monthly. Now, those are two highly competitive magazines for fiction, and this story probably isn�t right for them � you need to read potential publications and know their style, and see what�s compatible with yours. But there are dozens of literary magazines from which acceptance would be an honor.�
�Wow. You really think I could get this published?�
�I can�t guarantee anything. I know I like this story, I think it holds together very well, and I want to keep reading it. Then again,� I added without thinking, � I might be biased.�
Out eyes met again and she smiled.
�Look,� I said. �Revise your story and send it out to TriQuarterly. It�s Northwestern�s literary mag. They publish first-rate stuff � I�ll show you a copy. Even if you get rejected from them, if they send you anything other than a form letter, it means they�ve really read it and thought it was worthwhile. And if they say no, there are several others you can try.�
�Wow,� she said again. �I mean, I just never thought about publishing now. And, well, this story is, to be honest, kind of personal.� She looked down, fingering the shell around her neck.
�I figured,� I said. �That must have been difficult.�
�It�s just, all the changes. When I was, I don�t know, 11, 12, I never expected my life to change, other than the normal way it just does because you get older. I thought the people, my parents, my family, would always be what it was, people I could believe in. And when� my father� it just kind of changes how you look at the whole world, you know?�
�Believe it or not, I do,� I said. �High school can do that to anyone, but when you have your core fabric being torn and patched together into entirely different patterns, it�s hard to know where you stand.�
�Exactly!� she exclaimed. �I mean, it�s been a few years now, I�ve gotten used to it, but I still feel like I�m going to have that rug pulled out again and cut up into an entirely new shape all over. Oh!� She stopped talking and made another note on her story. Then, �Are your parents still together?� she asked.
Oddly, I found myself wishing I could tell a parallel story, an �I went exactly through what you�re going through� tale. Except I�m glad I didn�t. �Very much so,� I said. �My childhood was disgustingly straightforward and happily all-American. Well, with a few exceptions.�
�Exceptions?�
�Well, home life was always good. I could count on that. School was� something of a challenge. It can be hard when you�re smarter than everyone else, and know it, and indicate that you know it.�
�You didn�t.�
�Grace, I was publishing poems in national magazines before I was 18.�
�Wow. So do you still write?�
The five minute end-of-lunch warning bell rang., and we both jumped. I took a breath. �That, Grace, is a long story. Suffice it to say, believe in your writing now, and love it if you do. Now,� I stood, and returned my untouched lunch to its paper bag, �Assignment for next week: final revisions, query letter to the TriQuarterly, and leave a copy of the revised story in your living room.�
�Without you checking it?�
�That�s right. You are always going to be your own final editor.�
She gathered her papers together and stood, walked to the door, turned. �Oh � what about the Gay/Straight Alliance dance � should we have a planning meeting or something?�
�Yes � thanks for remembering. Definitely. Any days better for you?�
�Tuesday or Wednesday,� she said.
�I�ll schedule it in.�
�Okay. See you Monday?�
�Yes� have a good weekend.� And she was gone. I�ll miss you, I added silently.