Page 35 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
I can only tell these things because I’ve been studying her for years, like a borderline stalker.
“What can I do for you?” she says to the policemen. “Are you here to shop?”
I blink in surprise; I guess she didn’t call them. Why are they here, then?
“We’re not here to shop, no,” the tall one says, his voice clipped, businesslike. “Is there someplace we could have a private word?”
“Of course,” Heidi says with a nod. “This way, please.”
Despite the situation, I’m weirdly proud of her, the way she’s maintaining her composure. She disappears into the bookshelves with her head held high, the policemen following her—an odd group of ducklings after their mother.
Can I follow them without looking suspicious?
Crap. No. I can’t. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it…it’s none of my business what they talk to her about. So I stare at my laptop instead, the cursor blinking at the bottom of my last paragraph.
Maybe I’ll get my new writing group to take a look at some of this. I’m so far in my head with this manuscript, so deeply and embarrassingly insecure, that I have no idea if this idea is even worth writing, or if I should chuck it and start something new.
Ugh. No. I can’t start something new; I’m on a deadline.
So I guess I’ll workshop it, as much as I don’t want to. I’ve been chatting a bit with the group ever since we decided to meet a few days from now, and they’re cool. There’s not too many of them, either, which is a big plus. Just another guy and a girl.
Ideally, no one would be subjected to my first draft. But I need help. I’m man enough to admit that, even if my problems don’t feel fixable. Because I know—Iknow,dang it—that the issue is not with my writing, or at least it doesn’t start with my writing. My problem is all mental.
I’m stuck in my head, second guessing every word I write, and it’s making everything come out stilted and ridiculous. I’m terrified that I’ve peaked already, terrified that this book will bomb like the last one did, terrified that for the rest of my life I’ll be known as S. Mackenzie, the one-hit wonder.
I shake my head vigorously, pulling myself back to my work. I need to focus. But only half of my brain is able to pay attention to the words I’m trying to write; the other half is on Heidi and the policemen. They’ve been back there for probably ten minutes now.
“Gemma,” I whisper when she walks past, heading for the café counter.
Gemma turns to me, looking surprised. “Yeah,” she says. “What’s up?”
I beckon her closer. “What are they talking about with Heidi? Did you hear anything?” I say when she’s standing right in front of me.
“No,” she says, and I’m relieved to see an anxious look on her face, too; it’s nice to know I’m not crazy for being nervous. “She just took them into the back room.” She fiddles with her jewelry, twisting one of her silver rings around and around on her finger. Then, biting her lip, she adds, “You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and my frustration is evident in my voice. I shouldn’t be this on edge. Of course the police would want to talk to the business owner after something like yesterday. I just can’t get rid of this boulder that seems to have settled on my gut.
“What about you?” Gemma says. “Have you ever written about anything like this? Murder and police and stuff?”
I blink at her. “My books are literary fiction.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I read fantasy and romance. No offense,” she adds belatedly.
I don’t let her see my smile. “None taken.” I’m well aware that my books aren’t for everyone.
Still, there’s an ugly little voice in my head that whispers,If you wrote abetterliterary novel, she would like it. Yours isn’t good enough.
“So, that’s a no on the murder and police stuff in your books?” she says.
“Correct,” I say, nodding. “Mine don’t have any of that.”
“And is that a literary fiction thing, or a you thing?” Gemma says, and she actually looks interested in my answer.
“A me thing,” I say. “There are lots of literary novels that have crimes in them.” I shrug. “It’s just not something I’ve done.”
“Huh,” she says. “I learned something new today.”
I smile at her. “I guess you did.”
