Six days after the contract had been signed and returned to Shipley Junior Books, Ms. Clayton stopped at Offices Unlimited on her way home. Today the office manager handed her a large brown envelope addressed to Cassandra Day, care of the Sherry Clutch Literary Agency.
In English class the next afternoon Ms. Clayton passed a note to Natalie and Zoe asking them to come to a meeting.
When they were sitting at the small, round table after school, Natalie opened the envelope. It was a five-page letter from her editor, along with a copy of her story. The manuscript was littered with dozens of Post-it notes—the yellow ones were editorial suggestions, and the pink ones flagged grammar questions. It looked like Hannah Nelson had worn out at least three red pencils.
The letter began, “Dear Cassandra: Thank you for this wonderful first draft. Now that your contract is all squared away, we can get down to work.”
Natalie’s heart sank. She thumbed through the manuscript, flipping from note to note. “Look at all these—this is going take forever! I thought the book was done, and I thought it was good, too. And . . . look.”
Ms. Clayton took the letter from Natalie. As she read through the first two pages the teacher began to nod and smile. She was impressed. She said, “So now we know what real editors do. This is a wonderful letter, Natalie. She’s telling you how to make a good book into a great book, that’s all. Your mom really knows what she’s doing.”
Natalie said, “Yeah, she knows what she’s doing, but what about me?”
Zoe wasn’t sympathetic. “Quit whining, Natalie. You wanted to be an author, and now you are one. So your editor gives you a bunch of good ideas to make the book better—so what? You’re an author now, so you have to do the work.”
“Well, you’re a big help, Miss Know-it-all!” snapped Natalie.
“Girls!” said Ms. Clayton. “We don’t need any sarcasm—and we don’t need criticism, either.” Then in a gentler tone she said, “Natalie, just take this home this weekend and see how it goes—maybe spend only half an hour on it. It doesn’t all have to be done at once. If you get stuck, well, that’s why you have an editor. It’s her job to help you do your best work.”
Natalie and Zoe went down the front steps of the school. Ms. Clayton had sent them on their way together, but neither had said a word on the walk through the halls.
Natalie got to the bottom of the steps and turned left as if she was just going to walk to her bus, but Zoe took her by the arm.
“Wait, Natalie.” Natalie stopped and turned to face her. Zoe said, “Listen . . . I’m sorry I called you a whiner. It’s just that . . . well, I feel like my part in all this is over, and I . . . and I don’t know what to do.”
“So how do you think I feel?” snapped Natalie. “I wish we hadn’t started this. I mean, my mom almost got fired, and she still could, for all I know. And now I’ve got all this extra work to do, and I’m still not sure the book is going to turn out right. And then it gets published, and then what if the book reviewers hate it and no one buys it—then what?”
Zoe looked into Natalie’s eyes. The fear and the worry was so intense it made Natalie look feverish. Instantly Zoe was furious with herself for being so stupid . . . so . . . so selfish.
“Then what?” asked Zoe. “If some reviewer doesn’t like it? So what? It just means he’s an idiot. How could anyone not like this book, Natalie? This book is so good that even Lethal Letha the Grumphead liked it, remember? And all those little changes your mom—I mean, your editor wants you to make? I know you can figure them out. You’re good at this. And your book? It’s only gonna get better and better, honest.”
Natalie smiled a little and said, “Do you think so?”
Zoe nodded and said, “I know so!”
Already Zoe could see Natalie’s eyes changing. She could see her smart, talented, confident friend coming back to life. And with a surge of fierce joy Zoe could see that her part in all this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
• • • • •
Natalie discovered that the editing process wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t a lot of fun, but at least it was creative. It was work—slow, steady work. It was a careful look at every word, every sentence, paragraph, and chapter. It was a methodical tracing of each character, each storyline, each rise and fall of the action, each of the points along the path that led to the end of the book. And always, everything had to be judged to see if it supported the overall theme and the deeper ideas that made her book more than just a story.
During four weeks of revisions the book got steadily better. Every day, and especially during their bus rides home, Natalie was tempted to ask her mom about the book she was editing. But she didn’t. Natalie felt like that would have been unfair . . . like cheating.
She also learned that the editing process was when an author and an editor got to know each other. When one said, “Let’s cut this out of the book,” and the other said, “No, I really think it should stay,” each learned something new about the other. It was like a very long conversation about . . . about life. Natalie felt she was getting to know her mom in a way she never had before. When a note from her mom asked Cassandra Day, “Does Sean really have to seem so mean at this part of the story?”—Natalie could hear her mom and dad telling her how important it was to be kind.
And when Cassandra Day wrote back and said, “Sean’s not really being mean here, it’s just that his feelings are hurt, and the narrator hasn’t figured it out yet,” Hannah read the note and smiled, and suggested a way to make that clearer to the reader without giving too much away too soon.
And during the editing process the author and the editor came to respect each other’s ideas and insights more and more.
Near the end of the manuscript there was a note from the editor about Angela’s father. Of all the notes, it was the one that meant the most to Natalie.
There are only a few small changes I’d suggest here. This part of the story is so strong, so tender. I think you’ve caught the essence of the way daughters feel about their dads, and the way dads will do anything for their daughters. Every time I read this, I think about my own life, and my father, and my own daughter’s life too. And each time I read it, I weep – it’s that good.
Several times during the editing Hannah Nelson invited Cassandra Day to drop by the office if she was in the area, or just pick up the phone anytime something wasn’t clear. Each invitation to visit was politely refused, and the author continued to communicate only by mail.
Hannah also found Cassandra’s handwriting hard to read. Cassandra’s notes were written with a thin pencil in tiny letters, and the writing had an unusual slant. They looked like that because Zoe was a lefty. After Natalie wrote each note and comment, Zoe copied it out again in her cramped little scrawl. Natalie was sure it was driving her mom nuts, but she didn’t want to risk having her handwriting recognized.
Finally, on the fourth pass, the manuscript came back in a new form. The words had all been set into type and laid out in pages. It was called a galley proof, and now each page looked like two side-by-side pages from a book—a real book! Best of all, there were only two Post-it notes on the whole thing, two small errors that were a snap to fix. The book was done.
Two weeks later Ms. Clayton brought Natalie a puffy mailing envelope. It was heavy, and when Natalie pulled the strip to open it, out tumbled two paperback books. Natalie gasped. “The book! It’s done!”
But it wasn’t the book. It was a paperback printed on flimsy paper, and the cover looked like it had been made from a cheap color Xerox of the jacket. On a black rectangle at the bottom of the cover white letters spelled out this announcement:
NOT FOR SALE
Ms. Clayton picked up a handwritten note that had slid onto the table with the books. She glanced at it and then began reading aloud.
Dear Cassandra:
Our marketing department is excited about your book, so we’ve printed up five hundred of these advance reader’s copies. So far, our salespeople have been using our catalog to tell booksellers about your book, and now they will send these ARCs to all their key bookstore accounts. The subsidiary rights department will be sending them to the book clubs, the specialty markets, and our overseas agents. Also, the publicity department will be sending out more than two hundred ARCs to the trade, institutional, and consumer review media. I’ll let you know when we start getting reviews. The hardcover is already in production, and we’ll be shipping the advance orders by mid-May. The advance orders aren’t great, but a few good reviews should give the sales a boost. I know we rushed a little on the revisions to meet the deadlines, but the book turned out great. You should be very proud. Yours truly, Hannah.
Natalie held one of the paperbacks with both hands. She was proud. It wasn’t the real book yet, but it was so close.
Zoe held the other reading copy. She was proud too, but she was also indignant. “What does she mean, the orders aren’t so great? What’s the matter with these people? They should be selling these books like crazy. Their publicity people must stink, that’s all I can say.”
Natalie said, “Remember how my mom said that every year there are more than five thousand new children’s books published in the United States? They can’t all be bestsellers, Zoe. It’s amazing to get one published at all.”
Zoe made a face and shrugged. Actually, Zoe had heard only about half of what Natalie had said. Natalie and Ms. Clayton kept talking, but Zoe was busy. She was having a brainstorm. It took only about thirty seconds for the whole idea to take shape, and when it had, Zoe held up the reading copy and said, “Can I have this one, Natalie?”
Natalie smiled and said, “Of course you can.” Then Natalie handed her copy to Ms. Clayton and said, “And I want you to have this one. I’ll ask my editor to send another one for me.”
Ms. Clayton felt choked up, but she swallowed hard and said, “Thank you, Natalie. I’m going to treasure this my whole life.”
Absentmindedly Zoe said, “Yeah . . . me too, Natalie.” But Zoe’s thoughts were elsewhere. She had just decided it was time for Zee Zee Reisman to develop some new skills. Zoe thought, I mean, being an agent was fun, but now my client needs something else. What she really needs is . . . publicity!