Page 12 of The Writer

“Mysteries. Like the rest of you.”

“But what kind?” I say, scooting over to make more room for her on the bench. “Cozies? Procedurals? Thrillers?”

“Psychological thrillers, I guess,” she says. “Really I just try to write whatever inspires me that week.”

“And crime inspires you?” Danielle asks, a quizzical look on her face.

“It does us all, wouldn’t you say?”

Marley smiles. It’s the kind of expression that seems to brighten the world around you, draws you in. I can’t help staring at her, taking in the other details of her appearance. The layered necklaces draped across her chest. The small tattoo of a bird on her left wrist. As I watch her, a strange heat climbs the back of my neck, my head swimming with drunken thoughts. But I’ve not had that much to drink, have I? From the moment Marley arrived at our table, I’ve felt out of sorts, like I’m meant to be somewhere else.

“Well, let’s not waste more time,” Victoria says, pulling a notebook out of her bag. “Before we share our stories, let’s introduce ourselves. How about we go around and share our writing goals.”

“I’ll start,” April says, carefully placing her glass on the cardboard coaster. “I’m just trying to carve out some time for me. Since having kids, my days revolve around them. And I’m fine with that. Really. But I’ve found writing gives me time to express myself. If I were to be published one day, that would be great, but it’s really about time for me.”

“I feel the same way,” Danielle hops in. “I mean, I spent all of my twenties preparing for the job I have now.”

Victoria leans close to Marley and says, “She’s a defense attorney.”

“That’s impressive,” Marley says, with a smile.

“Thank you.” Danielle smiles tightly. “I love my job, but it comes with so much pressure. It really started to get to me,especially when I was in law school. That’s when I started writing, and I find that it’s the best way for me to cope with my stress. I can channel everything I’m feeling into what I write, and now that I’m part of a firm, I have a front-row seat to endless inspiration. It would be great to be published one day, but writing will always take a back seat to my primary career.”

“I’ve been self-publishing for a few years now,” Victoria says, “but I don’t consider it my main job. I take pride in being a professor, would rather be a mentor than the next great novelist. I feel writing and teaching go hand in hand. Doing well in one field pushes me to succeed more in the other, and I’ve been able to provide valuable advice to my students over the years. Plus, my experiences on campus have helped shape my stories. I’ve been lucky to meet people from all walks of life, and that improves my writing.”

“Well, you’ve certainly inspired me,” Marley says. “That’s why I’m here.”

When it’s my turn to answer the question, I lie.

I say something about writing giving me a sense of identity, the opportunity to walk in the various shoes of my characters… Blah, blah, blah. Truth is, I want to be a writer because I’m not suited for anything else. I don’t have a primary career—a teacher, a mother, an attorney. What I want more than anything in this world is to be published, to finally feel validated for what I have to say. Get my side of the story out there, even if I do it through the actions and thoughts of my characters. I allow them to live the life I’m too afraid to have, force them to carry the pressure of righting my wrongs.

“Now it’s your turn,” Victoria says, looking at Marley.

Marley’s eyes wander around the table, studying each of our faces. We’ve only just met her, yet she’s already been gifted an intimate glimpse into all our lives. She knows our motivations, our desires.

“I guess my goal is to write the nextGone Girl,” she says, punctuating that sentence with a cutesy shrug. I force my face muscles to not react.

“Well, you just might have that potential,” Victoria says. Again, I struggle to not react. Victoria, as a writer and a professor, must know how presumptuous Marley’s answer was. What writer doesn’t want an overnight hit? But it’s a once-in-a-generation type of success. Most careers aren’t a fast feat, rather a slow tedious journey.

“I’m curious now,” Danielle says, leaning in. “Dare you to go first.”

“Might as well jump off the deep end, right?” Marley clears her throat. She slips a hand into her knapsack and pulls out a short manuscript. “This is a story I’ve been working on. It’s calledRosebud.”

She begins to read. Her voice is its own type of melody, soothing and calm, not an ounce of nervousness as she reads her work aloud to a group of strangers. When I first joined the Maidens, it took me two meetings before I worked up the nerve to share my writing. What it must be like to have Marley’s confidence and excitement and… talent.

Despite my skepticism,Rosebudis a compelling story. It’s about a young girl who grew up in an overly religious household, à la Stephen King’sCarrie, seeking revenge on the youth minister who groomed her growing up. The plot is straightforward yet surprising. Her use of figurative language makes it come to life. As much as I try to find fault in her every word, I find myself sitting on the edge of my seat—literally—to hear what will happen next. When the story ends, my body is tingling with that sensation readers get when they read something spectacular, and I knowRosebud, and Marley, will remain imprinted on my brain.

My skin burns with jealousy.

“That was amazing,” April says, clapping her hands together. “How long did it take you to write that?”

“I don’t know.” Marley shrugs her shoulders. “A week?”

“Seriously?” Danielle is just as taken aback. “It takes me that long to come up with a shitty outline.”

“See what I mean?” Victoria, the proud professor, smiles. “She’s a real talent.”

“I’ll say,” Danielle says. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

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