Page 71 of Kill Your Darlings

I’d been thinking the best bet for their next project might be historical, notwithstanding W&W’s usual misreading of the market.Nothing so far back in time that the ladies would have to do any serious research.Maybe a series set in the 1950s or ?60s when they’d have been active and young.A period they knew well and were comfortable with.

Actually, Lila had sparked the idea with a comment she’d made when the Doves and I returned from our lunch at Fandango.

Snoop Sisters.

Perhaps a series along the lines of the 1973 limited series on NBC?

The sisters certainly had the platform.

Having sketched out my general thoughts, I decided to find out whatever I could about Troy Colby—starting with the conference program.

Sure enough, in the attending authors section was a bio and slightly blurry photo that had to have been a selfie.

Troy Colby is a transgressive neo-noir fabulist whose work interrogates the porous boundaries between fiction, memory, and myth.A self-described “archival provocateur,” Colby has been anthologized in numerous limited-edition chapbooks and was a finalist for the 2021 New Veritas Prize for Unclassifiable Literature.In 2019, his experimental short story cycle Papers Without People was long-listed for the Folio/Fragment Award, and his microfiction suiteA List of Things We Forgot to Buryreceived an Honorable Mention from the Mid-Atlantic Fiction Forum.

Though elusive by nature and design, Colby has led private writing salons in Prague, Montreal, and a disused railcar in Northern Vermont.He is the founding editor of Palimpsest Engine, a quarterly zine devoted to post-genre storytelling, and his essays on semiotic absence have been “circulated informally” in graduate writing programs across the U.S.

Currently revising his first full-length novel,Everything True Is Dangerous, Colby declines to provide a publication date, citing “the collapse of linear time” as a mitigating factor.He lives off-grid and off-list.

“What.The.Fuck?”I said, “Prague, Montreal, and my ass.This guycannotbe for real.”

The photo was for real, though.Mid-thirties.Acid-washed hair.Assorted piercings.The slightly out-of-focus photo matched my slightly out-of-focus memory.Not to mention Colby’s slightly out-of-focus bio.

This was no one from my past.He wasn’t old enough to be a contemporary.And, at first glance, he didn’t seem to have any connection to, well, Planet Earth.I’d spent my adult life in publishing and I had no clue what most of that list of supposed accolades and accomplishments meant.I didn’t think there was a verifiable publishing credit in the entire thing.

How could Colby possibly know anything about Milo, myself, or Dominic?

Was it possible Kyle knew him?Knew of him?I had no idea if Kyle participated in Steeple Hill’s local writing community, but I’d bet my bottom dollar that Troy Colby was a fixture.

I skimmed the bio again and couldn’t help thinking that Colby needed to meet Hayes Hartman.They’d probably get along like a house on fire.

The difference was, Hayes was talented enough to actually win an Edgar.Colby sounded like someone more in love with the idea of being a writer than the actual writing.Actually, he sounded like a complete poseur.

But even that was pure guesswork because there wasn’t a damn piece of real information in that bio.

In the midst of my reflections, I heard the electronic lock to the suite click open.I glanced over warily—I hadn’t bothered with the deadbolt since I was up and about—and relaxed as Finn opened the door.

He looked preoccupied—and then, when he saw me on the sofa—relieved.

“How did it go?”I asked.

He shrugged, came over to the sofa, and dropped a kiss on my upturned face.“What you’d expect.J.X.was funny and on point when he could get a word in edgewise.If T.McGregor actually spent a day walking the beat, I’m a romance writer.And as usual, Pat Robinson monopolized the airspace.”

I nodded distractedly and said, “Will you read something for me?”

He didn’t question it.“Sure.”Finn joined me on the sofa, his shoulder comfortably pushing mine.I handed him the folded-back program.“Troy Colby.”

His brows shot up.“This is the guy?”

“You tell me.”

Finn began to read.His brows drew together.He read the three paragraphs again.

When he’d finished reading, he looked at me.

“It’s a joke,” he said.

Chapter Seventeen

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