Page 7 of Written By a Woman

What I hadn’t expected a few weeks ago, though, was to wake up to what felt like an endless number of notifications.

Because, somehow, romance readers from all corners of the internet loved the free drafts of my story and shared it with everyone and their mothers. I had created a new social media account, @ReadHeadedWriter, to update the small handful of readers who cared every time I posted a new chapter to the thread. My profile picture was just my name, Signe Lange, in fun colorful, seventies’ style font. My account wasn’t that interesting, yet; my posts only consisted of quotes from the manuscript, to entice new readers to give my story a chance.

And yet I had thousands of new followers.

“No,” I shrugged, “Not at the moment, at least.” I settled in, grateful that I could take a business meeting wearing my pajama bottoms, sipping on a warm mug of tea.

“Excellent, let me know if you do, but this meeting will be brief,” Michelle nodded. Michelle couldn’t have been more than a handful of years older than me, and yet she gave off this motherly aura with her kind eyes and soft smile that made me relax. As if she was in my corner, ready to support me when I needed it. To guide me through the clusterfuck that was traditional publishing.

“Alright,” I replied.

“Now that you submitted your first draft of the story—well done finishing it so quickly, by the way,” Michelle grinned at me, “The next step will be developmental edits, which Layla has already started on. She should be close to being halfway done with those.” I felt my heart flutter in both excitement and panic at the thought of a real adult, a professional editor, reading and critiquing the words that I had slapped together for a romantic comedy.

“Cool,” I nodded.

“Once she’s done with that, you’ll have a few weeks to provide feedback and make any edits you’d like after reading it over.” Michelle nodded once to herself, clicking on something with her mouse. I could tell that this wasn’t her first rodeo and that she had this conversation practically memorized at this point. Somehow, that knowledge made a spark of imposter syndrome bloom inside of my chest, an uncomfortable ache that made me want to slam my laptop closed in a panic.

But I wanted this.

This was always my goal, so I fought against my insecurity and listened in to what my super professional agent wanted to tell me, “After that, we will do another round or two of edits, including copy and line. That shouldn’t take more than a few months, but the goal is to make the manuscript as polished and pristine as possible. Once we feel confident there, that’s when we can start submitting the manuscript to publishers. See who is willing to bite.”

I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip, “And…you think publishers might want to bite?”

Michelle raised her blonde eyebrows at me, giving me a look that reminded me of my own mother when she thought I was being ridiculous, but cute about it, “I can’t say for sure, but based on how popular you already are, I’d say that publishers will be interested in getting in on your story’s success, yes.”

I tried not to wheeze at the compliment, even though my success was already a cause of my anxiety lately, but that had little to do with so many readerslikingmy story, as it had to do withwhyso many readers were liking my story.

The daily comments I was still getting made it clear that it was because readers loved the male love interest. I’d argue that the appeal of the male love interest was what originally hooked so many readers onto my writing and platform. The problem was, that Zayne Abdul was based on someone I worked with.

Someone with almost the exact same name because I was too lazy to come up with a name that didn’t sound like Zaid Ansara. I didn’t expect this story to be the one that took off in the online world. I had hoped, but also had realistic expectations. But now that so many eyes were on the story, on the characters and their backgrounds, I couldn’t exactly go back and change the name without possibly severing the connection between thousands of readers and my story.

Because readers wereobsessedwith Zayne Abdul.

If only they knew how very real he was.

Within a couple of days, after my story took off online, I received two unsolicited character art pieces from artists who dedicate their craft to visualizing characters in books and bringing them to life. Both times, because apparently, I describe people way too well in my stories, both pieces of art illustrated perfect cartoonish images of Zaid Ansara.

Whoops.

Weeks later, it’s only gotten bigger. I had more readers following me every day.

I was thrilled and nervous at the sudden attention, because I wasn’t trying to be the next Jane Austen or Ernest Hemingway, after all.

I just loved writing love stories.

“That’s…exciting and nerve-wracking,” I sipped my tea while Michelle hummed thoughtfully.

“Usually, the submission process can take a while. More than a year or so before we get a deal that’s worth taking. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone wants to snatch you up much sooner than that.”

Would that mean I could quit my job within the next year or so? I grinned at the thought of not having to formally get dressed for an office every day, even though half the time I just wore jeans and sweatshirts. Michelle and I had spoken about what a good deal for me would look like, and we were thinking that a three-book series would be what appeals to publishers the most, unless they suggest otherwise after receiving my manuscript.

I didn’t expect to be offered millions or anything, but I liked the idea of being able to make ends meet with writing alone, even if that meant budgeting and being more frugal with my expenses.

You don’t become a writer to become rich, after all.

“That being said,” Michelle added, making me focus back on the present instead of a hypothetical future, “You should focus on being more present on your social media accounts. Scheduling regular posts, interacting with readers, that type of thing. Oh—” Michelle grinned as she gave me a look, “You might even want to consider doing a face reveal.”

I quirked my lips to the side as I thought about it for a moment before asking, “A face reveal? Really?”

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