Page 83 of Written By a Woman

“But why?” Michelle started clicking on her computer, her eyes shifting to stare at whatever she pulled up on her screen, “Do you not feel like you’re doing a good job writing a Middle Eastern lead? Because we have sensitivity and authenticity readers who say otherwise so far.”

I inhaled a nervous breath through my nose, “No, no,” I shook my head once, “I’m just wondering if Zayne even fits in this story. I’m wondering if I should save his character for another story, is all.” I lied. I had no intention of using Zayne at all in any future writing if I could get away with it.

My editor winced a little bit at my words, “I disagree, and frankly, it’s a bit late to be making such drastic changes in the story. I’m in the middle of my last round of proofreading the manuscript.”

“Agreed,” Michelle nodded, “As I’ve mentioned before, the hype from this story is specifically because of Zayne. How you wrote him, how readers felt about him, and how artists felt the need to illustrate him and bring him to life. You became popular because you’re an excellent writer, Signe, don’t get me wrong,” I felt my stomach churn at her words, “But we can’t pretend that the love readers have for Zayne’s character wasn’t also a huge draw to your book.”

I nodded; I wasn’t threatened by her assessment. It was true. Readers fell in love with Zayne. Artists fell in love with Zayne. Hell, I was dangerously headed in that direction with Zayne’s inspiration if I was being honest with myself.

“I see,” I nodded, “I get what you’re saying. I was just wondering if I should save Zayne for another book. Maybe write a different love interest for this one.”

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t be using Zayne’s character that we’re not aware of?” Layla asked, almost mindlessly. She was also scrolling on her iPad, a small smile on her face as she read whatever she was looking at.

I felt my throat tighten with nerves.

Michelle and Layla never once asked me about the Zaid/Zayne livestream fiasco all those months ago, and I have to assume that’s because they never saw anything. They were busy and trusted me to run my social media how I saw fit. I doubt they actually scrolled through my page often.

My social media had been completely Zaid-free the last couple of months though, except for the one rogue account that will DM me asking if I wrote Zayne based on anyone else.

I just left that reader on read.

Could I just tell my agent and editor that Zayne resembles my coworker too much and it feels icky to proceed with the story as is? At this point, I felt like I had no other choice. But I didn’t need to give them all the nitty gritty details. Instead, I could give them as much of the truth as I felt comfortable with.

“The thing is,” I sighed, feeling the heat pool under my cheeks and neck, “Zayne is inspired by a real person. Someone I know.” I felt my shoulders scrunching in on myself, and I tried to straighten in my seat and look less anxious than I felt, “I just don’t want to create any complications for you both, knowing the inspiration behind the character.”

“Oh, thank god,” Layla grinned and slumped back in her seat, “So we don’t need to make any big edits after all.”

I wanted to throw up, “We—we don’t?”

“No,” Layla shook her head once and pulled a hair tie off of her wrist, sitting forward and pulling her hair back, “Correct me if I’m wrong Michelle, but if the similarities between Zayne and whoever you based him off of are really that blatant, I think all we’d need is some form of written consent from him that we can continue with the story as is.”

I held my breath, not relieved in the slightest to hear that solution from her.

“That’s right,” Michelle nodded, “Authors write characters based on real people they know all the time, but if you’re really this worried about it, securing his written consent will help ease that anxiety you’re clearly feeling right now. The anxiety that looks like it’s giving you some cold feet before we move forward.”

I tilted my head side to side, “I guess that’s a good way to describe it.” I would have gone with crippling panic, but tomato-tomahto.

“Something else to keep in mind,” Layla added, “Is that you’re not in a position that normal trad authors are in. People are already familiar with a big portion of the story. Like Michelle said, they already love the characters. Changing things like Zayne’s ethnicity could be very problematic and put a bad taste in reader’s mouths—even if you gave him an alternative minority background.”

“Oh,” I felt my shoulders slump, “I didn’t consider that aspect of making those changes…” In other words, I was in deep shit and needed to see it through.

“But we don’t need to change anything,” Michelle chimed in, “Because all we need is that form of written consent from Zayne’s inspiration because if submissions are successful, publishers would want that confirmation anyway. That way the publisher can avoid any potential lawsuits.”

“That makes sense,” I nodded, feeling completely steamrolled but not having any idea how to avoid this.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about while we are all here, Signe?” Michelle asked, clicking away at something on her computer.

I sat for a moment, wondering if I should put my foot down, but feeling a large lump form in my throat instead, so I just shook my head and eventually, we all said our goodbyes before ending the call.

Fuck.

How did I get out of this?

Was there a way for me to start any type of relationship with Zaid without him knowing about this? According to these women, no, no there wasn’t.

The man didn’t even know I was a writer, let alone that I wrote a character that closely resembled him.

I was nothing but a meat suit of anxiety at this point.

---