Page 48 of The Best Parts of Him
“Yeah, I figured that part out. What I want to know is why.”
“Well, the P and N are my sisters, Penny and Nicole. And Leeds is our mom’s maiden name.”
“Okay, that’s ridiculously sweet, but not what I meant.” Ryland shifted on the mattress and faced him. “What I mean is, why a pen name at all?”
“Because this book—” Dabbs took it back. “—this trilogy . . . it’s not about me. I want the books to stand on their own without me, without who I am, getting in the way.”
“Admirable. But can I play devil’s advocate?”
Dabbs couldn’t help but smile at him. “I suppose.”
“These books—” Ryland tapped the one in Dabbs’ hands. “—are a great idea. If you want to publish under a pen name, then that’s your prerogative, of course. But weren’t you just saying that you want to use your platform for good? Think of the difference you could make if you used your existing platform to publish, market, and advertise them. A hockey player writing books about hockey players? You could raise so much more money for your charity. You already have the following. Use it.”
That was . . . incredibly insightful.
Dabbs shouldn’t be surprised. Although his initial impression of Ryland as someone who was flashy and loud and thrived as the center of attention wasn’t inaccurate, it also wasn’t the whole picture.
Ryland was smart. Capable. Dedicated. Considerate. Thoughtful. Attentive.
And he’d gotten so far under Dabbs’ skin that he was beginning to think it would be impossible to ever get him out.
“The problem with publishing under my own name,” Dabbs started, “is that someone will inevitably ask why I chose to write about these topics. And the reason has everything to do with my own childhood, but it’s not something I’ve ever talked about publicly before. And I don’t relish telling complete strangers about the hell that was my home life until I was ten.”
Ryland nodded. “Understandable. And after that jerk told your whole class about your dad and everyone gossiped about you, you probably want to minimize any more gossip.”
Dabbs blinked at him, taken aback.
Shit. Was Ryland right? Had he opted for a pen name to protect himself?
Dabbs wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he didn’t have time to reflect on it because Ryland continued.
“Consider this.” Ryland turned fully to face him, folding one leg under himself. His knee nudged Dabbs’ hip. “Your target market is middle-grade readers, but middle-grade readers don’t have any money. Your audience is actually parents, guardians, teachers, librarians. People who will buy these books or recommend them to kids they know. If someone asks why you chose to write these books, you’re not obligated to tell them anything. You can vaguebook as much as you want, give an abbreviated version, or tell them the whole story. It’s up to you. But if people find out that you wrote these books based on your own experiences . . . if they recognize that a kid they know will see themselves in these books because you’ve been there, you’ve lived it . . . that will only help sell more books. What kid going through a tough time doesn’t want to know they’re not alone?”
Was Ryland thinking of himself? Of the kid he’d been after his parents’ divorce, metaphorically waving his arms, hoping someone would notice his struggles so he didn’t have to go through them alone?
Could Dabbs help more kids like the one Ryland had been if he published under his own name?
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Ryland rose and stretched his left arm over his head, elongating his toned body and making Dabbs’ mouth water. “Whatever you decide, there’s no wrong answer. And it’s not like you need to decide right this second. You’re not having cover art done, like, tomorrow, are you?”
“I don’t have an illustrator to name on the cover art yet, so no. That’s a down-the-line thing.”
One of the dogs barked, either wanting to be let out to pee or at something they heard outside.
“I’ve got that,” Ryland said around a yawn. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He left, but almost right away he popped his head back into the room. He pointed at the manuscript. “Can I take that so I can read it?”
Dabbs looked down at it in his lap, at this paper version of himself that was held together by hope and fortitude and the first ten years of his life. “Maybe not just yet.”
Ryland’s smile held nothing but soft understanding. “’Kay. Night, Dabbs.”
“Night, Ry.”
“Don’t forget to put Shannon back in her special spot.”
Shaking his head, Dabbs chuckled. Once he’d put Shannon back in her spot on his bookshelf, he brushed his teeth and went to bed, leaving the door ajar for the dogs despite knowing they’d probably bunk down with their new human best friend again tonight. And when he dreamed, he dreamed of paper-versions of himself and Ryland playing hockey with Castle and Cosmo as an audience of two.
chapter thirteen
