“Too late. I’m already composing my acceptance speech.”
The bell chimes again, and suddenly my bookstore is full of people. Michelle breezes in with Grayson attached to her hip. Jo arrives carrying a massive binder labeled “Aesthetic Vision” in glittery letters. Amber shows up with a basket of pastries. “Okay, team!” Michelle claps her hands like a cheerful drill sergeant.“Let’s make this the best literary event Twin Waves has ever seen. Everyone grab a seat and a croissant. We have decisions to make.”
We gather around the back table—me, Scott, Michelle, Grayson, Jo, and Amber—with notebooks and laptops.
“First order of business,” Michelle says, pulling up a document on her laptop. “The author reveal. How are we actually doing this? Jessica, it’s your program.”
I take a breath. “So, the Letters to Local Authors program has been running for eight months now. Readers write to anonymous North Carolina authors, the authors write back, and nobody knows who’s who. The reveal is when the authors finally unmask.”
“Like a literary masquerade,” Jo says approvingly.
“Exactly. We’ve got twelve authors participating—some from right here in Twin Waves, others coming from as far as Raleigh and Wilmington. I’m thinking we do a staged reveal. Each author gets an envelope with their pen name on it. They come up one at a time, read a passage from one of their letters, and then reveal their real identity. Their correspondents are in the audience?—”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Scott says. “What if someone’s correspondent isn’t there? What if the author freezes? What if?—”
“What if it’s magical and beautiful and everyone cries happy tears?”
“That’s not a contingency plan.”
“It’s called optimism. You should try it sometime.”
“I do. I optimistically assume everything will go wrong so I can plan for it.”
“That’s pessimism with extra steps.”
“It’spreparedness.”
We’re both leaning forward now, and I’m vaguely aware that everyone else at the table has gone quiet. Michelle is grinninglike Christmas came early. Grayson is eating a croissant with the air of someone watching excellent entertainment.
“How many authors are revealing?” Scott asks, pulling out a notebook.
“Twelve confirmed so far. A few maybes.”
“And how many correspondents per author?”
“It varies. Some authors have been writing to one or two people. Others have five or six pen pals.”
“So potentially sixty to seventy people who need to be in the audience at the right moment, watching the right reveal, having the right emotional experience.” He taps his pen against the notebook. “That’s a lot of variables.”
“That’s a lot ofmagic.”
“Magic doesn’t scale.”
“You must be fun at parties.”
“I’m excellent at parties. I make sure there’s enough ice.”
“That’s the saddest party skill I’ve ever heard.”
“Ice is important! You know what ruins a party? Warm drinks. You know what doesn’t ruin a party? Having enough ice.”
“I cannot believe we’re arguing about this.”
“You started it by dismissing the importance of logistics.”
“I didn’t dismiss it. I just think there’s room for spontaneity.”
“Spontaneity is what happens when planning fails.”
