“Nice job,” someone murmured as they left.
I ducked my head, pleased. “Thanks.”
The glow stuck with me, buoying me through the next week of lectures, workshops, readings, and meetings.
I walked into Oscar Diggs’s seminar the next week feeling surprisingly positive. He hadn’t read my story. Okay. That didn’t mean it wasn’t any good. That I wasn’t any good.
“The thing to remember about kids this age is they’re notintrospective,” he said from the front of the room. “That goes for your characters and your readers. I’m not saying they don’t have doubts and hopes and fears. I’m telling you that when something bad happens—and something bad better happen, or you don’t have a story—nobody wants to see them sitting around talking about how they feel and bemoaning how helpless they are. They have to wade in there and do their best.” He twinkled at the class. “Or their worst.”
“I’m not writing for tweens,” someone said.
“You think adults are that different? Humbug. Readers want to be entertained. No matter how old they are.”
There was more. I took notes. I didn’t need a personal critique to learn from him.
But when he asked if I would stay after class, I couldn’t stop my heart from rising to my throat.
The classroom emptied. I stood, one hand worrying the strap of my bag.
“I read your chapters. They’re very good,” Oscar said.
Relief flooded my entire body. “Really?” I squeaked.
“Your voice—very sparky. And your kid—she’s plucky now.”
“Wow.” My knees were shaking. “Thank you.”
“They’re so good, in fact... Do you mind if I close the door?” Oscar asked.
Oh no.Misgiving trickled down my spine like ice water.Oh God. Not again.If he touched me, if he made any suggestion that his help was contingent on special favors, I was going to spit in his eye and report him to the dean. “Is that necessary?” My voice was only a little shaky.
“I suppose not.” He pulled a funny face. “At this point, my reliance on my coauthors is something of an open secret.”
“Wait. Sorry. What?”
“Only for the Shivery Tales series. There’s too much demand for me to keep up with it all on my own. Of course, I curate my team very carefully.”
My mind whirled. “Are you saying you don’t write your own books?”
“Icreatethem,” he said. “The ideas, the outlines, the editing... They’re all mine. But the execution is in the hands of some other very fine writers. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about my story.”
“In a general way. Although if you give it another three to six months, I think you could really have something there. I’d be happy to take another look when you’re done.”
“You’re not offering me a critique?”
“I was thinking I should offer you a job. At least, an opportunity. How would you like a chance to be part of the Shivery Tales family?”
“You want me to write for you.”
“I do. I think you’d be good at it.”
“Me.” I needed to sit down. “Why?”
“You’re a bit of a misfit here, genre-wise.” He smiled. “Like me. And I could use more girl power on my team. I’d like to give you an outline, kick around some thoughts, and see what you do with it.”
I sank onto a chair. “I... Would I get credit?”
