“I said sucks.”
“You’re lucky you’ve only had one,” moans Millie. “I’ve hadthree, a different one for every book in the trilogy.”
“Okay, editor horror stories, let’s have them,” says Kenzo.
“My latest one leaves me on read—sometimes fordays,” says Millie. “And I know for a fact she goes out for cocktails with at least three of her other authors—and they don’t even live in the same city!”
Sienna sighs, and reaches for the nearest wine bottle. “Oureditor doesn’t even bother to read our books anymore. He palms them off on his assistant.”
“Mind you,” adds Malcolm. “Young River’s very encouraging. When...” He hesitates, as if doing a math problem in his head, before saying, “Whentheyrespond.”
“I’ve got you all beat,” says Kenzo, topping off his whisky. “My editor quit in the middle of editing my last novel.”
“Wow, was your book that bad?” murmurs Jaxon.
“Because he sold his own,” Kenzo continues. “For alotof money.”
A collective groan.
“That’s the worst,” says Millie sympathetically. “Were you jealous?”
Kenzo shrugs. He wasn’t really, he’s never been the jealous type, but the whole table is staring at him, clearly expecting a reaction, so he says, “I mean, it wasn’t ideal.”
Cate chuckles nervously. “And here I thought the hard part would be getting a book deal.”
Everyone laughs.
“Sweet summer child,” says Sienna.
“Is the industry really that bad?”
“You have no idea,” says Jaxon. “You know, I heard most publishers have a list of which authors they’reallowedto spend time on. And if you’re not on the list, you’re fucked.”
“The yearIdebuted,” says Millie, “I found out the publisher bought four other books exactly like mine, because they figuredoneof us would sell.” She scowls at the table. “And one did, but the rest of us were screwed. They never thought about what would happen to the books that didn’t win. They didn’t care.”
“Hedging their bets, I suppose,” muses Malcolm.
“Yeah, well, they gambled with my whole career. They won. And I lost. And then they gaslit me. They made me think it was my fault. That my book wasn’t special enough to cut through the ‘crowded field.’ Despite the fact thattheywere the ones who crowded it. They made me feel like I didn’t deserve to succeed.”
Disposable.
The word Kenzo said in the foyer now hangs like a pall over the room.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Millie,” says Priscilla, “I’m sorry that happened toallof you,” she adds, before turning to Cate. “But it’s not all bad, I promise. For what it’s worth, my experience has been mostly good. Obviously the industry has problems—not even getting into being a Black woman in publishing—but I actually really like my editor. She’s super smart, and knows the market, and helps me figure out what I’m trying to say, even when I’m not sure myself.” She raps a nail against the table. “A bad editor can be awful. But agoodone is worth their weight in gold.”
“How many good ones are there, though?” counters Malcolm. “Half of them don’t even do the work, and the other half act as if they’re the only reason the books succeed.” He leans forward to pluck another cookie from the tin. “Take away the author, and you have nothing. Take away the editor, and you still have a book.”
“Sure,” says Priscilla blithely. “But usually not a good one.”
Malcolm sets his glass down. “Let me guess,” he says, studying Priscilla. “You’re the kind of writer who sends your editor gifts on release day.”
Jaxon balks, but Priscilla only nods. “She works hard.”
“And what doesshesendyou?” asks Sienna.
The romance writer purses her lips. “She doesn’t need to send me anything. Authors get all the credit. It’s our name on the cover.”
“Sure, and we’re the ones who suffer if the books don’t sell,” snaps Malcolm.
