“It’s July,” I reminded Bernie, my editor.
“Yeah, well, we’re wrapping up the books in our Christmas lineup, so expletive deleted you. Where’s our next novel?”
“Next novel?” I asked. “A big goon beat me nearly to death. I had to learn how to walk and talk again. I don’t have a next novel. When have I had time?”
“Cry me a river,” Bernie said. “We paid for your recovery. You owe us.”
“Why have I never received a copy of Less Than Zero?”
“The actor portraying Bret has the writing bug. We’ve moved on. He’ll be writing the next Bret Ellis novel. We have something new planned for you.”
“But Less Than Zero was my book.”
“Welcome to publishing.”
“What’s the next book called?”
“Rules of Attraction. It’s complete crap. Who cares? The book sold gangbusters and people like his face. You, on the other hand, had yours beat in. We have new plans for you.”
“You know, I looked it up in Publisher’s Weekly. Less Than Zero didn’t sell a single copy in Minnesota.”
“It sold better everywhere else. I told you, no one cares about flyover country. I need that manuscript by last week Friday.”
I sighed, knowing additional arguments were pointless.
“I’ll do what I can,” I told him.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Bernie replied. “Remember, Hansen, you’re under contract.”
Chapter 8
The Second Novel
I DECIDED I WANTED TO write something closer to my own experience this time, so I began a new tale.
I wrote a classic coming-of-age story in which a Midwestern boy moves to New York and discovers not everyone is as pleasant as they are back in Hope, Wisconsin. Although still optimistic, the tale possessed a new, bitter edge. Even though it disturbed me, it’s what came out of me as I sat in front of my trusty Smith-Corona typewriter.
Still, I managed to hit on universal themes of friendship, community, and finding one’s wealth in the relationships they forge with those they love. The novel ended with my new character rediscovering the importance of living as a good neighbor, wherever you live.
Also, he was elected Pope in a landslide of cardinals.
“It’s crème-de-la-crap,” Bernie told me after reading the draft I’d mailed off following a marathon session in which I typed a hundred and ninety thousand words over a long weekend, stopping for only two naps.
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to guide you through to writing a successful novel.”
“Revision time?” I asked.
“Expletive deleted, kid,” he replied. “Expletive deleted.”
I won’t bore you with the details. The novel that my slightly-less-optimistic tome transformed into came to be known as Silence of the Lambs. The genuine Thomas Harris had died shortly after turning in a subpar draft of Black Sunday, Bernie explained, and contract writers had been filling in ever since. Anne Rice had written Red Dragon, apparently.
As everyone knows, Silence of the Lambs kicked butt as a novel, kicked butt as a movie, and was Harris’ most successful thriller ever. Yet no one knew my name. And no copies were sold in Minnesota.
I was beginning to think that was a good thing.
I was wrong.
Chapter 9
A Detour for Love
TIME PASSED.
I ENTERED COLLEGE. And as young college men are biologically driven to do, I met a nice young woman. Considering the campus brimmed with them, I guess that wasn’t too hard. Odd.
Anyway, we grew fond of each other and after five months of steady dating, we dared to hold hands for the first time, being the modest, proper types all us Midwesterners are. And then... oh heck, then we felt expletive deleted and frustrated and I proposed to her. And she accepted. (Believe it or not, not all females are so disgusted with occasional physical contact with members of the opposite sex that it makes them ill.) I must have been a good hand holder for a beginner.
So, we set the wedding date for July and I began to look forward to that legendary night all young engaged men anticipate: the day after the honeymoon, when all the hoo-rah is over and life can get back to normal.
Of course, I was contractually bound from telling young Ainsley about the wildly successful books I’d written so far, at least until after the wedding. Yet when you’re young and in love, such things seem trivial.
Things like that, or revealing you have cancer and maybe four months left. You know, the small stuff; the stuff you’re not supposed to sweat. Things no bride wants to know or hear about or be tipped off to until after they say, “I do.”
Then, one day in mid spring, I received a call.
“Congrats on the pending nuptials, expletive deleted,” Bernie greeted me. “How’d you spend your day?”
“Well, I started off drinking a cherry smoothie,” I told him, “and then I—”
“You’re feeling your oats, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am,” I said. “The royalties and movie rights from Silence of the Lambs is paying my way through college in style, I have a swell gal in my life, and everything’s coming up roses.”
“I need that third novel,” Bernie growled.
“You know what, Bernie? After all I’ve been through? Expletive deleted you.”
“Wow,” Bernie said. “That’s the first sign of backbone you’ve ever shown. You’re growing up, aren’t you, kid?”
“I suppose it’s time I do,” I said. “I’m no longer in high school. I’m out in the world, engaged, and about to become a husband. Ainsley says if I play my cards right, on our honeymoon she might let me get to second base. Second base!”
“You’re easy to please, aincha?”
“I like to think so,” I said.
“So you’re telling me you’re not going to deliver your third novel? The novel you signed a contract with Siegel and Shuster to deliver? The novel that you have two weeks left to deliver to me before the contract expires?”
“That’s the size of it,” I said.
“I was afraid you’d feel that way, this late in the game, kid,” Bernie said. “Hey, did you at least enjoy your cherry smoothie this morning?”
“I sure did,” I said, smug.
“How’d she taste?” Bernie asked.
“You mean how’d it taste?” I corrected, ever the wordsmith. “It tasted—”
“I meant she,” Bernie said. “You see, Craig, I’m a practical man. We’ve known each for more than four years now. We’ve created two novels together. I think I know how you tick. So I prepared for the possibility you’d respond like this. I took advance measures.”
“Okay,” I said, warily.
“Have you seen your fiancée today?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We’re getting together later to discuss invitation designs.”
“Wrong,” Bernie said. “You saw her this morning. I knew that, because I arranged it. I’m not a cannibal myself, so what I really want to know is: how’d she taste? Did we go too heavy on the cherry juice? Use too much sugar? How’d your fiancée Ainsley taste?”
“Ohmigod!” I screamed, stomach lurching.
“Get that third expletive deleted manuscript to me by Monday, Hansen, or you’ll be dining on the rest of your family before the month is out. Siegel and Shuster employs the finest chefs on the planet. You’ll never know which meal they are until it’s too late. And don’t waste time whining about it. You signed a traditional publishing contract. You get what you get. Now get to writing, you expletive deleted!”
And eventually, after there was nothing left for the dry heaves I was suffering to expel, that’s exactly what I did.
Chapter 10
The Third Book
I WENT INTO A SORT of fugue state the next two days. I remember walking over to the university computer lab, sitting down in front of an Apple Macintosh SE, inserting a state-of-the-art
three-and-a-half-inch floppy, loading up MacWord, and then, not much else. My next clear memory was of dropping a thick manuscript in the mail.
For the next few days, I became terrified to eat anything. Finally, I ventured a couple granola bars. The next day, I received a call from Bernie.
“I got good news for you, kid,” he said. “I don’t need no revisions outta ya.”
“Honestly?”
“What you sent me is perfect. Every single word. We plan to publish it as-is. It’s wordy, more than three hundred thousand words, but I have the ideal placement for you. It’ll take a few years, but the wait’ll be worth it, kid. You have finally become a professional writer. That stuff you wrote gave me the heebie-jeebies!”
“Thanks, I guess,” I said. “I don’t suppose it’ll be published under my name this time, will it?”
“Kid, you’re a nobody. Don’t be stupid. But you’re big time now, kid. There’s no bigger front-man out there than this guy.”
“You mean it’s over?” I said, wheezy, on the verge of tears.
“Kid, it’s never over. Siegel and Shuster’s happy with you. They want to offer you another contract.”
“Never,” I said.
“It don’t matter,” Bernie said. “Contractually, we have a twenty-year right-of-first-refusal on any book you write.”
“Only twenty years?”
“Kid, appearances can be deceiving. We’re big publishing. We’re not monsters.”
“The wait will be worth it,” I said. “I’m not sure I can write anything for the next couple decades anyway. Not after all this.”
“Your choice, kid. I think I might take the subway home tonight. You know, to relax. Life’s short, especially under contract. Should you ever change your mind, we’ll be waiting.”
And they were.
Chapter 11
Ten Years Later
AFTER THE FINAL NOTE FADED, I placed the karaoke mic back in its holder, went to the bar, and ordered a Mountain Dew. A thirty-something woman sat down next to me.
“That was too good for a place like this,” she said. “Do you sing?”
“I used to write,” I told her. “In a different life.”
“You write all the time,” she said. “I recognize you from the newspaper.”
“Sports journalism.” I shrugged. “I used to write novels.”
“Cool,” she said. “What made you give it up?”
“You’d never believe me, even if I told you.”
She sighed. “Well, I wanted to say, you sang some killer Bon Jovi up there. You should be making a living off your voice.”
“Thanks,” I said, and took a slow sip of Mountain Dew. When I looked back, she hadn’t left.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Have you ever thought about it?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Making a living off your voice. Singing. You know, professionally.”
“Like anyone’s going to find me here in Hope, Wisconsin.”
She smiled, her teeth preternaturally white. “Hey, I found you, didn’t I?” she said, extending her hand and a business card. “Aileen Wuornos, Sore Throat Records. I’m a talent scout, you see. I am authorized to sign you, tonight, to a four-record, six-year contract.”
“Contract?” I said, shivering. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Look,” she said, her voice growing firm, “I don’t know what drove you away from publishing, but let me assure you, the music industry is nothing like the book publishing business. Everyone knows that! We’re completely on the up-and-up!”
I chewed my lower lip and stared at the business card in front of me.
“How big an advance are we talking?” I said. “I recently got engaged.”
Epilogue
One Year Ago
FLIPPING THROUGH EBOOK LISTINGS ON my eReader, looking at the latest offerings by my favorite authors, I noticed a recent release marked down to less than ten bucks.
“Stupid traditional publishers,” I said, shivering. “Think they can overprice everything.”
Yet I had the money, and he was one of my favorite authors. I clicked Buy Now.
The book took longer than normal to download, but that was common with this author. Eager to experience his latest, I opened it in my eReader and began to read the first paragraph. It read like comfortable shoes feel.
I gasped. The words were familiar to me.
Too familiar.
My third book had finally seen the light of day. After all this time, I’d nearly forgotten. They’d changed the title, but everything else remained the same. Bernie had kept his word after all.
I flipped my eReader to the front of the eBook and stared in amazement at the cover:
UNDER THE DOME
by Stephen King.
Epilogue II
Revenge of the Epilogues
OH, AND ALSO, SHORTLY AFTER writing this, I was almost unanimously elected president of the Writers Guild of America. Only one vote held out.
“Why would I vote for you, Hansen?” David Dalglish asked. “You not only put me in the prologue, but in the epilogue, too? And a second epilogue, at that? Who does that?”
THE END
About the Author
CRAIG HANSEN WROTE STORIES FROM an early age, but when his SF short story, “The S.S. Nova,” was published in the Minnesota Writers in the Schools COMPAS program’s 1981 anthology of student writing, When It Grows Up, You Say Goodbye To It, he decided to dedicate himself to writing. Several unpublished novels and short stories followed.
Hansen earned two degrees at Minnesota State University at Mankato under the mentorship of young adult novelist Terry Davis. In the years that followed, Hansen worked a variety of jobs related to writing, including editorial work at a small publishing house, holding a position as a website editor, and five years in journalism in northwestern Wisconsin, where he earned several state awards for his writing and editing.
His work has appeared in the Meadowbrook Press anthology, Girls to the Rescue, Book 1, as well as the true crime journal, Ripper Notes, in volume 28.
His first novel, Most Likely, was released in May 2011. Shada was the first installment of the Ember Cole series of young adult paranormal suspense books, and was published in September 2011. Under Contract is his third published work.
Hansen is hard at work on two novel-length books. Ember continues the story of Ember Cole that began in Shada, and will be the second novel in that series. EyeCU will become his first novel-length horror tale for older readers.
Hansen lives in Oregon with his wife, a dog, a cat, and his 90-year-old father, a World War II veteran.
Craig’s interests include the music of Johnny Cash, reading the novels of other independent authors, blogging, and the study of Messianic theology. On his website, you can sign up to receive a periodic email newsletter that will notify you when he releases new books.
Connect With Me Online At:
Twitter: www.twitter.com/craigahansen
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Craig-Hansen-Author
Blog and website: www.craig-hansen.com
Books by Craig Hansen
For Young Adults
Most Likely (2011)
Shada (2011)
For Older Readers
Under Contract (2012)
What Writers and Readers Are Saying About SHADA
“This is a great book … I enjoyed SHADA very much. It’s got that spine tingling fun while drawing you into the characters and their lives.” —Victorine E. Lieske, NYT bestselling author of Not What She Seems and the Overtaking series
“SHADA drew me in, left me wanting more, and made me a little afraid to go outside after dark.” —T.L. Haddix, author of Secrets in the Shadows, Under the Moon’s Shadow, and Shadows from the Grave
“It really is a well written story, I liked the characters the author has developed, they fit nicely together. The writing style is very smooth and flows right along not leaving out any details.
I can’t wait to read the second book in the series.” —Bookworm Nattie, Purple Jelly Bean Chair Reviews
“The story had an endearing charm about it—a combination of the feel of old-fashioned ghost stories combined with the complexities of modern day friendship in a technological age. The girls were not the usual norm, they were unique individuals and I especially enjoyed their camaraderie.” —L.L. Treacy, Reader Girls Blog
“The writing style was fluid and the story logical, which with many books I read isn’t always the case.” —Ami Blackwelder, Amazon.com
What Readers Are Saying About MOST LIKELY
“Hansen’s ability to handle a touchy subject (child abuse) with grace was wildly impressive. While most authors shoot for “shock and awe” when dealing with a sensitive subject, Hansen chose a different road. Does that mean we aren’t given details as to what happened? Of course not, but instead of focusing on the bruises themselves, he chose to focus on the emotional ramifications of them which was a refreshing new take.” —Misty Baker, Kindle Obsessed
“The characterization was very well done and Becky was a typical teenager struggling with difficult situations, temptations, and doubts. She experienced an emotional roller coaster and I was along for the ride, chiding her, cheering her, and crying with her. I liked how the main character was so realistic and believable, she wasn’t perfect.” —Stacy L. Daniels, Amazon.com
“I not only look forward to reading more by this author, I plan on telling everyone I know about his work … Anytime a book can bring out the emotions this book brought out in me, it goes high on my list.” —Sandra K. Stiles, Musings of a Book Addict
“She was a very sympathetic heroine, and while this is a Christian book, it wasn’t in your face. I liked that she struggled with her faith and was relatable. The book has a decidedly Christian bent, but the author is not pushing an agenda. The book was well written, with a lyrical quality.” —Heather A. Sapp, Amazon.com