The Fan Letter (6 page)

Their boss's good-natured voice came to them from her office. “Hey, you two. I don't pay you to talk to each other. Get out there and sell some dresses to someone who doesn't need them!”

Janice and Leslie grinned at each other. “Aye, aye, Cap'n,” Leslie saluted as they went out front and opened the shop for the day.

A
bundle of one hundred forty carefully typed pages was nervously handed to the clerk at the print shop.

“I need two copies of this,” Leslie told her, one hand still on the title page.

She was asked, “What kind of paper do you have in mind?”

“I…I don't know.” Stumped by yet another problem she had not anticipated, Leslie lowered her voice. “It's going to Majestic Studio. What would you recommend?”

The clerk glanced up at this explanation, but Leslie's eyes were still on the story on the counter between them. She seemed afraid to let go of the papers.

A book of sample paper was brought out and Leslie chose a high-quality ivory-colored paper and a black spiral binding. The price quote made her groan, but she told the clerk to go ahead, and quickly left the store before she lost her nerve and changed her mind.

Impressed by the look of the finished product, Leslie slipped the small manuscript and a letter of introduction into a padded envelope addressed to Tom Young in care of the studio. She also included a copy of a photo of herself that Janice had taken in which she was being hugged by a large rabbit. “The Time Police” Fan Club of Los Angeles had supplied Leslie with the address of the studio and she managed to relax once it was actually mailed.

Her disappointment in not receiving a quick reply was offset by her involvement in the next story she decided to write. This one was set six months later and would be a Western highlighting the talents of the Professor Rex Farrell. He had appeared recently on the series and Leslie liked his witty dialogue and mischievousness. She could use all the sarcasm her mother had tried to eradicate in her all these years. Plus, the actor himself was tall, dark and handsome. Not a bad combination.

For this story, to help keep it all straight, she drew maps of towns and counties. There were character sheets and plot outlines as this story, WESTWARD REX, took the squad into a time period filled with new people and places. The squad's lives intermixed more than in her other story. This time they would actually have to live in that time period longer than usual, so Leslie felt more people were required to fill it out.

Leslie was thoroughly enjoying the writing process and Janice was soon converted into a fan of the Western. In the time span of thirty-one days, the story was written, typed out on her electric typewriter, and mailed off to Phillip Beck.

Exactly twelve days later, on a tired Monday evening when she arrived home to her apartment, there it was—the red light on Leslie's answering machine was blinking on and off.

“
O
h, I hate rewriting,” Leslie grumbled to herself as she struggled with her first story. “I hate rewrites. I hate typing. I hate correction fluid. I hate blue ink!”

She paused in her tirade and looked at the yellow and white striped stuffed cat sitting on the sofa next to her. It smiled complacently off into space. “Well, I feel better,” Leslie declared with a self-conscious laugh. “I need a word processor,” she decided, looking at the sheets of paper covering the coffee table in front of her. “And a secretary. I need a secretary. And I
really
need to stop talking to myself.”

Leslie concentrated on adding new enemies and plot twists and made Andrew meaner towards the newcomer Jane. The story slowly expanded to one hundred ninety pages. It took her as long to add those fifty pages as it had to write the original story.

The Western took another month to expand. She enlarged the Professor's role and put her heroine Jane a little more into the background. The regular actors were profiled more and given more action.

Her co-workers at the boutique noticed her preoccupation. Janice, always the enthusiastic supporter, had not remained idle. She had been busy dropping names and hints around the shop to indicate something big was in the making.

She would ask Leslie, “Has Majestic Studio called you again?”

Or, “What do you hear from Phillip Beck?”

Or, “How's your second novel coming along?”

No longer being able to ignore the neon-bright hints from Janice, Leslie had to tell them about her little stories and her plan to send them to Adventure Novels Publications to see about getting them published.

The reactions were mixed. “I didn't know you were creative.” “How much are they paying you?” “Why ‘The Time Police’?” “Can I have a copy?” “Are you going to move to Los Angeles?” “You didn't go to college….”

Leslie smiled to herself. She didn't know what would happen. Plus, she had no knowledge of the publishing world. Again she had done a lot of research at the library, only to thoroughly confuse her. Three hours were spent reading over submission tips, and she decided to do the one thing that was not highly recommended: She was planning on submitting directly to the publisher. She would use Phillip's name on the introduction letter and hope it would sneak through the system.

A
fter three weeks of part-time typing, Leslie was finished with THE LONER FINDS LOVE and was halfway through WESTWARD REX. She had used two hundred eighty-four sheets of typing paper, three bottles of correction fluid, and six typewriter ribbons. She needed a break. She unplugged her typewriter, turned off her apartment's lights, and went to the mall.

When she returned, she found a plastic container on her coffee table and a note.

Mom.

Leslie groaned and looked at the clutter of papers on her kitchen table where she did her typing. The top few sheets had been moved. At this point in time she still hadn't told her parents about her writing. They didn't like the television show and wouldn't understand why she was writing about it. She really didn't want to hear about wasted time and money and shutting herself up in her apartment instead of seeing her friends….

The phone rang.

Leslie stared at it. She knew who it was. With a sigh, she answered. “Hello?”

“Oh, good. You're home. I was by an hour ago, but you were gone.”

“Hi, Mom. Yeah, I just ran an errand. What's up?” Leslie asked, hoping something else was on her mother's mind.

But, no. “Nothing's up with me. Say, what are you doing? Writing a book?” Bonnie Nelson asked with a laugh, indicating the absurdity of the notion.

Leslie silently drew in a deep breath. Why not tell her? “Yeah, I am. This one's about half typed.”

“No, really, what are you doing?”

Leslie thought to herself, I've
got to get my key back from her
…. Out loud, she tried to answer pleasantly, “Really, that's what I'm doing. I've already written three stories. I've lengthened the first two and plan on submitting them for publication.”

There was a significant pause. “Honey, if you don't want to tell me, fine. I understand….”

“Mom! That's the truth. I sent a copy to an actor at the Majestic Studio and he called and recommended I make it into a novel.” Leslie was almost laughing. She could just picture her mother's confused expression. She could also hear Bonnie's muffled talking to her dad.

“Lou, she says she's writing a novel…I don't know.… Some actor called her.… I don't know…. What actor?” Leslie was asked as her mother's hand was removed from the mouthpiece.

Leslie knew what her mom's response would be to “Phillip Beck.”

“Who?”

Right-o. “He guest-stars on the television show “The Time Police.”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded disgusted. “You mean those cops and robbers and mad scientists and stuff?”

“More or less. There's a lot of time travel. My story is a Western,” Leslie explained, hoping the idea of something familiar would placate her.

Her dad, Lou, now came on the line. “Les, if you need some money, just ask.”

“I'm doing fine, Dad. This is for fun.”

“Oh, okay. Here's your mother.”

“Mom,” Leslie spoke quickly, “I've got to get back to work. I have a lot of typing to do.”

“Okay. If there's anything we can do to help, just ask. Bye, dear.”

When the phone clicked and the dial tone sounded in her ear, Leslie leaned her head against the counter, smacking her forehead lightly on the cool surface. “Well, that went well.”

T
he clerk at the printers came to know Leslie on a first-name basis. Leslie would hand her the typed pages and say, “Two copies. The usual.”

The books and an introduction letter were mailed to Adventure Novels. Leslie knew it took three days for the mail to reach New York. She figured she'd get a response within two weeks.

In six days the novels were back in Amherst. Leslie received her first rejection notice. The publishing company dealt only with agents. They were kind enough to enclose a list of literary agents. They were sorry they could not recommend a certain one.

The list was seven pages long, printed front and back, four columns to a page, twelve to fourteen agencies to a column. Leslie stared at the pages. Over six hundred names all across the country. She rubbed her forehead as a dull throbbing started behind her left eye.

Saturday was spent back at the library comparing her list to the list in the most current writer's guide. Most agencies were crossed off. Some were circled. A few received an arrow which Leslie used to indicate agents willing to work with new authors and who also accepted adventure novels.

She then copied an example of a submission letter and silently wondered why she was doing all of this. The throbbing had resumed behind her left eye.

The printer was visited again to get sets of sample pages and chapters out of her books. The typewriter was drug out of her small closet to type the first six letters to six different agencies.

Within three weeks, the rejection letters began coming in. For some reason, Leslie assumed they would be pink, but they looked like regular business correspondence. All six were worded differently with six different reasons for the rejection: They didn't handle that type of work; They only handled established authors; They didn't want any more “Time Police” authors. Regardless of how it was worded, it all meant the same thing—No.

Six more letters and copies were mailed out. As the rejects came back, Leslie's outlook sagged.

Her parents told her, “You've don't your best. Be proud of your books and just let it be.”

When the fifth letter arrived, Leslie opened it to see if this agency had come up with a new reason to refuse her work.

“
Dear Ms. Nelson,

Thank you so much for submitting your sample chapters. We are interested in seeing the completed manuscript of THE LONER FINDS LOVE. If your work meets our requirements, we will forward the manuscript to Adventure Novels. Here's hoping for a long, successful relationship.

Sincerely,

Wallace Quimby

Literary Agent
“

Leslie spent the next two hours on the phone. Janice was thrilled. Anne “just knew this would happen.” Mom was pleased. Dad wasn't home.

Leslie also dropped a letter in the mail to Phillip Beck to tell him the latest happening. She again sent it through his agent. In ten days a typed letter came back.

“Dear Leslie,

I'm pleased your good work is being sent on. Remember that to succeed you must keep trying.

As I am overwhelmed with my own scripts and books and such, I cannot read your other books.

Best wishes for success.

Sincerely,

Phillip Beck
“

With renewed zeal, Leslie concentrated on rewriting her third book, CHATEAU REX. With growing appreciation and fondness for “her actor,” she was determined to make this her best work. And if her work was published, she was also determined to see it sent to Majestic Studio. This would be a role worthy of Phillip Beck!

She kept the envelope from Phillip on the coffee table in front of her work area. She now had his home address.

I
t took another month to receive word from her agent. The letter from Wallace Quimby was short and to the point:

“
Dear Ms. Nelson,

This week I sent your manuscript and the outlines of your “Rex” works on to the editor of Adventure Novels. I felt it was strong enough as is for the market.

These things take time. Usually two or three months. Sometimes longer.

I will contact you to let you know of their decision. We will draw up the necessary contracts when they are required.

Sincerely,

Wallace Quimby

The Publisher's Agency
.”

Time never drug so slowly for Leslie as it did when she awaited to hear from her agent. Weekly she was asked if she had heard yet. Then, slowly, her friends’ enthusiasm began to dull and a protective suggestion was added: They might say no. Be prepared.

As the three months turned into four, the queries became fewer and fewer and Leslie experienced a keen disappointment every time the mailbox was empty or her answering machine was silent.

Only Janice, dear, loyal Janice, kept up the full amount of spirit. She had no doubts. There was no way the response would be negative. This was her friend who knew an actor and had an agent. How could anything possibly go wrong? When she and Leslie went out to lunch, Janice would loudly talk of book contracts and trips to New York and meeting with the actors of the show as they prepared to tape Leslie's episodes.

Leslie smiled to herself through all of this. She secretly admitted that all of that would be just fine with her. She even let Janice take some photos of her that could be used on the back cover of her first novel. Yes, it was exciting. Yes, she would like to meet all the actors. But, yes, she knew the answer could be negative.

It was five months before she heard from the agent. That made it a full year since she had sent the short copy of the novel to Phillip Beck and two years since she had written the first word on a blank sheet of paper.