Free Dying to Get Published by Judy Fitzwater Page B

bronzed leg stretched out behind her, the other straight in front.
    As much as Jennifer liked Teri, she had always hated people who could do the splits. It seemed somehow unnatural. Teri reminded her of one of her Barbie dolls, the one with the broken leg that swung loosely all the way up to the back of her head.
    Teri grinned up at her, bringing her back leg around front and then pulling her forehead down to her knees. "I knew we'd get you sooner or later. I knew we'd draw you into the fold. So what's this new book about anyway?"
    "I thought I'd try something in the romance field. I understand that market may be easier to break into."
    Leigh Ann threw her an icy stare. "Are you implying something about the quality of my work?"
    Leigh Ann had been writing almost as long as she had and still wasn't published. Writers. Why did they all have such fragile egos?
    "Look. We don't have to discuss this. As a matter of fact, I'd just as soon we didn't."
    For several moments, no one said a word, and the creak of Monique's rocking chair was getting on Jennifer's nerves. Creak. Creak. Creak.
    Disagreements were few in this small group of writer-friends, but they were inevitable. All had aspirations, and all felt the system had failed them in some way. But Jennifer was determined to break out of the endless cycle of queries, rejections, disappointment…
    Monique's rocker stopped. This was not a good sign.
    "Jennifer, what have I said to you more than once? What is the key to success?"
    Jennifer searched her mind like an eleven-year-old trying to dredge up the proper answer for the teacher, knowing that whatever answer she gave, the teacher would look at her condescendingly and then correct her. If she waited long enough, the teacher always supplied the answer. And sure enough, she did.
    "Inventory. Do you remember my telling you that?"
    Jennifer nodded.
    "And that's what you're working on, isn't it?"
    Again, Jennifer nodded.
    "And what's the important part of inventory?"
    She'd gone to Hell, and Hell was being stuck in fifth grade forever with Monique as her teacher.
    Monique was nodding, waiting for a response.
    "Could you make this a multiple choice question?" Jennifer asked.
    Monique ignored Jennifer and shifted her gaze to the others in the room. "Diversification," she stated. "The more fields we try, the more styles we try, the better chance we all have of publishing."
    Of course, Monique was right. She almost always was, but Jennifer didn't have to admit it. Monique wasn't even really Monique. She was Betty. Just plain, old Betty. She'd published one science fiction novel as Monique Dupree and, she'd been Monique ever since.
    Jennifer wanted to shout out, "All right, Betty. You made your point, the point I was making when I came in this evening and asked for some help with an idea for a romance novel." But, of course, she never had any intention of writing that romance novel. She really did want to know how to seduce a man. She needed an alibi, and her social life was in such shambles, she hardly remembered how to date, let alone seduce.
    "If you want to try something different, why don't you do a picture book for preschoolers?" April suggested.
    Images were forming in Jennifer's mind. Writers were always told to write about what they know. She could do one based on the game of Clue. This is a rope, this is a lead pipe, this is a knife, this is Miss Scarlet dead in the library.
    Teri was shaking her head forcefully. "No way. Our gal's too much of a plotter. She'd never be happy with that."
    "And I suppose by that you mean my Whacky the Duck stories have no plot?"
    "No plot?" Teri said. "No plot? Of course not. Your stories are teeming with plot. We never know what dangers are lurking out in the big bad world for that little ducky. I'd like to see him run into a biker gang of Canada geese and see how you get him out of that one."
    "Seduction, guys, please. Seduction—that was the topic of conversation, and I, for one, would like to