Free Fox Island by Stephen Bly

morning.”
    Melody’s face relaxed. “Yeah, that’s great.
Only don’t call too early.”
    Tony glanced at Melody. “We really need to
talk to that grandmother of yours sometime.”
    “Yeah, I know. Maybe this article will
help.”
    “About the ferry accident?”
    “Yeah, I’ll ask her about it, and maybe
she’ll start to open up about the old days. Then I’ll say, ‘Grandma
Jessie, we ought to have the Shadowbrooks write some of this down,’
or something like that.”
    “Maybe that will work. We really don’t want
to upset her,” Tony said.
    “I wonder what she’d say if I told her about
that guy Bennington?”
    “He said she might get angry.”
    Melody scratched her cheek. “I wonder
why?”
     
     
    Price spread notes across the blue
variegated carpet in the living room while Tony studied topo maps
on the oak dining table.
    Melody scampered up the stairs with a
manuscript box under her arm. “Hi, guys. I’m waiting for the
clothes dryer. So I thought, you know... if you weren’t too busy...
you could give me some pointers on my book.”
    “We’re kind of tied up at the moment,” Tony
said. “But sure, we could take a break.”
    “That would be great. For six months now
I’ve been dreaming about this day.”
    “Oh?” Tony glanced at Price.
    “I kept thinking, ‘If only the Shadowbrooks
could read this... if only the Shadowbrooks could read this.’ So,
what do you think? Be honest. I can take it, really. Does it have a
chance? Do you know of a publishing house taking this kind of
thing? It’s important to me to get the right house, you know? I
don’t want just anyone publishing this.”
    Price gathered her notes into several piles.
“Tony, why don’t you go first?”
    Tony paced the room. “Melody, I can sense
how important this work is to you.”
    “I’ve been working on it over four
years.”
    “Four years?”
    “Yes, I started it as a senior with Dr. S.
Remember our senior project was to submit a book proposal to a
publisher? Putnam rejected it, but I got an A in the class. Boy, am
I glad they didn’t want it. I write so much better now than I did
then.”
    Tony’s boot clunked against an end
table.
    “I would hate to be stuck with a first novel
that I wasn’t happy with later on,” she continued. “It’s better to
wait until your writing’s matured, don’t you think? Anyway, what
about the novel?”
    “Melody...” Tony began. “People write for
many different reasons. Sometimes it’s to explore a new talent.
Sometimes they have a need to express their thoughts and ideas.
Sometimes it’s just practice, so that they can get better.
Sometimes, like a person who enjoys sitting alone and playing the
piano, they get into the creative exercise. It’s an outlet. Then
there are those who write in order to be published.”
    “That’s me. I definitely write to be
published. I was born to be a writer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to
be. It’s my calling, my God-given talent, you know?”
    “I can tell you surely have the desire. Did
Price ever explain how we got into the writing business?”
    “You mean, with articles in small
circulation magazines, stories in Christian youth papers, things
like that?”
    “That’s where it all began.”
    “See, here’s the neat thing. I have learned
so much from Dr. S.’s classes, and reading all of your books, I
feel like I’ve already passed that preliminary stage. Anyway, what
about my novel? Don’t you just love the way it starts? The detailed
description of that alpine flower on top of the huge granite rock?
Have you ever read anything more, you know, in depth than
that?”
    “It might have been a tad extended. How long
did that scene last?”
    “Oh, just the first six pages or so, that’s
all. Then it transitions right into the blind girl at the hot dog
stand. Everything I ever learned about transitions I learned from
Dr. S.”
    Tony pulled off his boots and rubbed his
toes. “I think Price is better qualified to talk