Chapter One
I’m brushing vomit from my teeth when the email arrives. A single phone chime that does nothing to let me know how much it will change my life.
I assume it’s a reader asking when they can expect my latest book. Those are coming more and more frequently now. I suppose I should be flattered—or at the very least grateful—for this, but mostly it just reminds me that I’m failing.
That I’m letting more people down.
My current manuscript sits on my laptop at around thirteen thousand words. Twelve thousand—give or take—of which are pure garbage. I haven’t touched it in weeks, and when I do, it’s just to stare at the page and contemplate changing my characters’ names. Again.
I’ve lost my touch. Lost my motivation. Lost my ability to care about anything at all, but especially characters that don’t truly exist dealing with problems that also don’t exist.
I just can’t bring myself to do it anymore.
Ever since…
No.
I force the thought away, grabbing the bottle of vodka sitting next to my sink. I’m not going to have too much to drink. It’s only eleven in the morning, after all, but I feel so bad already, I think a sip or two won’t hurt.
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I welcome the familiar burn and pick up my phone to check the email.
From: Owen Doyle
To: [email protected]
Subject: Hello!
I roll my eyes. Hello, Owen Doyle. What the hell do you want?
Opening the email, I realize it’s not a reader, but a scammer. Even better.
Hi Mari!
I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to reach out to say what huge fans my wife and I are of your work. We read them together quite often and we’re always floored at how easily you’re able to blow us away with your twists! We’ve yet to predict any of them. In fact, we just finished No Chance last night and we were both sure we had it figured out for the first time, only to be blown away when you brought Brady back at the last minute! Brilliant!
Anyway, we’ve just moved to Charleston, and I wondered if you’d ever be up for meeting us for coffee or something? It would make her day, and I’d get major cool points. I’m also an award-winning producer of films and television shows like Last Revenge, Death Day, and Say You Will. I’m linking my website below. I’d love to discuss working together in the future!
Hope to hear back from you.
Best,
Owen
I sigh. If I had a dollar for every time I got an email from some “production company” interested in turning one of my books into a film (for the low, low cost of ten thousand dollars), I’d never need to write another book again.
I almost close the email. Almost.
But curiosity gets the best of me. Even with alcohol still coursing through my system from last night, I’m not stupid enough to click any links in the email. Instead, I open my browser and search the name of his production company.
Epic Scope Productions
I expect to find a shoddy website with one or two pages of random film posters, but what I find instead actually looks to be legit. In fact, they’ve produced some of my favorite shows and movies. I click on the “About” section and see the company was founded by Owen Doyle more than ten years ago.
Setting the bottle of vodka back on the counter, I read through the numerous articles discussing the work they’re doing and how they’re bringing new stories and new voices to the screen.
I glance up at the oversized bathroom mirror in front of me, staring at my ruddy skin and the dark bags under my eyes. Could I be dreaming somehow?
Could this guy be for real?
I open social media next, but he doesn’t seem to have accounts on any of the platforms. Not unusual from what I know of Hollywood. There are a few Owen Doyle accounts that I skim through, but only two real contenders. One has a photo of the sky as his profile photo, but his account is mostly landscape shots. The other has a photo of a man and woman standing next to each other in front of a theater, but his account is private.
If he’s either one of these Owens, I’ll learn nothing from the profiles.
I go back to the email, reading over it once more. He mentioned my latest book and knew parts of the plot, which has me hesitantly considering the fact that this might be a real email.
I check the email server which also seems real. @epicscopeprod.com
It seems too good to be true, though. Right?
I mean, this isn’t how it works. Especially not for writers like me.
While I have a respectable following, I’ve never made it onto any of the bestseller lists, none of my books have been celebrity book club picks, and I can name hundreds of authors more successful than I am that he could reach out to instead.
Still, my finger hovers over the reply button.
What’s the worst that could happen?
If I respond and he asks for money, I’ll know the truth either way. Deciding to stop second-guessing, I exit the bathroom and seek out my laptop on the nightstand next to the bed. On the off chance this is real, I want to be sure my email is well-crafted.
I read through the email two more times before writing my response, trying to find the perfect blend of cool and casual.
Hey Owen,
So nice to hear from you. I love to hear you and your wife—
Or is it your wife and you? You guys? You all? Ugh. Delete.
Hey Owen,
So nice to hear from you. I love to hear you’ve enjoyed my stories.
Is “novels” better? “Books”? “Thrillers”? Delete.
Hey Owen,
It’s great to hear from you, and thank you for checking out my work. I’m thrilled you’ve enjoyed it. Super cool that you’re local. I’d definitely be up for meeting for coffee. Just let me know what your schedule looks like.
Best,
Mari
Oh. Shoot. Will he think I’m copying his sign off? Delete.
Warmest wishes,
Mari
No, too formal.
Talk soon,
Mari
There. That will have to do. It takes so much effort to appear effortless. Before I press send, I read over it twice, then again out loud. I toy with the idea of telling him I’m a fan of his work, too, but decide against it. I don’t want to seem like I’m sucking up.
Whatever. Who cares? It’s probably a scam anyway.
Send.
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