Caught dead to write, p.6
Caught Dead to Write, page 6
“That’s right. I talked to him before we all went to the living room to meet with Tammy. We talked briefly about his session tomorrow.” Cat remembered that Professor Lancaster had been standing by the wall, watching but not really talking to anyone. “He seemed uncomfortable being there. I bet he was worried about Harriet and her snitching on him with the rest of the English department.”
“You all are a little touchy about what you write, aren’t you?” Shauna finished her sandwich and stood to put the plate in the dishwasher. “You make it sound like a crime to be seen at our sordid writers’ retreat.”
“For literary writers, it is.” Cat set her sandwich down. “When I taught at Covington, my next step would have been to publish a book. And they didn’t want to hear about the Tori series. They wanted a serious piece of literature, like a modern take on Hemingway or Tolstoy. A teenage witch going to a school for creatures, that wasn’t real writing. Michael was horrified when he found out I sent that book to the agent. And yet, that was the book that sold and set up this author career. A book and series I love to write.”
“It’s kind of like the difference in being a handyman and a general contractor,” Seth put in. “My buddies always tease me that I’m wasting my time building decks and remodeling houses. But I like working on one project at a time. I get to help people out that don’t have the money to hire someone to build a completely new house for them.”
Cat was surprised that Seth understood. But then she realized, he had always understood her. She was the one who’d thought she wanted to teach at the university level. He’d known her true love had been story, even back in high school.
“Well, I’m going to take Snow out for a jaunt at the arena while the writers are gone. I’ll be back by five and have dinner on the table by six, if that will work.” Shauna wiped her hands on a towel and looked around at the kitchen. “We’ve got more than enough treats for today and I’m planning on baking again tomorrow.”
“Have fun.” Cat watched as Seth stood as well. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to paint on the third floor. I think we might have more guest rooms for your January retreat if I don’t run into any issues between now and then.” He put his plate in the dishwasher. “Thanks for the grub, Shauna. Yummy as usual.”
“You’re most welcome.” Shauna went to the door and pulled on her coat as Seth disappeared into the hallway outside the kitchen. She turned to Cat as she grabbed the keys to the truck. “What are your plans?”
“I’m going upstairs to work. I’ve got to hit this deadline.” Cat held up her sandwich. “Just as soon as I finish this.”
When she was alone in the kitchen, she felt a chill. The house was almost totally empty. Seth was in the other wing and he’d probably taken Sam with him upstairs to paint. She could go look for one of the cats, but instead, she finished her sandwich, putting the plate into the dishwasher. She watched Shauna walk out to the barn. Everyone was going on with life like nothing had happened.
So why was she so focused on a murder of a woman she hadn’t even liked?
7
Cat flipped through the goal sheets she’d received from the retreat guests. Dalton was the most optimistic. He wanted to get thirty thousand words in between today and Saturday. She might have to temper his enthusiasm a bit tonight, but she’d add their word count goals to the whiteboard before they got together and maybe he’d lower his goal count himself. Stephen had the least number of words to goal. She didn’t know if he was expecting grief to hit and distract him or if he was always negative about his projected word count.
She’d found that sometimes the Covington students had been brainwashed by the image of the struggling writer. Locked up in the garret, writing each word like it was made of gold or written in blood. Self-taught writers didn’t know that they weren’t supposed to hit three or even four thousand words a day. So they did. Now, the words tended to need a little more editing, but they got the story down. Then they could word craft it during the editing process. She made a note to talk to Shauna about holding an editing-focused session for past attendees. Maybe they could do it as a second session each month.
Or, she thought, scribbling the idea down, if they had the rooms available in January, they could run two sessions at the same time. One for writing words and the second one for editing. She’d have to add more sessions to the week, but each night, the entire group could get together to sprint. Some would be editing. Some writing. And maybe even some brainstorming time. She’d have to ask if anyone needed some for this session. The time they riffed on cozy mystery titles had been really fun.
Writing should be fun, she mused as she continued to review the goal sheets, making notes in her own planner to talk to each guest about different things as she went. Harriet Barring had considered writing a chore. A job. And worse, a calling that only the talented few could be indoctrinated into the cult of publishing.
Cat would put her faith in hard work over talent any day. Especially if the writer was willing to change and grow as they put in the work. Satisfied with the goal sheets, she slipped them back in the folder and set the folder near her laptop so she’d remember to take them down for the writing sprint session later.
Then she booted up her desktop computer. She should check email and see if she had anything pressing, but the idea of finding the fun in writing had made her think of a scene between Tori’s sorority sisters and the coven members. And Tori in the middle trying to counter spell and keep her human friends from waking up with green hair and enough extra pounds on the cheerleaders to keep them from fitting into their uniforms on game day.
She’d just sent an exhausted but happy Tori to watch the football game with at least one of her coven friends who had seen the error in her ways when a knock sounded at her office door. She scribbled a note about missing one curse and having a live mascot run onto the field as she called out a short, “Come in.”
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but if you’re going to eat before the sprinting session tonight, you need to come down.” Shauna came in with a dish pan and started filling it with coffee cups and empty plates. “The writing must be going well.”
Cat stretched and checked the clock. “Wow, it’s already five thirty? The writing was going amazing. I’m just going to send this to the cloud so I can continue it during the session. And, I had an idea about January’s session I want to run by you and Seth.”
“Well, it will have to be just me. Seth stopped in and told me he was meeting one of his friends for dinner. They’re in town for the day.” Shauna watched Cat turn and work on the computer. “Don’t be upset. You know he’s not going to leave again. He promised.”
“He left last time because someone needed him. I’m not upset, but I swear, I don’t understand the man at all. Anyway, I’m done here. Let’s go eat and I can tell you my amazing idea.” Cat shut her computer down and saw her reflection in the darkened screen. She smiled into the screen before she turned around. She might as well look like she wasn’t worried. Turn that frown upside down. That had been one of her mom’s favorite sayings when Cat was growing up.
The frown returned when she saw the pile of dishes in the dishpan Shauna was holding. “You don’t have to clean up after me. I would have done it.”
“You’re writing. I don’t mind doing my part. You were kind enough to help with dishes when I was working on the last cookbook. Tons and tons of dishes.” Shauna held the door open for Cat to walk out with her laptop, her planner, and the goal sheet folder. “I’m just paying you back.”
“I also got to eat your test recipes, remember? When are you starting the next cookbook?” She followed Shauna down the stairs.
“I sent some ideas over to my editor but I haven’t heard back. If I don’t hear anything soon, I’m going to start working on the Warm Springs Writers Retreat cookbook. That way we can get all these brunch recipes down and in one spot. And when one of the writers emails me for a recipe, I can send them the link to the cookbook.” Shauna laughed as they hit the landing for the second floor. The hallway with the writers’ rooms was empty and quiet.
“No one’s back yet?” Cat asked.
Shauna shook her head. “Not a one. But it’s only Monday. They’re still all getting to know each other and not focusing on the work they want to get done.”
“Three of them already know each other,” Cat reminded her. “Sometimes having a group come together isn’t as effective in their development. They see it as a vacation, not a work event.”
“Truly, it is a vacation. Only freaks like you think of a writing retreat as a work event,” Shauna teased as they continued down the stairs.
“There’s a name for freaks like me: successful authors,” Cat shot back as they made their way into the kitchen to continue the conversation over dinner.
Professor Lancaster arrived promptly at nine thirty to prepare for his ten o’clock lecture. Cat met him at the door, then took him to the dining room for some coffee and treats. “I really appreciate you coming to the session this month. I know Professor Turner was disappointed that I asked you to lecture, but I have a poetry student in my group this month and wanted to give him something he could use rather than a study of story.”
“Studying story is valid for both the prose and the poetry student, but I’m pleased you asked me. I haven’t had the opportunity to lecture on word choice and origins since I quit teaching at the Denver Community College a few years ago. I keep submitting it as an optional class here at Covington, but I’m afraid the course contact isn’t being taken seriously versus the study of Hemingway or Shakespeare.”
“Sometimes we need to try new things and bring a bit of life into our plans, don’t you think?” Cat poured the coffee, then sat at the table next to him. “I’m trying to recall but I don’t think you were on staff when I taught at Covington. As a junior professor, I only taught the entry level classes, then I left the area.”
“I’ve heard the stories. You were married to the great economist, Michael Latimer, if I’ve heard right. And you left a big hole to fill for your replacement, which was me. Everyone loved your classes.” He sipped his coffee as he watched her reaction.
“Oh, I didn’t know that’s when you started. Thank you for taking over in the middle of a term. The dean was furious at me, but I couldn’t stay for, well, personal reasons.” She held out a hand. “I’m Cat, by the way. Thank you for coming to our party on Saturday. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to chat.”
“Thank you for inviting me. I really enjoyed myself. I’m a bit of an introvert but I love watching people. Fodder for the work, right?” He glanced around the room filled with sweets and treats. “Call me Todd. I have to say, your new gig is much better stocked than the school’s employee dining room. How do you stay so skinny?”
“My writing office is on the third floor. So lots of steps. And I like to run.” Cat leaned against her chair. The change in professors for the Covington section was going to work out fine. Todd was personable, intelligent, and easy to talk to with no apparent quirks they’d need to work around. “In January, we’re going to be expanding our sessions and I’d love to have you come back and talk then too. I’ll pay you for your time. As it stands, Professor Turner is paid by the college as part of our contract. For this session, you’ll be getting paid for your time by the college, but if I ask you back in January, I’ll foot that bill.”
“Sounds lovely. I’ve missed having extra money when I stopped doing the community college work. I thought the raise from associate professor to professor would have been a bit more. I don’t miss the drive to Denver three nights a week.” He finished his coffee. “Shall we get set up? I like to see where I’ll be speaking, if you don’t mind. And if you have any adjustments to the discussion you’d like to make, we can talk after the session.”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you again.” She stood and headed to the living room. “Follow me.”
After she got Professor Lancaster settled in the room, she left him alone to gather his thoughts and went to the kitchen to get a water bottle. Shauna was at the counter, making what smelled like cinnamon roll dough. “Hey, our new professor is here and he’s game to start coming monthly when we start up this new process with two sessions going at once.”
“If we start up the new process. You said we were going to talk to Seth first and now you’re hiring professors to give talks? Unless you’re replacing Professor Turner with him. That I’m all for. That man can put to sleep a caffeinated colicky baby.”
Cat giggled at the imagery. “He means well.” She paused as she refilled her coffee cup. “Wait, have you been listening in on Turner’s lectures?”
“Once or twice. I thought it might be helpful with the cookbook writing, and it was, because all I did the entire hour was think about the food I could be making instead of listening to him.” She put the last roll into the pan and then covered it with foil and put it in the fridge. “Those are for tomorrow. So this new professor, you think he’ll work out for the editing session?”
They talked a few minutes about the possible change and then Cat jumped up. “I better go introduce him so he feels welcome. We can finish this over lunch. Will Seth be here?”
“I think so, but maybe you should ask him yourself. You two need to actually talk to each other to work on whatever this problem is between the two of you.” Shauna went over to her desk and pulled out a clipboard. “I can’t be used as a telegram service this week. I’ve got things to do.”
Shauna headed out the door and Cat followed her. They parted ways at the stairs. Shauna was heading up to do some light housekeeping on the guests’ rooms while they were all in the session with the new professor. Todd, Cat reminded herself. And she was heading into the session. The door to Seth’s area was right there. She could pop in and quickly ask if he was coming to lunch. She reached for the handle, and Deek came out of the den. “Oh, hi.”
He looked at her, then back at the den door. “You did say it was okay for us to use that room, right?”
“Of course, you just startled me. How’s the writing going?” She dropped her hand and fell in step with Deek, who had been on his way to the living room.
“Triple dog amazing. I can’t believe how comfortable it is having a designated writing space. I just moved into my own apartment. It’s over the bookstore. Anyway, it’s great, but there’s only three rooms, the bathroom, the bedroom, and the rest. I’ve set my desk up on the kitchen table, but my mom always moves the papers to one side when she comes to refill my fridge.” Deek held up his hands. “I know, first world problems. And I love my mom taking care of me like that, but I’m thinking of buying a small desk to put in the dining area. The apartment came furnished but having a desk in there would make all the difference.”
“Sometimes it’s not where you write, it’s the time and energy you put into your writing sessions. Some of my author friends write on a laptop and can write anywhere. Me, unless we’re doing sprints, I write in my office on my laptop. I get what you’re saying.” Cat pulled out her phone. “I’m going to add that discussion to tomorrow’s ask the author session. I think it’s a good one, especially when you think about how you can take the ‘retreat’ and implement some of the processes at home.”
“What a great idea. The three of us from South Cove, we already have a critique group that meets weekly. Maybe we should have a writing sprint night as well.” Deek chatted on about his idea as they moved into the living room. The rest of the group was already there.
Cat interrupted Deek and asked him to find a seat. Then she went to the lectern to introduce their session lecturer. “Sorry that Deek and I were late; we were just talking about some ideas on how to bring the retreat home with you. He’s got some amazing proposals for our South Cove guests. Tomorrow we’ll be talking about it in our sessions, so think about it tonight and bring your ideas too. Today, we’re excited to introduce our newest member to the Warm Springs Writers’ Retreat experts, Professor Todd Lancaster from Covington College. I’ve asked the professor to talk about word origins and word choices in your writing. So I’ll turn it over to Professor Lancaster.”
Cat sat in the last available chair where she’d left her notebook earlier when she’d set up the room. Having something to write in gave her the chance to make notes if she wanted or to wander off and plan either the rest of the week or the next scene in her novel, depending on how boring the lecturer became. As a bonus, she always looked like a good, attentive student. It was a trick she’d learned to pull off during high school and it had never failed her yet.
After the professor had ended, the group gathered in the living room, talking about lunch plans. They were going to the Diner again. It was a popular place with visiting writers. The food was good and cheap. Stephen came over to Cat and pulled her aside from the group. “What’s going on?” she asked.
He shuffled his feet and kept an eye on the rest of the group. “I don’t want to miss them leaving for lunch. Having people around me this week, well, it’s been a blessing. I appreciate you allowing me to continue with the retreat, even though, well, what happened.”
“Stephen, you paid the fee. You belong here. But if you ever feel like it’s too much, just let me know and I’ll give you a credit for another week. You don’t have to be here.” Cat looked at the man standing in front of her. It was clear he wasn’t sleeping well and his eyes looked a little dull, like he’d been hit with a train and didn’t know where it had come from.
“No, I need to be here.” He sighed and held up a hand to Deek, letting him know he’d be ready in a few minutes. “They’re kind and it helps me not think about how mad I am at Harriet. We could have been the perfect couple. Like you and your ex-husband. There was no reason I couldn’t have worked at Covington, except for Harriet not wanting me there. She made our last few years hell. And as much as I hate her for that, I loved her still.”
