How I Became a Bestseller

How I Became a Best Seller

  by

  Suzie Louis

  Copyright 2013 Suzie Louis

  This short story is a work of pure, unadulterated fiction and although the names of famous people may be included in the text they have no link to the events written about and there is no endorsement by them of any event.

  It was growing and had some of the characteristics of an algal bloom: the number had rapidly multiplied as I fed the organism with ever more submissions; they came in a variety of colours and forms and I found them not only toxic but personally harmful in that they blunted my self-esteem and might have made me ill if I wasn't so sure these people didn't know what they were talking about. When they come I secretly eat chocolate which always upsets Mum because it gives me spots.

  But the red tide of rejection letters had not always been unwelcome. Sure, it was always disappointing to get one but I knew deep within me that it was only a matter of time until the day came when my phone rang and the voice of a literary agent told me I was the author of a best seller.

  Mum's come into my room again with a cup of hot water in which a stock cube is slowly disintegrating. I'll stop chewing that bite of Mars bar until she's gone. Luckily I'd shut the drawer where I keep my stash of Mars and Picnic bars.

  'Lunch,' she said and tip toed out, closing the door very quietly.

  Mum treats me like an author even if I'm nearly19 and haven't quite made it yet, but I'll be ready and skinny enough to take the extra 20 pounds the TV cameras will put on when I'm famous and do all the interviews for my book. No use thinking I'll go on a diet after I publish because if I'm fat agents and publishers won't sign me up. I have to be not only young and photogenic, which I am, but even more importantly I have to be thin. Fat old people don't get publishing contracts.

  I've also finished school and will start college soon which is a plus: it's so important to be enrolled in a creative writing degree. The right degree is essential to my future. It'll be great to talk to interviewers about but I don't think I'll be going to lectures because I have to write and do other things.

  Tap, tap at the keyboard for another hour. Thirty words in an hour, not bad. I'll take a break and look at what the Kardashians are doing. Their Facebook pages are awesome, just look at what Kim is wearing. Fabulous. I should pay more attention to Kourtney and Khloe but they don't have Kayne and North. What a brilliant name for the baby, North West.

  My phone is beeping which means I have Tweets. So many demands on my time and there are so few hours in the day. After all I have to sleep and I've been up since 11.30 and produced thirty words so I'll need a break soon. Maybe I'll go down to the Mall and do some shopping which always helps me write descriptions of clothes and accessories. That last submission I made for a fashion bible was great but it's a pity it was rejected. Anyway, I'm onto the cook book now and I'll need some tips for what to wear in the photos while I cook.

  Back from the shops and I have ten emails from agents about my treatment for a screenplay. Agents who handle screenwriters are different to the others. They have these silly rules about a treatment being long and scene by scene with characterisations and descriptions of locations. They are so tedious. I don't know why they can't get what I'm about without all that rubbish. After all it's my best idea yet: a reality show about two socialites who go to live with the Amish for a week. I made it a week because really how could anyone stand it any longer? One of the emails describes my work as 'derivative'. What does that mean? I thought it up myself.

  Well, I'll just get back to this novel I'm working on which has a really interesting premise. I like the word premise, it sounds so grown up. I want to appear mature when I'm famous; you know it's so important to be taken seriously when you're an author. If you're not no-one will book you onto TV chat shows.

  I've had enough for today. I'm going to watch TV, after all it is 2pm and I've been busy for hours. Daytime TV is such an inspiration! I'm going to be on it and then everyone will know I'm an author.

  *

  Well what an experience that was, I've done an episode of Wipeout. I auditioned in my lycra gym pants and a singlet top. All I had to do was climb a ladder. They filmed me from below and after they looked at the tape I was in. After my segment I never thought being famous would feel like that. When that girl who's sometimes not very nice interviewed me, I just went all blank and couldn't say much but the audience will get who I am even though I was knocked out in the first round.

  They don't get authors on Wipeout very often. I can't wait for it to come on TV. In the meantime I have that gig at the Mall to get ready for. Imogen is coming round and we'll get it all in synch. Here she is with that cool nose ring and those hair extensions. Mum won't let me have any face piercings because she says authors don't. It's such a shame. Imogen not only has a nose ring she has a stud in her chin with her initial, 'I'. I wish I had one.

  Imogen is gone and she is such a bitch. We rehearsed for hours and she still can't keep up. She falls behind the beat when I sing which is really annoying. And what's with the pointy toes when she plays the flute? It is so uncool. Maybe I'll get her to sit down when we do our gig tomorrow. I have my spot booked for the morning but even Mum went a bit white when she saw the invoice from the shopping centre. Two thousand dollars for a position on the walkway for the day is a bit steep but if it helps my career she shouldn't complain. The main thing is not to tell Dad. He thinks all the money Mum and I spend on promoting me goes on my teeth but it doesn't. I'll give them an extra whiten tonight though just so he thinks I've had a scale and clean.

  I'm going to bed to catch up with Facebook and read what's new on fan fiction. Those people are so tragic, giving away their work for free. I never will.

  Mum's driving me to the Mall and Imogen is meeting me there. We have a spot and it's right outside the fish shop. My God, it's fresh fish and the smell…. Mum's gone to see the centre manager. This can't be right, I can't perform here; it stinks. Imogen is late and if she doesn't arrive soon we'll miss the mid morning coffee crowd. I wish we were in front of that cool cafe again but the owner had us moved last time. I don't know why.

  Mum's back and she's chewing gum which isn't a good sign. She only does that when people don't do what she wants so I guess this is the spot today. I want to cry and start to blub but Mum pinches me until I stop. I know she's paid a fortune for me to perform here and that we're really late because I wouldn't get up but Imogen isn't here so how can I start without her?

  'Do it a cappella,' Mum says. My throat's gone dry and I start to have palpitations just like when they tried me to do the cross country at school. It was twenty kilometres for God's sake. There was no way I was doing that. Just the idea of running, let alone running kilometres, sent my heart racing and I fainted. Will I faint now? Better not, Mum's really mad and she might scream in public. I can do this so I set up and start to sing all by myself without Imogen's accompaniment.

  My first song is from chapter one of my teen angst novel, The Suicide Pill, which is really a tribute to Keith Cobain. I have fifty pages of manuscript on that one so I've selected six songs to sing today, all extracts from the text. I love this stuff and start to sing, 'A pink one does it for me…oooooh ahhhh I can feel it going down……..'

  I can feel people are starting to stop and listen which gives me confidence so I keeping singing and make it louder because the public announcements and Muzak tend to drown me out. I sing with my eyes closed, it helps me concentrate and shut out the distractions. At the end of the first song I hear money dropping onto my scarf which I felt slip away to the floor earlier. I suppose someone must have dropped their bag and the change fell out but I keep singing and finally Imogen arrives and starts to play.
We worked through my six songs and then I opened my eyes. Mum's in an argument with the centre manager and my scarf is covered with money.

  I can hear the manager shouting about no begging in the centre and Mum exploiting a blind child. I have no idea what he means and wait for Mum to come back but she doesn't. All of a sudden she takes a swing at the guy and he goes down. Everyone stopped and looked because he's out cold. Some other people arrived and a security guard came and grabbed Mum.

  It was a pretty long afternoon then, what with the trip to the Police Station and all. I have to say though it was really interesting because I've never seen anyone booked for assault before. The picture they took of Mum wasn't very good though and they did lock her up in that small glass cubicle until Dad and the lawyer arrived and she went in front of the Judge and got bail. I wish I'd seen the interview she had with the Police, that would have been real life research. I could write a crime novel with that.

  At home Mum's been throwing things around in the kitchen and Dad's in front of the TV with a bottle of scotch. They're upset that people thought I was a blind kid begging in the centre. The manager said it didn't matter that Mum had paid, it looked as though I was begging.

  But it's been a pretty good day really; I've started on the crime novel about a housewife who beats up a guy in a shopping mall and I picked up forty five dollars thrown onto my scarf. I'll use it to pay for a new haircut. Victoria Beckham's famous, if I get a haircut like hers it can't hurt, especially when I'm being interviewed for the local paper tomorrow about what happened at the Mall. They're sure to want a photo.

  *

  So, so, so, exciting. I did the interview with the paper and one of the big papers picked I up. I'm in the national press but I wish they hadn't used that picture of Mum at the Police Station.

  She was pretty upset but then she had a call from the X-Factor. They saw the article in the paper and want me to come on the show and sing one of my songs. One of the contestants got chicken pox so I have to fill in at the last minute but I'll be ready. I don't know why I have to wear sunglasses but it's ok, I'll borrow Mum's new ones with the glitter frames. They are just so safe. She says they're cool but they're more than that: no chance of me being owned. That's embarrassed by the way. I'm going to be famous and meet Simon Cowell. They don't want Imogen though; I wonder why? Oh well, she's a bitch anyway. We go in the morning.

  I'm so busy, I have to put this up on Facebook and take some photos for Instagram and I'll Storify everything. I can tweet from the studio. This is going to be cool beans. It's time I started a blog as well. I don't know why I haven't thought about it before, people will be so interested in what's going on with me. If I get too busy I'll make Imogen write it, she's got nothing else to do.

  My intro on X-Factor was a bit funny really. They said I was the girl who'd do anything to be published, including posing as a blind person in a shopping mall. It put me off but then the music started and it was just fabulous to hear that live orchestra play my music, the theme from Titanic. I had to sing the same song from The Suicide Pill but I think with a national audience I should have gone for something else; something that really showed my versatility with words.

  The one from my historical series would have been perfect. I called it OJ's Lament because I thought OJ Simpson was a misunderstood character who needed redemption in the eyes of a brainwashed and cynical public. I know that when I got to the part about the blood soaked gloves I'd have them in the palm of my hand. That prose just translates to song so well. Maybe I can sing it in the next round.

  The reaction at the end was funny though. That bitchy woman said what I'd had in a rejection letter once: go away and learn to string words together. Then she said I couldn't sing. She was so cruel, she didn't get me at all but the guys did. Simon Cowell was so sweet and said I was really original so I'm through to the next round. Mum was great though, she tipped a jug of water over the woman judge as we left. The judge's hair extensions went all floppy and the clips showed. I guess they'll tidy her up before they tape the next contestant.

  But that's not all. My TV career has taken off because I've been invited onto Ellen! Can you believe it, she wants to interview me and there's some kind of surprise. We'll find out soon but in the meantime I've had more rejections for the crime novel which is unbelievable. I slaved over those ten pages I sent. Who do they think they are? Don't they know I'm getting to be famous?

  Mum says not worry the Wipeout segment was really well received and even though TV Week wrote me up as that blind girl who sang in the mall they thought I was an interesting contestant and I wouldn't have been eliminated if I could see. If only Wipeout had let me sing or read aloud from one of my books. I must talk to Mum about a reading in a book shop. That'd show the agents.

  *

  Mum had another call last night from a guy who said he was a film producer and wanted to make a short feature with me. We're going to see him tomorrow. Dad can't come because he has to work to make more money. The lawyer's bills for Mum's court case for assault are mounting up. Dad seems a bit off you know the way old people get at times. I hope he's all right, the producer from Ellen said he has to be at the taping next week as well. If he has a heart attack or something before then I'll never forgive him.

  We're back from the film producer's studio which was a room in his really small house. It wasn't very nice and Mum wouldn't stay. He seemed all right though even if he did have makeup on. I guess you need that for the lights. There was this really cute guy there as well. Built you know. I slipped him my number when Mum wasn't looking. I hope he calls soon.

  With all the TV stuff I haven't written anything new for a couple of weeks but there have been some more rejections from agents. Dodos I reckon, they have no idea what they're missing.

  My phone is ringing. It's him and we're going out to a really great club. It's the night before Ellen but it'll be fine. Mum won't know, I'll just go out after she goes to bed.

  I think I'm in love. Damien is just so…so awesome. I spent the night and had to sneak back in before Dad left for work but I made it. I'm going to have a bath and think about Damien until it's time to go to the studio.

  Wow, the whole Ellen experience, I'm just so into it. They gave me clothes, my hair was done, my nails and makeup. The shoes, they're Jimmy Choo. This is so much better than the X-Factor. Mum looks nervous and Dad's drinking something out of a paper bag. What is wrong with them? Don't they know I'm famous?

  Then the producer comes in and talks to Mum and Dad. He's whispering so I can't hear and then Dad tells me what the surprise is. Ellen has arranged for the centre manager to come onto the show as well and make up with Mum on camera. There'll be hugs and tears and he'll drop the charges. Dad is so pleased. I'm glad for Mum, she didn't like it when we went to court the first time to get bail. The Judge wasn't the least bit nice. He called Mum the defendant and told her she couldn't go into shopping malls which is ridiculous and she had to report to that smelly police station once a week. Now Ellen has arranged everything Mum won't go to prison.

  Ellen was terrific and the audience really liked it when the centre manager hugged Mum and shook Dad's hand. As we were leaving he thanked the producer for the cheque. I wonder what he meant?

  *

  It's all over the news and Facebook is just alive with it. When I see Damien I'm going to ask him why he made a video of our night together and then sold the story to the tabloids. He didn't need to do that because I was doing fine on my own and becoming quite famous. Of course since the tape I'm very famous but I wanted to do it myself.

  Anyway when I saw the literary agent who signed me up last week, she was really nice and said don't worry about it. The deal with the publisher for six figures is done and it's a three book deal. I also have my own reality show, well with Mum and Dad actually, which will be fun but really I'm an author so I asked my new agent which of my books the publishers want. She said,

  'You're so sweet dear. Don't you know? They don't
want any of them. They're getting a ghost writer to do the story of your life. You won't have to write a thing; you're going to be a best seller.'

  ***

  I hope you enjoyed this. You can follow me at my blog: Suzie Louis blogspot

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