about what was bothering him. He could see in her eyes that he wasn’t getting through to her, so he clammed up. The relationship didn’t end, really, it just sort of petered out as they drifted apart.
Eventually, with lots of therapy, Jay felt able to put his feelings about that day and Frank behind him. Meg had been in the city on business a couple of times in the interim. Their relations were cordial. She was very understanding as he spilled out all he had learned about his psyche. He still hadn’t been able to get up the guts to ask her out again.
Jay hadn’t thought of Jack in years. What if he were just seizing on the funeral as a chance to see Meg again? How sick was that? He shook his head and frowned at himself in the mirror.
It was almost seven by the time he’d dressed and made it down to his car in the garage. Jay tossed his overnight bag into the back seat and fished around in his pockets for his keys and cigarettes.
He pulled his sunglasses out of the center console as he drove up the ramp. They had been a ritual since the day, blinded by the sun exiting the garage, he’d almost run down an old woman pushing a shopping cart.
Once he’d gotten acclimated to the light, he tossed the sunglasses onto the passenger seat. Jay turned on some music, loud, as he picked his way slowly through the streets in his Jetta. Through the thwick-thwick of his wipers, the city traffic’s normal staccato of color was changed to an impressionist smear.
The light snow of the previous day had changed to a downpour. He thought about what a long drive it would be. If it were raining like this in the south, by the time he got to Haddonfield, the snow might be very heavy.
Beyond the city, traffic cleared up. Jay sped up to take advantage of all the open asphalt. He didn’t relish the idea of spending any more time with his thoughts than was necessary. Being forced to concentrate on his driving would help.
Unfortunately, his plan failed almost immediately. His hands squeezed the wheel so tightly that his fingers began to cramp up. It gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to come up with any good ideas for his next book. The pressure from Titan, which had signed him to a new two book deal on the strength of sales of his first novel, wasn’t helping any. He needed time to let an idea simmer and stew.
"Raven’s End" had taken him a year to flesh out, part-time, while he’d worked as a copywriter for an advertising agency. It had started out as a lark, something to do in his off hours. He wanted to prove to himself that his talents extended beyond writing quips about disposable diapers.
As Jay got deeper into it, the story took on a life of its own. It went beyond an exercise in creativity to being a game. And it was a game that he enjoyed - moving characters and ideas around like the pieces on a chess board, playing with the action and reaction until he’d found something just right.
That was all well and good, the money, the signings, critical success. These were all things that he enjoyed. What he didn’t like were people like his editor, Mark, giving him calls pressing him to deliver when he wasn’t ready.
Jay was afraid to allow himself the luxury of failure with the new book. So many times he felt that he had come up with that one great idea that he could run with, only to be faced with doubts as to whether it was worthy.
It didn’t matter that there were people telling him how great his ideas were. He was the one who was going to have to spend months with them. Jay found it hard to explain to someone else why it was so easy for him to churn out ad copy compared to a novel, nor did he want to try. There was a lot more pain in digging into your self with the knife of introspection to write a novel. Maybe this was the real reason for delay. The moment of truth was coming, though. Money was running out. Titan was making polite, but
Eventually, with lots of therapy, Jay felt able to put his feelings about that day and Frank behind him. Meg had been in the city on business a couple of times in the interim. Their relations were cordial. She was very understanding as he spilled out all he had learned about his psyche. He still hadn’t been able to get up the guts to ask her out again.
Jay hadn’t thought of Jack in years. What if he were just seizing on the funeral as a chance to see Meg again? How sick was that? He shook his head and frowned at himself in the mirror.
It was almost seven by the time he’d dressed and made it down to his car in the garage. Jay tossed his overnight bag into the back seat and fished around in his pockets for his keys and cigarettes.
He pulled his sunglasses out of the center console as he drove up the ramp. They had been a ritual since the day, blinded by the sun exiting the garage, he’d almost run down an old woman pushing a shopping cart.
Once he’d gotten acclimated to the light, he tossed the sunglasses onto the passenger seat. Jay turned on some music, loud, as he picked his way slowly through the streets in his Jetta. Through the thwick-thwick of his wipers, the city traffic’s normal staccato of color was changed to an impressionist smear.
The light snow of the previous day had changed to a downpour. He thought about what a long drive it would be. If it were raining like this in the south, by the time he got to Haddonfield, the snow might be very heavy.
Beyond the city, traffic cleared up. Jay sped up to take advantage of all the open asphalt. He didn’t relish the idea of spending any more time with his thoughts than was necessary. Being forced to concentrate on his driving would help.
Unfortunately, his plan failed almost immediately. His hands squeezed the wheel so tightly that his fingers began to cramp up. It gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to come up with any good ideas for his next book. The pressure from Titan, which had signed him to a new two book deal on the strength of sales of his first novel, wasn’t helping any. He needed time to let an idea simmer and stew.
"Raven’s End" had taken him a year to flesh out, part-time, while he’d worked as a copywriter for an advertising agency. It had started out as a lark, something to do in his off hours. He wanted to prove to himself that his talents extended beyond writing quips about disposable diapers.
As Jay got deeper into it, the story took on a life of its own. It went beyond an exercise in creativity to being a game. And it was a game that he enjoyed - moving characters and ideas around like the pieces on a chess board, playing with the action and reaction until he’d found something just right.
That was all well and good, the money, the signings, critical success. These were all things that he enjoyed. What he didn’t like were people like his editor, Mark, giving him calls pressing him to deliver when he wasn’t ready.
Jay was afraid to allow himself the luxury of failure with the new book. So many times he felt that he had come up with that one great idea that he could run with, only to be faced with doubts as to whether it was worthy.
It didn’t matter that there were people telling him how great his ideas were. He was the one who was going to have to spend months with them. Jay found it hard to explain to someone else why it was so easy for him to churn out ad copy compared to a novel, nor did he want to try. There was a lot more pain in digging into your self with the knife of introspection to write a novel. Maybe this was the real reason for delay. The moment of truth was coming, though. Money was running out. Titan was making polite, but
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