Page 3 of Revenge Reads Better

Me: I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.

Cathie: Oh, definitely the latter. I wish I could write like that. I can’t seem to see past my rose-colored glasses. Everything that comes out of my head is rainbows and butterflies. Or in today’s case, lots of cocks and clits. 😂

Cathie: Your stories feel like they come from a place of truth. They just feel… real. If that makes sense.

Her words linger on the screen for a moment too long before I finally find the words to reply.

Me: I’m a horror novelist. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Cathie: Maybe it’s just the state of the world these days. Everything’s turning to shit. What’s the more likely scenario? One of my romances actually happening in real life… or one of your horror novels?

Cathie: Damn it. Now I’m depressing even myself.

Cathie: Let’s not go there. No use spiraling over shit we can’t control. Let’s end our sprint on a high note, yeah?

Me: Okay.

Cathie: Good. How about you tell me if you have given any more thought to GrimmCon?

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. I thought she wanted to end our time together on a high note, not bring up the one topic she knows gets under my skin.

Cathie’s been trying to convince me to attend the convention ever since Lauren, our editor, asked her to give me a little nudge in the right direction. Apparently, Lauren decided one voice in my ear wasn’t enough to wear me down.

Lauren Kaplan is one of the most brilliantly talented editors Neverland Publishing has. However, she’s terrible at respecting boundaries. And dead wrong when it comes to her powers of persuasion on this account.

It’s not that I have anything against GrimmCon. Quite the opposite. I love it. As a reader, I fully intend to spend the entire weekend happily watching the panels online. But standing on a stage, talking about my writing process in front of a room full of people? Absolutely not.

As flattering as the invitation is, that’s outside my comfort zone. So I’ve politely declined. Repeatedly.

Me: I’m not going.

Me: There’s a reason I write under a pen name. I like my anonymity the way it is.

Cathie: Oh, don’t I know it. Max Usher. You do know there are threads on Reddit claiming you’re a dude, right, babe? Don’t you at least want to set them straight?

Me: People will believe what they want, regardless of the truth. I can’t control that. And I’m not going to do something that will send my anxiety through the roof just to prove a bunch of strangers wrong.

There are some things I’ll never compromise on, and living beneath the scrutiny of thousands of strangers sits firmly at the top of that list.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate my readers. I do. More than they’ll ever know. Without them, I wouldn’t get to do what I love every single day.

My stories give my readers an escape. A place to disappear into whenever the real world becomes too much, where, for a little while, life hurts a little less. They’re a refuge for them, but they’ve become one for me too. That’s a privilege I’ll never take for granted.

Still, meeting them face to face… that’s a hard limit for me.

Cathie: Can’t say I didn’t try.

Me: Noted.

As much as I’ll never admit it to her, the high I’d been riding has taken a serious nosedive with this whole conversation.

Cathie: Anyhoo. Any hot plans for today? Or are you going to spend it all cooped up in your apartment again?

I know it’s a jab, but I let it slide.

Me: Actually, I have a meeting with Lauren this afternoon.

Cathie: Shit! Don’t tell her we talked. She’s still waiting on my last five chapters, and there is no way I can send her this fuckfest with a straight face.