Page 35 of All Our Almosts

This morning breaks from the routine, however, when I burst into the kitchen shouting, “SNOW DAY!”

“What?” Andy asks over his shoulder, filling a pot of water at the kitchen sink.

“HR just emailed. The museum is closed because of the storm!” I can’t help myself. I run and jump onto his back. He catches me easily, hoisting me up with two big hands under my thighs. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

Once I’m properly balanced on his back, he reaches to turn off the tap. “We still have to work.”

“Yeah but who cares? We can work together. We can sit on the living room floor or something and make a day of it. I’m talking snacks, maybe a background movie... It’ll be a great day!”

“We have a table.” Andy carries the pot of water over to the stove with one hand, the other still holding my leg to keep me steady.

“That’s so much less fun and special than the floor. Didn’t you hear? It’s a snow day!” I pat rhythmically on his chest, wiggling my shoulders and kicking my legs and making his task essentially impossible.

He sets me on the ground, then turns to face me. For a moment it looks like he’s going to object. But in classic Andy fashion, it only takes about two seconds of expectant eye contact to fold him like origami paper. He sighs, “Okay. Go get your computer while I hard boil these eggs.”

I can admit, the floor set up is less than comfortable, but that’s not the point. Andy’s seated on the floor in front of the couch, computer on the coffee table. I’m lying on my stomach across the living room rug, computer and sticky notes sprawling in front of me.

We put a crappy movie on in the background. It’s a Netflix Christmas special, which may be two months out of date but felt thematically appropriate for the snow day. And despite the floor-induced back pain and cloying dialogue, we both have productive mornings. I draft my remarks for the exhibit launch (Did I mention I have to give a speech? I’m nervous, but I’m sure it will be fine...) and Andy catches up on client emails. It’s only when he lets out a dramatic groan that our concentration breaks.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “This guy is killing me.”

“Why?” I shift positions until I’m sitting cross-legged.

“He never listens to my suggestions and his draft is full of plot holes.”

“Is this the guy who wants to introduce a brand new character in the climax?”

“Mhm.”

“He emailed you? Can I see?”

Andy shuffles out from behind the coffee table and places the computer in front of me on the rug. When I read the text on the screen, I can’t help but roll my eyes.

Andy

I don’t think you understand the intended tone of the work. Readers are supposed to think a happy ending is inevitable until Chapter 26. If they have all the information earlier on the story will lose all mystery and nuance. Please try rereading with this in mind. I look forward to seeing a new round of edits soon.

Hank W. Bristol

“Okay, first of all, Hank W. Bristol seems like a real jerk. But have you tried using a compliment sandwich?”

Andy gives me an incredulous look.

“I’m serious. Here, watch, I’ll template it for you.”

I take maybe 60 seconds to type out a response, starting with praise, then constructive criticism, then praise again, using what Andy’s told me about this manuscript already but leaving blanks where he can fill in the details.

Dear Hank,

Thanks for this clarification. I see what you mean, and agree it is a great strategy to leave subtle breadcrumbs for the reader to pick up throughout the work without ever leading them directly to the answers. The manuscript does this very well in _____.

I think this structure would be even more effective if ______ is introduced or foreshadowed earlier. That way the reader won’t have to suspend their disbelief about the coincidental timing of _____.

Let me know if you’d like help brainstorming ways to do this. I think with these few additions, the work has the potential to be a real page-turner.

All the best,