“So, how do you *really* decide what to publish?”
He looked at the book in my hand and blanched—but his lips remained shut. I slowly opened the book to page one and brought it close to his face, so close I could see his eyes instinctively following the words across the page. It only took three pages of reading before he broke and started babbling. I scribbled it down in my notebook as he spoke.
“StopstopstopI’lltellyoueverything! You see, years ago an agent—I think she was Miss Snark—rigged it up so every thousandth query would get a partial, and then whoever sent the partial on the right weight of paper—”
He was lying. I reached for the second Twilight book and slowly opened it. He spilled everything.
And when he was done, he sat there, trembling. “What are you going to with what I said?”
I smiled a quirky, satisfied grin. “Publish it.”
I snorted. “No. Well….”
His eyes gleamed craftily. “You’ll need an editor.”
I gulped. “I’ve got a couple hundred dollars; I can print… ten books. My mom’ll love it.”
“Mm-hmm. Send me a partial.”