Ron put down his pencil and regarded Rasul with concern. “What happened?”
Again. He should have dismissed this, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t. “It’s… well, I was going to lie and say it wasn’t a big deal, but it is. My agent got a due date for my novel, and it’s next month. I’m still trying to absorb it.”
Stacy’s eyes went wide. “So it’ll be out soon?”
Rasul shook his head. “No, this is the date I need to turn it in by. It’ll be out about a year from now. Slightly less, actually. Which isn’t usual, but they’re rushing it for me.”
Ron’s jaw fell. “That’s rushing?”
Meg looked confused. “But I could put something up on Amazon tomorrow.”
“Can’t you just drop a book like Beyoncé?”
Rasul realized they’d never talked about publishing timetables before. He settled onto his stool and wiped his beard as he tried to think of where to start. “Well, if this book hadn’t been sold years ago and if I hadn’t been paid everything but the second half of the advance, which I get when I turn it in, yeah, I could drop it like Beyoncé. But I wouldn’t get the advance reviews from big magazines and newspapers, and the marketing and publishing team and my personal publicist couldn’t nurture buzz. If I weren’t established already, this timeline would be too tight. They’re counting on the fact that everyone will want to see what I’ve been doing all this time.”
Tina looked so confused. “But we’d all read it now if it came out.”
“You would, yes. But it takes time to get the word out in a big way. Usually with publishing, as an author you’re always working two years ahead. By the time the book comes out, you’re neck deep in the next thing.” He paused as the thought dawned on him. “I think that’s part of where I went astray with this book. Carnivale was so engrossing that I couldn’t get traction on book three. To be honest, I don’t like promoting my work. I get it’s my job, but I’d rather work on the next thing in peace.”
Stacy, one of the fanfic writers, laughed. “But you’re so good at giving interviews. I’ve watched them all online a thousand times.”
The others agreed enthusiastically.
Rasul felt like big pieces of awareness were dropping on him. “I didn’t start writing, though, so I could be famous. I wrote because I had a story I wanted to tell. Because I love the process of creating. But all that attention pulled my focus. I think it messed with my head too. Once I got hooked, I couldn’t stop, even though it wasn’t making me happy.”
Ron beamed. “The cotton-candy theory of parties. I love that.”
“Yeah, but it’s really everything. Attention is food for the moment, but once people pull away, you’re left there feeling isolated, and you need another hit. It’s less cotton candy and more heroin.” He had to stop a minute and realize how much the past few months had been a detox.
Maybe he never wanted his phone back.
“But don’t you need to keep up a social media presence?” Meg asked. “That’s what everything I’ve read about marketing for authors has said.”
Rasul thought of his online accounts, dusty and neglected, and how much lighter he felt because of it. “If you feel motivated by them, then go for it. But if they’re a drain on your creativity, what’s the point?”
Stacy looked thoughtful. “I do have a hard time writing if I leave Twitter open. I always want to check it when I’m stuck.”
“Instagram is my crack,” someone else said.
Rasul knew they’d never get to the official lesson today. Maybe this was the lesson they all needed, especially him. “You have to remember why you’re writing. Everyone will have a different answer, but you have to have a lighthouse. Your lighthouse. Don’t look at someone else’s. If you write because it brings you joy, if you don’t care about those big reviewers or those flashy release parties, then don’t worry about it. Do what works for you.”
“Is that what you do?” Ron asked.
Rasul drew a long breath, then let it out. “I’m trying.”
They talked about publishing for the entire two-hour class, and when it was done, he felt good, but raw. Opening his phone, he texted Jacob.
Rough day. Can I see you?
The reply came back immediately. Sure. I’m at Café Sól having a Mini Main Street meeting. Want to meet me there, or should I come to you?
The thought of sitting at Gus’s table with a cup of vacuum coffee and a cluster of empathetic friends eased his whole soul. I’ll be right over.
WHEN RASUL entered a room, Jacob’s whole universe shifted.
Gus had been pointing this out even before Rasul texted, and he and Matt had pointed to Jacob’s reaction to the messages as proof of their point. Jacob had to acknowledge they were right. Rasul had affected Jacob since the man had appeared in his store. He’d been in a kind of denial about it ever since that day, pretending if he hung back, he wouldn’t be too involved. But ever since the day at the lighthouse, he’d known the truth. Rasul had been his north star since his parents died, and that wasn’t likely to change. If anything, Rasul being physically in his life made that light shine brighter. He’d kept him at arm’s length thinking that would keep him safe, but in hindsight, he’d been lost at first contact.
As Rasul entered the back room at Gus’s shop, though, crisp with cold and bright with terror as he explained he’d been given a due date he wasn’t ready for—as Jacob listened and nodded along with Gus and Matt’s encouragement—Jacob acknowledged this was the way things were now. If Rasul left his life, either the books would remain as his light, or he’d have to find a new guidepost. But for the first time, he realized he could handle that. He didn’t want it, but ironically, because of Rasul, he could face that future.
Rasul tilted his head and waved a hand in front of Jacob’s face. “Hello. Am I boring you?”
Jacob snapped out of his reverie. “No, sorry. Just thinking.”
Rasul clasped his hand under the table and faced the others. “Anyway, enough of my whining. What were you guys talking about before I showed up?”
Before Jacob could panic, Gus put his chin in his hand. “We were debating which Disney hero we most identified with.”
Rasul leaned back in his chair. “Ah. Well, that’s easy. I’m Aladdin. And that’s not because he’s Arab. He’s a lying sack of crap bullshitting his way through the world, smiling so nobody notices. Who were you guys?”
Jacob had been indexing the Disney heroes he knew. “Belle, I guess. Because of the bookshop.”
Rasul snorted. “Please. You’re Moana all the way.”
Jacob’s eyebrows lifted as he turned to him. “How in the world am I Moana?”
Rasul ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “You dreamed of leaving your home, you left, you figured out where your heart really was, you came back, and you led your village out of the dark and into the future. Obviously you’re Moana.”
Matt put his chin in his hand. “I’m jealous. You guys get the good ones. I’m just the mice from Cinderella, sewing clothes.”