25. Mina

Marjorie's voice meant business.

I sat.

I glanced over at Quoth, hoping to convey through my facial expressions that if he had in any way engineered this, I would eviscerate him. But my raven kept hold of my hand in his lap, his body at ease.

Marjorie pulled her chair closer to me. She smelled of hot glue and etching chemicals. In the window behind her head, one of her tactile metal mobiles made a loud CLUNK as the late afternoon breeze hit it.

"May I ask, why have you canceled your launch? And why are you so obsessed with finding James Pond? Does it have something to do with your wedding?" Her voice softened. "Or your book?"

I sucked in a breath. Marjorie heard, because she patted my knee. I squeezed Quoth's hand so hard I heard him exhale.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Here, beneath the weight of these two artists who had overcome so much to put their work out in the world, I felt so stupid.

"Mina, what is it?"

"It's just…" I swallowed a breath. "I invited all these famous reviewers and literary people that I know through Nevermore to my book launch, and none of them were coming. Not a single one. I sent out ARC copies to reviewers, and no one took me up on it. No one. And I know that all my friends would have come anyway, but that makes it worse. I didn't want to fail in front of everyone."

"Oh, Mina, don't you see that putting out a piece of art is never failing?"

I shook my head. "An editor, Jen Whately, told me that she might've been interested in my book, but she didn't think my blind heroine would be relatable to readers. It's too niche, or…"

Marjorie snorted. "And let me guess, you're now second-guessing publishing the book in the first place? You're thinking about rewriting that character as a sightie? Or maybe shredding your manuscript and crawling into a hole and never writing another word ever again?"

"Pretty much," I admitted.

Quoth squeezed my hand back. "Mina, why didn't you tell me this?"

"Because I'm embarrassed." Even talking about it now made my cheeks grow hot. "I've seen how hard you've worked to overcome your shyness to put your work out there, and here I am trying to do the same thing, and I want to bail at the eleventh hour. I'm embarrassed because these people have no reason to lie to me, and it must mean that my book is destined for failure. I know academically that I have to take these things on the chin if I want to be a writer, but all I feel is that I'm not good enough. Still. After all this time, after all the work I've done, my blindness still makes me not enough."

"Do you think I could have done any of those things without you?" Quoth whispered. "That's what I was trying to tell you before, Mina. Everything I've been able to achieve with my art is because of you."

"Can I give you some advice, one artist to another?" Marjorie asked.

I shrugged. "Sure."

"If you want to be a creative and put your work out into the world, you have to accept that your work then stops belonging to you and instead belongs to the world, and people in the world will develop opinions on it, and lots of those opinions will be wrong and cruel and dumb. Some of them will be cruel and correct, and those usually hurt worse. When I applied to art schools, the director at one particular institution invited me to a meeting. I thought he was offering me a place in a prestigious programme, and I was beside myself with excitement. It turned out that he wanted to personally talk me out of becoming an artist. He said that the art studio was dangerous, that I was a health and safety risk, especially if I wanted to work with metal. He said that they would have to make so many changes to accommodate me that I'd bankrupt the entire program. I managed to hold it together until he dismissed me, and then I burst into tears. But I decided that I wasn't going to let people like that hold me back, and I kept applying to art schools, and eventually, I found this place. They didn't just accept me here, they welcomed me. They were excited about my work and my perspective. They asked me what they could do to make the art studio safe for me, and how they could help me achieve my artistic vision.

"Time and again, you will come up against people who don't get what you're doing or why you're doing it. You might not have come up against this much in the fashion world because you were so young and at the beginning of your journey, or maybe because you weren't emotionally invested in the pieces you created. But now, because writing is like stabbing a pen into your heart and using your own blood as ink, when you face rejection, it feels like a rejection of you."

The tears that had been sitting at the corners of my eyes all day finally spilt over. I nodded, then remembered that Marjorie couldn't see it. "Yes," I whispered, crushing Quoth's fingers in mine.

"The truth is, this editor might be right – publishing houses might not be interested in books like yours. The world is often happier pretending that people like you and I don't exist. But we do, and there will be people out there who need your stories. Those are the people who should come to your book launch. Don't waste a single sausage roll on people who don't believe in you. Instead, go to your audience directly."

I heard her tapping away on her Perkins. Marjorie pulled out a piece of Braille paper and handed it to me.

"If you change your mind about the book launch in the future, I'm giving you the numbers of a couple of my friends. Give them a call. They'll help you get the word out amongst our community. People will be interested in your story, Mina. You're a bright girl with incredible creative vision. I'd hate to see you give up on this dream."

"Marjorie, I—" I couldn't say anything more because my tears were falling on the paper.

"What do you say?" Quoth squeezed my hand. "Would you consider giving the book launch another shot?"

"Maybe," I sniffed. "Yes, I think so. It's too close to the wedding to make it happen now, but I'd like to arrange it in a few weeks." I turned to Marjorie. "Will you come if the launch is back on? I might need someone to hold my hair back when I throw up."

"I wouldn't miss it," she said, her voice bright.

"Then we'll save you as many sausage rolls as you can eat," I promised.

"That's what I wanted to hear." She gave my knee a final squeeze. "Now, stop worrying about James Pond and your book, and go get married!"