Underdog
First published in Australia in 2019
by Underdog Books
underdogshortstories.com
[email protected]
ISBN: 9781760641344 (paperback)
eISBN: 9781743820797 (ebook)
The Gap Between Us by Sofia Casanova © 2018
Afterdeath by Cassi Dorian © 2018
Meet and Greet by Michael Earp © 2018
Chemical Expression by Jes Layton © 2018
Breathe Me In by Sophie L Macdonald © 2018
Variation by Tobias Madden © 2018
The Bees by Stacey Malacari © 2018
The Swan by Felicity Martin © 2018
Living Rose by Kaneana May © 2018
Remnants by KM Stamer-Squair © 2018
Mediocre Heroes by Sarah Taviani © 2018
The Chinese Menu for the Afterlife by Vivian Wei © 2018
The rights of Sofia Casanova, Cassi Dorian, Michael Earp, Jes Layton, Sophie L Macdonald, Tobias Madden, Stacey Malacari, Felicity Martin, Kaneana May, KM Stamer-Squair, Sarah Taviani, and Vivian Wei, to be identified as the authors of this work, have been asserted by them under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written consent of the publisher.
Cover design, cover artwork, and interior artwork by Alissa Dinallo © 2018
Underdog logo by Judd Madden © 2017
Typeset in Baskerville Regular by Tobias Madden
Contents
Foreword
Fleur Ferris
Meet and Greet
Michael Earp
Breathe Me In
Sophie L Macdonald
Remnants
KM Stamer-Squair
Mediocre Heroes
Sarah Taviani
The Swan
Felicity Martin
The Chinese Menu for the Afterlife
Vivian Wei
Variation
Tobias Madden
Chemical Expression
Jes Layton
The Bees
Stacey Malacari
The Gap Between Us
Sofia Casanova
Afterdeath
Cassi Dorian
Living Rose
Kaneana May
About the Authors
Editor’s Acknowledgements
Foreword
by Fleur Ferris
Many years ago, when I decided I wanted to be a police officer, one quick phone call to the recruiting office told me there was a set procedure to follow to make it happen. The method was tried and tested, and every police officer before and after me also followed it—it wouldn’t be easy, but if I worked hard and passed the application and training processes, I would make it through. It was the same when I decided to be a paramedic: there was an application process to follow, study to do, exams to pass, rules to obey, and specified requirements to meet before I could succeed. This was the case for every set goal in my life, until I decided I wanted to be a traditionally-published author.
After reading numerous author blogs and interviews, I realised I had thrown myself into a world of uncertainty. It seemed no author’s ‘getting published’ story was the same as another’s. There isn’t even regularity in the submission process. Each agency and publisher has their own dos and don’ts, and even if you research and follow the set submission guidelines, there are still no guarantees of success.
I’m the type of person who loves concrete evidence—research, formulas, science, facts—yet, this industry I wanted to get into offered none of these things. This is what I knew:
1) There are published authors in the world.
2) Authors are people.
3) I’m a person.
4) Therefore, I have a chance.
Optimism is everything! But, now what?
I attended festivals, did workshops and courses, listened to agents, publishers and published authors on panels, read a lot and, of course, wrote a lot. I found other writers with similar goals and exchanged critiques with them. I did whatever I could to improve my craft, and while I felt like I was bombarded with choices about how to get published, my research told me success boiled down to three things: the right manuscript had to land on the right desk at the right time.
Right manuscript + Right desk + Right time = Publishing contract
I looked at each component of this equation.
Right manuscript – What is the right manuscript? There is no set science for this. Publishers may not even know what they are looking for until they read it. I couldn’t predict publishing trends, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to write to order. I figured all I could do was write the very best version of the story that set my heart on fire, the story only I could write, and hope for the best.
Right desk – With no contacts in the publishing world, I had no clue how to find the right desk, but I knew a good agent could help with this. A good agent will have good relationships with publishers and should know what types of stories which publishers are looking for. Finding an agent didn’t give 100% certainty of getting published, but it increased my odds of finding that right desk.
Right time – I had no way of knowing when it was the right time to submit my work. My focus returned to agents. An agent knows what type of books are selling and therefore will also know when it’s the best time to submit a story.
My decision was made—I would concentrate my efforts on finding an agent.
Just before I was about to start submitting my work, I attended another writers festival. One piece of advice from a publishing panel stuck with me:
If you want to find an agent before submitting your work to a publisher, do your research and find the agent most likely to like your work, then aim and shoot your submission like an arrow to that agent.
For me, the rest is history. I found an agent who loves and champions my work, my novel was picked up by a brilliant publisher, and a wonderful working relationship with them began.
To the driven and dedicated writers out there who aspire to be published, please know that with the uncertainty comes unlimited possibilities, and this is the most exciting and inspiring thing. I hope you all find the perfect launch pad for your writing career, and that boundless and thrilling opportunities follow.
Bravo to each and every one of the writers published in this anthology; there is nothing sweeter than seeing your work in print for the first time, and Underdog is now a part of your ‘getting published’ story.
Wishing you all almighty and ongoing success, whatever that means for you.
My inner fanboy is clawing his way up my throat. If he gets out, there’ll be a hurricane of squeals and nervous jazz hands ripping this room to shreds.
Keep it in check, Cooper. Keep that locked down.
My geek is hard to harness. And now that I’m actually in the same room as Matthias Brown it’s bucking like a full-grown unicorn. I’m sure he did a longitudinal survey of my entire life and decided to write a novel. Even the main character is called Cooper. It’s uncanny, and slightly unsettling, but entirely life-affirming.
I can’t believe how jumpy I am and the talk hasn’t even started. To pass the time, I take a photo—about a million photos—of Matthias sitting on stage. I’ve snagged a seat in the second row so I have a pretty good view. He’s chatting quietly with the person who’ll be interviewing him. The irregular glass shapes that make up the wall behind him let in heaps of light and glimpses of the trees lining the river. For all their strange angles, the Federation Square buildings feel like they belong. But I guess they’ve always
been a part of my Melbourne.
I scroll through my pics, stopping when I find the best one. He must have been scanning the crowd, and I captured him as he was looking right in my direction. He’s smiling as if he’s posing for me. I crop it, edit the filters a little, and post it online.
coopdegrace OMG! I am less than 10m away from @matthiaswrites right now! FREAKING OUT!!!!
I’m so excited I forget to say where I am or use any hashtags.
Oh well, it can go out to my 247 followers; I’m sure they’d know by now how much this means to me. My feed is overrun with pictures of Things I Forgot to Say or quotes from it. All Matthias’s book, all the time. I sank in deep, that’s for sure.
My phone buzzes. Someone’s commented already.
aboymadeofbooks I’m jel! You got a much better seat than I did! I’m stuck right up the back.
I smile, proud of myself. As if I wasn’t going to get here an hour early to be as close to the front as possible. Also, a little bit proud ABoyMadeOfBooks commented on my post. He’s got nearly ten thousand followers and takes stunning photos. I didn’t realise he’d be here. I wonder if he lives in Melbourne too. I’d been commenting on his posts for ages before he followed me back. He’s got great taste in books but, clearly, I love Things I Forgot to Say more.
I turn around to try and see him, not that I know what he looks like. He’s not in his pics, they’re all about the books. The theatre is packed now, there are even people standing at the back.
The lights dim and the music goes off.
Forget ABoyMadeOfBooks, I’m here for Matthias!
The talk begins and I BLISS OUT. I’m laughing too loudly at his jokes, and when he talks about where the story came from I blush when he doesn’t say it was based on my life. But I don’t care—no one’s paying any attention to me.
During question time, I want to ask if he knows how real his characters are, but I’m petrified of the idea of the microphone in my face. So, I listen to the other questions and roll my eyes when someone asks why he made Scott move away from Cooper at the end. I want to stand up and scream, ‘Were you not listening to him? What else could have happened after all that?’ But I don’t. You know, stage fright and all.
Someone asks about Toby, a minor character who comes in at the end. I’ve always been too fixated on the raw, Scott-shaped hole in Cooper’s life to pay much attention to anyone who entered the story after Scott left.
I feel like I’m floating when it ends, but I quickly hit the ground when I remember the signing line. I make it to the end of my row and then push my way past everyone as if it were a medical emergency. There’s a bottleneck at the door and I try not to hyperventilate.
Once I’m in the queue, maybe twenty people from the front, I breathe normally again. I take out my copy of Things I Forgot to Say and flip through it. Suddenly I’m afraid to show it to Matthias. The cover is already curling and the corners are bent. The girl in front of me is sliding her brand-new copy out of a paper bag and I can’t help but think mine looks spoiled and tatty. Should I have bought a new copy? I flip through it and see one of the lines I’ve underlined in the second half.
This is who I am. Didn’t you see me?
I take a deep breath. I’m okay with my copy being a bit worn—fine, a lot worn. It’s only because I love it so much.
I feel my phone buzz again. ABoyMadeOfBooks is DMing me.
Are you wearing a green denim jacket?
I glance down at my clothes to answer what I already know. Yes, I am. I don’t know if I’m creeped out or flattered.
Yeah, why?
I hit send and wait for a reply. Instead I get a tap on my shoulder.
Turning, I see the next boy in line smiling at me. He’s got short dark hair and olive skin. He’s about my age and breathtaking.
‘You’re CoopDeGrace, right? I’m ABoyMadeOfBooks.’
If boys are made of books, all the books in my stomach are flying off their shelves.
‘But I thought you were older?’ Did that really come out of my mouth? How is that the first thing I say to him?
He laughs. It’s a beautiful sight, even though I’m mortified he’s laughing at something stupid I said.
‘What made you think that?’ he asks.
‘Your account, I guess. You’ve got so many followers, I assumed you were older.’
‘I’m only fifteen.’
‘Oh, me too.’
‘There you go.’
‘But I don’t have ten thousand followers, and get so many likes and comments.’
He laughs again. ‘It’s only a bit over eight thousand, and that’s not important. I just love reading books and love taking photos of them.’
‘You’re pretty amazing at it.’
‘Thanks.’ He shifts from foot to foot, like he doesn’t like being the centre of attention. ‘So, you must be pretty excited.’ He nods to the front of the queue where Matthias is taking a seat and saying hello to the first person.
I remember why I’m here again for the first time in two minutes and my inner unicorn bucks happily, right into my guts. How is it that I forgot, even for a second?
‘I can’t even!’ I say, my voice small and tight with excitement.
‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘Things was okay.’
My face drops and I cloud over suddenly like Melbourne weather. ‘What?’
He’s laughing again. ‘The look on your face! Obviously, I loved it too. I’m here, aren’t I?’
I’m about to snap at him for scaring me like that when a woman walks up to us holding a pad of post-its and a black marker. ‘Are you getting books dedicated today? What name would you like them made out to?’
ABoyMadeOfBooks indicates for me to go first.
‘Cooper,’ I say, suddenly registering the fact that Matthias Brown is about to write my name in my copy of his book.
The woman says, ‘Like in the book?’
I nod.
ABoyMadeOfBooks nods too. ‘Amazing. And here I was thinking you misspelled your handle.’
I exhale sharply, day-time-TV-scandalised. Like I’d make that mistake.
The woman hands me the post-it and I put it inside the front cover of my book. She turns to ABoyMadeOfBooks.
‘Brodie,’ he says.
She writes it down and says, ‘For a second I thought you were going to say Scott and that would have been too cute!’
Is there a fire in the room? The heat in my face says so. Brodie is cute, but more than one ‘Scott’ in my life is not cute at all. I’m glad when she moves on to the next person in the queue.
Brodie—his real name is like a secret, just for me—seems quiet for a second. Is he blushing too? It’s hard to tell. A grin sneaks back onto his face and he says, ‘So you’ve been obsessing over this book for a while. What are you going to say to him?’
I turn to look at Matthias, signing books, smiling for photos with people. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to say much at all,’ I say honestly. I don’t add, ‘Which is why I’ve got a letter I wrote tucked inside the back cover of my book ready to give to him.’
‘Come on! If you don’t think of something now, you’ll either clam up, or gush embarrassingly and overshare.’
I hold my book close to my chest, thinking of the letter. Is it oversharing? Is it too much to say I’d gone through the same thing as Book-Cooper? And that knowing someone else had, and had come through it okay, made me feel at peace with myself? Even if that person was a fictional character? I feel the same way as Book-Cooper about so many things and I’m not fictional. So, the rest doesn’t matter at all. It’s vital.
‘I guess I’ll say I loved his book.’
This boy is making me second-guess my plan of attack. Not that I had one. It was more like Matthias was a target and I hurtled myself towards him without thinking out the details, and now, when I’m finally within feet of reaching that target, someone has turned my head.
The queue is moving quicker than I thought it would. We’re only
five people from the front now and my nerves are kicking in, full strength.
*Pats unicorn* Settle boy, settle.
It’s almost enough to forget ABoyMadeOfBooks is talking to me like we’re old friends, like I’m worth noticing when I’m so small in his big world. Almost.
With nerves crashing over me from both sides, I’m now at the front of the queue, next in line.
The girl in front slides her book out of the paper bag and says to Matthias, ‘I’m looking forward to reading it.’
I’m equal parts dismissive and jealous. Why she hasn’t read it yet is beyond me, but what I wouldn’t give to read it for the first time again. That instant recognition. That spark of myself lighting up the pages.
It’s my turn. My stomach drops like the floor opened. I can picture my unicorn falling through space, nothing left to buck against. I step forward and slide my book across the table towards Matthias.
‘Hey there—’ he opens the cover to see the post-it with my name on it ‘—Cooper! No way!’
All I can manage to say is, ‘Yeah.’
Rather than signing straight away, he inspects the book. ‘Woah, this is well read!’ He’s flipping through the pages, seeing my dog-ears and my underlining. Occasionally I’d even written in the margins. I’m kicking myself! Why didn’t I buy a fresh copy for him to sign? ‘How many times have you read this, Cooper?’
‘Um, eight, I think.’ I’m so aware of Brodie listening in, hearing me speak in broken clauses. The fact he’s on my mind when I’m finally talking to Matthias Brown is annoying and confusing.
‘It’s only been out for six months.’
‘I only discovered it two months ago.’ I’m so proud to get a complete sentence out. Ms Grady, the librarian at school, had put it in my hand. I read it that night, staying up till three in the morning. I forced Dad to take me to a bookshop the next day. I needed my own copy.
Matthias is flipping through that exact copy now, looking at the bits I’ve marked. Like I handed him my diary, even though he wrote it. He gets to the back and the envelope falls out.
‘Oh, that’s for you.’ I forgot all about the letter in my frenzy of emotions.
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