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 Chapter 7 

AS EXCITED AS I was to see Sean, I couldn’t seem to tell Mother and  Dad I had a date. But on Tuesday night, after dinner, I couldn’t put it off  anymore. It was my dish night. I stood at the sink and watched out the  window where Wilkie was playing in the yard. Dad was sitting in a lawn  chair, watching him, a Coors beer can in his hand. Mother came down the  stairs behind me. 

I let the words come out in a rush. “Mother, I need to talk to you  about something.” I turned to look at her. 

“Yes, Daphne. What is it?” She had an armful of laundry and was  headed toward the washing machine in the corner. 

“Can we sit at the table? And talk?” 

“I suppose,” she said, dumping the laundry on the top of the  washing machine. She sat across from me, her eyes wide and inquisitive.  “What’s up?” 

“I have a date Thursday night. I needed to tell you that.” “Okay, well, that’s fine. You know the rules.” 

There was tension in the air between us.

“His name is Sean. He’s Jason Thomas’s cousin, from Fort  Wayne. He’s staying here for the summer working for Mr. Thomas.” “Yes, and?” 

“He’s older—I mean—he’s not in high school anymore. He’s  19.” I stopped and held my breath. 

“Hm. That’s quite a bit older than you, Daphne. Where’d you  meet?” Mother was calm and composed. Always. 

“We met at Sheila’s cookout. He was there with Jason.” I couldn’t  tell Mother we had met at Jason’s kegger. Geez. 

“I see. And Marti has met him?” 

I panicked. My lie was getting deep. “Not exactly. Um, Marti was  too busy to meet him.” That made sense. Mother had been to parties  thrown by Marti before. Like Sheila, Marti had a flair for the dramatic,  and parties were her time to shine. “But Mother, you’ll like him. He’s in  school—well he was... and we have so much in common. I mean we hit it  off right away!” 

“I guess, Daphne, I’m okay with you going on a date with this… man. I cannot, however, say I think your dad will feel the same.” “I know! That’s why I wanted to talk to you first! Mother, please  talk him into it for me! Please! I need the chance to get to know him better.  You’ve been telling me I should get out more often.” Mother was the  rational parent in the house, and if I could win her over, then she would  help me, even if it meant we didn’t tell Dad the truth. I remembered when I wanted to go to Sheila’s birthday party in the sixth grade. It was my first  ever boy/girl party. Mother and I plotted against Dad for me to go. It was  hard for her to do, but she knew it was the only option for any of us to live  normal lives. 

She covered her eyes with her hands, rubbing them gently. She  was tired, I could tell. “I’ll see what I can do. But you know, it could go  either way with your dad. I’ll talk to him in the morning before he has had  time to… What time will your date be here?” 

“6:30. Sean, Mother. He’s picking me up.” 

“Okay. We’ll see.” 

All week, I had put my hope on those words. I had spent my time  at school at the library because my A+ in every class exempted me from  exams. In the library, the books on the shelves called to me, deep and  soothing. I could always escape in a book; the stories made the world  disappear and everything was okay. Now I had hope and it made me feel  the same way, anticipating the same escape. Mother would make it all  okay. 

On Wednesday, I sat with the usual group at lunch—Char-o,  Sheila, Jason, Andy, Jackie—the whole crew. Andy was stuffing an entire  piece of pizza in his mouth because Jason dared him. The rest of the guys  cheered him on. It was revolting. 

Jackie leaned toward me and said, “My uncle Paul says that  monster is the real thing.” Jackie was nice enough, but I knew she was a gossip. I didn’t trust her, but I knew her uncle was an old friend of my dad  and Uncle Grave. 

“Yeah,” I answered. “My dad and Grave have told us the stories.”  I tried to act uninterested, but she continued. 

“Uncle Paul said that he saw it down by Samuel’s Pond. It was  the summer your Grandma Fullington died.” Jackie stopped and ate a bite  of her iceberg lettuce. 

Char-o leaned in. “What did he see?”  

“The monster. The Fullington Road monster. It was by the pond  on your farm. Uncle Paul was supposed to meet Grave and your dad there  to go fishing. It was the middle of the day, too. He smelled it first, but then  he saw it on the other side of the pond. He said it was kind of like looking  at heat come up off the road on a hot day. All hazy-like.” 

“What did he do?” Char-o asked. 

“He said she couldn’t move. He felt frozen. And then it just  disappeared. But when your uncle and dad got there, they could still smell  it.” Jackie shrugged. “We saw something that night we were down by your  farm. I’m not going back.” 

I rolled my eyes. Good thing she wasn’t going back. It was private  property, after all. I started to tell her that, but she interrupted. “Uncle Paul says it comes at certain times. He said that his own  grandfather told him it was there the summer of the big drought in 1935. Everyone’s crops died. And then it was there the summer your grandma  died. Sounds to me like it’s some kind of omen.” 

Jackie’s statement caught me off guard. She had put more  thought into the monster than I had. I needed to talk to Uncle Grave. I  knew I could ask him questions about the monster. If it was an omen— 

My thinking was cut off when I realized that Jason, Bryan, and  Andy were laughing at me. 

“What?” I said. 

“I hear you and Sean have a date tomorrow,” Jason said. He had  a glob of ketchup on his Dokken t-shirt and was still chewing fries while  he talked. 

“Yeah, so what,” I said, trying to downplay anything Jason  brought up. 

“Better watch out,” he said, swallowing his fries. “He got thrown  out of college. My aunt sent him here to get him away from the crowd he’s  been running with. You need to know that.” 

The mood at the table was subdued after Jason’s reveal. “So they  sent him here to hang out with you?” Sheila asked. “His mom should have  just put him on tour with Motley Crue. Would’ve been safer.” Everyone  laughed and Jackie pinched Jason’s cheek. Thank God for Sheila. She was  always good for a laugh. She knew when I needed some backup. 

I knew perfectly well Jason was mad because I would never go out  with him. I wasn’t going to let Jason’s jealousy of his cousin ruin my excitement about our date. I had checked Char-o’s reaction to the scene,  looking at her from lowered lids. She was eating her sandwich, acting like  the conversation wasn’t even happening. We hadn’t talked about Jason  since Sunday. Even though I was a pro at making sure everyone was happy,  I wasn’t sure how to fix this situation. 

Fixing problems could wait, for now. I didn’t want to worry  about anything. I had a date with Sean, and Mother had promised to talk with Dad. I had to trust that for once, someone else would make sure that  everything would be all right. The clock was ticking, though.

How My Book Was Published and Unpublished in Less than A Year

The Fullington Road Monster isn't the first book I wrote, but it became the book of my heart. I wrote it during the Pandemic, pouring my soul into the story about sisters on a farm haunted by monsters, real and metaphorical. It became my hope in a time of lost connections and an abundance of despair. 

I queried it to agents and a few editors on and off for two years. I would send a batch of Dear Agent letters with polished first pages, get a batch of rejections, and go back to the drawing board. I was constantly waiting for the magic to happen, for the universe to applaud my determination and give me just one yes.

Magic takes work. I revised, worked with outside editors, sent the manuscript to beta readers (and made new friends in the process). I "killed my darlings" and axed parts of the book that I adored, but weren't working. I updated the genre and comp titles, and finally, I got a couple of full requests, two agents who wanted to read the whole manuscript, but ultimately, said 'no thank you.'

It was two days away from Christmas 2023. I was ready to put Monster on the shelf, and start over with a few other manuscripts I had been writing. It was time. My heart was heavy, but I was being realistic. During my lunch break, I checked my social media. One post caught my eye: an author encouraging others to submit to the publisher she was working with. Their submission window ended that day. 

"What have I got to lose?" I shrugged. I submitted my Dear Editor letter and polished first pages to the small publishing company. I returned to work, lost in the routine of a day, thinking about the holiday to come.

Later that afternoon, there was an email from Brittany McMunn at Conquest Publishing asking for the full manuscript. I was excited, but had learned not to get my hopes up. I sent it off to her that day. 

Christmas came and went, and a few days after, I got another email from Brittany. Conquest wanted to publish my book. I remember sitting with that for a while before I said to my husband, "They want to publish my book." The words made it real. The universe had sent me a yes. 

From there it was a whirlwind of steps, starting with a call with Brittany to discuss a contract. I liked Brittany right away, with her southern drawl and sweet dimples. She was personable and knew her stuff. I accepted the contract's terms (found a local lawyer who looked over the contract first), and then it was time to get a headshot, send out publishing announcements, and start thinking about pitches and cover art. Overwhelming, but so amazing. 

Patience is the most important virtue when it comes to publishing. There is a great deal of hurry up and wait, whether you have a contract or you are searching for a publisher or agent. For more than a year, I waited for my book to be published. In that time, there were periods of lots of activity, followed by quiet. Designing a cover, developmental edits, line edits, formatting edits. Each of these tasks took a lot of attention. They were a back-and-forth process, me working, sending to the amazing creators and editing team at Conquest, waiting for their reply, and then completing any necessary checks and edits. This was followed by periods of waiting.

Patience is also a superpower, and when the waiting was done, I held my book with its gorgeous cover and amazing formatting. It was surreal, something I had dreamed of for so long.

It took one yes. Brittany McMunn made my dream come true. She made the dreams of so many other authors happen too! Not only did this mother with a full-time job own her own publishing company, she was also the Editor in Chief for Wild Ink Publishing. I have no concept of how she made all of this work, but this soft-spoken, angelic-faced wonder managed to do all her jobs and do them well. When she found out the books for my launch wouldn't arrive in time, she spent all day finding a local printer who could have them ready in two days time. When I mistakenly thought my author copies hadn't been sent, she gave me ten more copies, apologizing for not specifying they were sent with my launch copies. That was Brittany. 

On a winter morning not long ago, I opened an email from Wild Ink Publishing's owner, Abby Wild. I had signed a contract with Wild Ink earlier in the year for my middle grade contemporary novel, and Abby is a great communicator. But the message had nothing to do with my book. Words can change lives, just like Brittany's 'yes' had made my dreams come true. This time, the words were a nightmare. Brittany had passed away in her sleep the night before. 

Shock ran through the Conquest and Wild Ink family. Always close and connected through and instant message platform, the group of authors and creators mourned together. I have always appreciated having these authors by my side through the publishing journey, and now I felt their presence more keenly. We had lost a woman who made our collective dreams come true. Brittany's family, a husband, two daughters, parents, siblings, cousins had lost part of their hearts. Abby lost her partner. The world lost a gregarious and persistent woman who fought for the people blessed enough to know her. 

Beyond grief, there is reality. Conquest was a business run by one amazing woman. Without Brittany, Conquest didn't exist. Her family decided to dissolve the publishing company. 

I won't say this wasn't a blow, but it is real. Magic exists, but it takes work. All the tasks that Brittany did relied on the knowledge she had. With the dissolution of the publishing company, rights to The Fullington Road Monster reverted to me. I can seek a new publisher or agent representation. I can self-publish. I can do nothing and remember this time as a published author as Isak Dinsesen remembered owning a farm in Africa. 

For now, I am sitting with my grief. I think about Brittany often, those dimples and that twang. I have had several author events, one where I sat on a panel with Margaret Peterson Haddix. I have worked on overcoming the impostor syndrome. Yes, I hold a book in print, but in reality, it is no longer in print. That is sorrowful.

Magic exists, but you have to work for it. I am writing a new book about sisters on a road trip in Iceland while I query agents with a historical fiction novel based on a true story. I am far from giving up. In my dreams, there is an editor who loves all my books, who emails me with magic words. Yes, yes, yes.