Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,14

assure her of at least one chapter of award-winning prose. "But shouldn't it go the other way around?" I quibbled. "You write the book, then you design the bookmark? Kinda like, pillage then burn?"

Amanda quirked her mouth to the side and glared at me, her nostrils flaring around the silver bolt in her nose. She looked angry enough to do something really menacing -- like sneeze. "I can tell you're not one of us. You nonwriters just don't get it. There was a contest! If you want to be a writer, you have to enter contests."

Nana stared up at her with curiosity. "Do you ever get sinus infections, dear? They must be a real nuisance for you."

Amanda kept talking. "Saying I've won six consecutive contests is going to look really impressive on a cover letter to some publisher."

I didn't want to appear naive, but I wondered if actually writing the book would appear even more impressive.

Keely elbowed Amanda out of the way and directed her to Duncan's cooler at the front of the bus. "Publishing's changed a lot since I won my first contest. It's not about the manuscript anymore; it's about who you know. And I'm going to know a lot of people by the end of this trip." She blew a bubble the size of a grapefruit and sucked it back into her mouth with a pop. "Hey, look who else is in line. Fred!"

She clapped the shoulder of the man standing next to her and swung him around to face us. "Fred published a biography of his cat two years ago through a vanity press, so he's an honest-to-gosh author, aren't you, Fred?"

Fred was small and stooped and looked like an advertisement for J. Peterman in his safari shirt and pants. On his head he wore a matching cloth hat with a floppy sunblock brim that he was making no attempt to remove. Either he didn't want to ruin the look of his ensemble, or he was afraid some ornery ultraviolet ray would eat through the solid steel of the bus's roof and zap him. Considering all the holes in the ozone layer, I guess you couldn't be too careful these days.

"Some author," Fred said in a timid voice. "They told me I was going to make a bundle. They said the demographics indicated that elderly women love to read feline biographies. But what I ended up with was a storage shed full of books I can't distribute and a big fat debit in my checking account. I've gotta hand it to the little jeezers. They delivered the books just like they promised, but they didn't tell me that bookstore people refuse to handle the self-published stuff. You gotta do it yourself. Out of the trunk of your car!"

I suspected that could be pretty dicey, especially if you were stuck having to drive a subcompact. "Were you able to sell any?"

"Four. To my mother. She said they were a huge hit in her assisted living facility. People were clamoring for them in their little library there. But I'm not letting the hype influence me. I'm switching to romances. According to what I've read in Publishers Weekly, they're the backbone of the whole industry. That's where the money is, so that's where I'm headed."

"And here's another one of the gang," Keely interrupted, shooing Fred along and latching on to the arm of a sun-baked blonde with muscles like Popeye and a complexion that reminded me of dried tobacco. "Brandy Ann Frounfelker. She's from California. A professional body builder. Can you tell? But she actually wrote a romance and got it published online."

"I thought the e-publishing phenomenon would take off like gangbusters," Brandy Ann said in a soft, wonderfully refined voice. "It hasn't happened though. I've been soliciting more traditional publishing houses, but once I tell them I was published electronically, they don't want to have anything to do with me. It's as if e-publishing is a dirty word. And let me tell you..." She slowly clenched her hand into a fist that was the size of a car engine. Ropes of muscle bulged beneath her skin. "...it's starting to piss me off."

Keely's face disappeared behind a bubble that grew bigger...and bigger...and --

Brandy Ann turned suddenly and caught the bubble in her fist. "That's very rude." She yanked the wad out of Keely's mouth and crushed it in her hand.

Oh, yeah. I liked this woman.

KREOOOOO! Feedback screeched out over the loudspeaker system at a pitch that could cause eardrums