![]() ![]() I let out a YELP! And slammed the cover shut with my hand reverberating the table with such grace and force that my glass of water fell and shattered on the floor. “My parents were married when they had me, just to different people.” You and the author sound so similar!” She continued on while I read the first sentence: She let me borrow it and a lot of the stories this guy talks about reminded me of all the jobs you used to have.” I nodded while reading the agent’s letter that typically comes with the manuscript, she continued “Reading this book, I had to remind myself that you didn’t write it. “Oh no” she answered, while I did a quick flip through the cheap stained pages “This is a real book Sarah’s friend’s company is publishing next year. I smirked and picked up the book, “Is this a joke? I mean, you got me! It’s pretty spot on!” She scooted the bound manuscript over to my side of the bar, DIRTBAG, MASSACHUSETTS: A CONFESSIONAL laid bare on an off white page. She received a manuscript from an agent friend of hers who got it from their work colleague at Bloomsbury. ![]() ![]() I met her on a dating app, and we discussed books and our past traumas (as lesbians typically do) and this was our 2rd time hanging out. I was sitting in a restaurant in Massachusetts, on a kinda-sorta date not date with a woman who works in publishing. ![]()
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