The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) by Suzanne Kelman Read Free Book Online

Congratulations, and we look forward to hearing from you soon.
Yours sincerely,
Mark Gilbert
Gaverston and Shrewsbury Books
MG/Andrea Stockbridge”
    When I finished the letter, every eye had moved from staring at it to staring at me, apparently waiting in anticipation for some sort of inspired words of wisdom. But frankly, I was confused.
    “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with this?”
    “Well,” said Doris, as if she were explaining it to a small child, “it’s an acceptance letter. This publisher, Shewsbunny and someone I have never even heard of, wants to publish my book. I can’t believe it.”
    “And isn’t that a good thing? It means they like it.” I wound my way down the rabbit hole. “Doesn’t it mean they liked the book you wrote?” I added, trying to make myself clear.
    Doris looked at me as if I’d gone mad. Then she said in a monotone, “What it means is there will be No. More. Rejection. Letters. I’m being published, and I will have to step down from the club. What it means is there will be no more rejection parties here at my house.” She was working herself up into a lather. “What it means is the end of our group as we know it! It is a very sad day indeed. We’re all devastated.”
    I looked around the room. Every solemn face echoed her sentiment. I was still confused.
    “But don’t you want to be successful? Aren’t you interested in getting your book published?” I asked. Because I didn’t know what else to say, I added, delicately, “They will pay you.”
    Doris looked directly at me. “But it means no more rejection letters!”
    “You don’t have to accept them. Then you could keep collecting your letters.”
    “That is not the point,” scoffed Doris. “Everyone will know. I can’t just go on being a rejected writer if I’ve been accepted. It’s the rules. Once you’re accepted, you’re out. It’s not fair for everyone else. Now I have to go and buy myself a hat!”
    A hat! Where did that come from?
    “A hat?” I asked, genuinely thrown off balance.
    It was then that I realized Doris was close to tears.
    “Yes. A hat, and a funky scarf and snazzy glasses. All good authors wear snazzy glasses. Well, I won’t do it. I look ridiculous in a hat!”
    And with those words, she picked up a couple of empty teacups and hightailed it to the kitchen, Ethel at her heels like an obedient whippet.
    Knocking back the last dregs of my tea, I decided this was a good time to make my excuses to leave.
    Walking past the kitchen on my way to the front door, I caught a glimpse of Doris’s hefty bulk hanging over the kitchen sink, washing up a cup. That’s when I remembered the raccoons.
    “Hey, I have raccoons,” I blurted out before my brain had actually engaged.
    Wow! That was a doozy. You could have cut the frost with an icepick. She stopped washing her cup and looked for a long hard moment out through her kitchen window as she digested my words. Words that now hung in midair like iced marbles, then fell crashing to the floor. I regretted saying them the minute they’d rolled under the kitchen table. She took a deep breath and turned to look at me, her hands still dripping with dish soap.
    “Raccoons!” she spat out with all the distaste she could muster.
    “Uh-huh,” I said, not wanting to kick any more ice rocks around the kitchen floor.
    She stared at me, and her chin started to wobble. I wasn’t sure if she was going to hit me or cry.
    And that was that. She turned back to the sink, and nothing more was said. As I turned to leave the kitchen, Lottie came running in.
    “Doris, stop worrying. It has to be a huge mistake. We’ve all been talking. These things happen all the time at those big companies. Things get all mixed up. And I bet you a pretty penny that’s what’s happened here.”
    Creeping back into the hallway, I intended to try to leave during this new turn of events.
    But on reaching the front door, I realized that my bag was still on my chair and