Editor Julia Blair walks Rebecca through what’s working and what she can change about a short story she wrote. Julia helps Rebecca tighten the story and they dive into their own writing processes to compare.
Before she became a Story Grid Editor, Julia Blair worked as an archaeologist and a preservation archivist where she was occasionally caught sniffing old books in the stacks. As a developmental editor and story coach, her mission is to help aspiring novelists make the best use of their valuable writing time to craft stories that readers will remember and love. She especially loves to help writers discover the heart of their story when they feel like they’re lost in the weeds. Julia brings a deep appreciation of history and culture to the editing table. Her specialties are Historical Fiction, Fairy Tales and Myth, and Historical Fantasy. She is the author of a forthcoming Story Grid guide to the War genre, and her short story Elixir will be published in Spring 2020. These days, Julia is elbows-deep writing her fantasy novel, The Nature of Prophecy. She has written several articles for the Story Grid Fundamental Fridays series. Visit her at ragstowritten.com.
Things Julia and I mentioned on the episode:
My Story:
“The only cruise guaranteed to help you find love.” Cutesy red lettering stared at me as if asking, once more, why I thought I belonged here. I clutched my suitcase tighter, white knuckling the handle, and took a deep breath.
“Have you been checked in?” A smiling agent at the table asked as I walked toward her.
Why would I be standing in this line if I’d already been checked in?
Deep breath. “Nope.”
“Well then, let’s get you started. Last name?”
“Saunder.”
“Saunder… Ah, I have you. It says here your friend filled out the application for you?”
“That’s right. The scan was all me, though.”
“Yes, of course it was, you wouldn’t be here if your scan hadn’t been completed appropriately.” Her tone made it seem like she thought I was seriously informing her I hadn’t somehow tricked my way aboard. “However, to be as accurate as we can, we do ask that everyone who did not apply themselves fill out this secondary survey before dinner tonight. Do you think you can handle that?”
I nodded, unable to respond without sounding snarky.
“Great. Take this with you and turn it in to any staff member you see. Here’s your packet, which contains your badge to get you on the ship both now and any time you leave for an excursion. And, your name tag with the three most important facts about yourself pre-written. It’s a great conversation starter.” She winked, which just made me want to punch her all the more.
I took my newly acquired material, backpack and suitcase already in tow, and turned.
“One more thing, Emily, if at any point you want to know the story of how one of the crew members met their soulmate, all you have to do is ask. It’s something we all take pride in.”
I nodded and walked off, sure in my assessment that she’d have told me her story right then and there without much more prompting.
My stomach lurched as the elevator started its decent. Seven days. I just have to get through the next seven days. It seemed a like a lifetime and an instant all at once.
“So, what are your preferences?” I didn’t have to assume what this man meant, we were all supposedly here for the same reason, after all.
“I’m bisexual, if that’s what you mean.” I gripped my suitcase even tighter waiting for the elevator to reach my floor so I could finally be released to freedom.
“So you aren’t limiting yourself, I like it. I’m Stanley, by the way. Straight. Male. Looking for an open relationship.”
I had my whole, that’s-not-what-bi-means speech queued, was ready to point out all the ways in which his ignorance hurt me, when the elevator dinged and he became someone else’s lesson. I tried to shrug it off.
This won’t be so bad. I repeated Carla’s words to myself. If anyone else had tried to rope me into this cruise, I’d have shut them down in an instant, but it had worked for Carla and she genuinely wanted my own happiness as much as hers, so I had to make the most of it. Had to at least try.
Plus, I had my own room, everything was already paid for, and I might actually find love. Or, at the very least, I’d get my money back.
“What are you looking for in a partner?” How the heck did you answer this question in a few sentences or less? I scribbled down the obligatory ‘my best friend’ response, not sure if that would even be possible, grabbed my backpack filled with a book, just in case, and headed to dinner.
“Where am I supposed to sit?” I asked the nearest worker, the one I handed my questionnaire to. Her smile looked forced, but she somehow genuinely came off as happy to be there.
“Seats are assigned based on the likelihood of a match. Your table number is written on the back of your name tag and everything is laid out in relative order. I can walk you to yours if you need?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Good luck tonight!” She said to my back. “Remember, love is only a cruise ship away.”
Their slogan bothered me. I totally understood the mechanics: that they’d developed the technology to scientifically pinpoint your relative high percentage soulmates and had used it to market a cruise you could only attend if your high matches had also signed up. But did they have to make it sound so gimmicky?
The dining hall was crowded. I made my way toward table 29, expecting it wouldn’t be too hard to find. Made note of all the exits. Enjoyed the view along the way. The setting sun shining through the windows mixed with the soft violin music playing somewhere in the distance really was beautiful. And, only one couple was already making out, from what I could see.
I tried not to stare as I walked, but I must not have been paying good enough attention because I ran into some poor guy who looked like he was trying to get up to use the restroom or something.
“I am so sorry.” My cheeks turned red.
“It’s no trouble, love. Pardon me.” I found his accent terribly attractive and for the first time I wasn’t horrified to be there, too embarrassed to go straight to my table, or subconsciously mad at Carla.
Unfortunately, he was at table 22. I could only assume that meant he wouldn’t be right for me so I continued on to 29.
When I saw it, my stomach dropped.
Table 29, now visible from where I was, had only one empty seat, surrounded entirely by people I already recognized. People I’d already dated and who, for the most part, had obviously been horrible pairings. If this is the best the cruise and their magic science had to offer, I was better off alone.