Fiction Fix Seventeen

59
Fiction Fix
and continued without waiting for me to
respond. “Look, most people don’t even have
a book inside of them, and even for those
who do, most of them never get it out. You’re
one of the lucky ones. You had a book in you,
and we got it out—at least, what was left of it.
Granted, it’s fragmentary and full of palimpsest,
not to mention being caked with purple
adhesions due to its prolonged, impacted state.
But at least you have something to work with.
Some folks wait even longer than you did and
still have to go through the pain of the surgery,
just to extract a jarful of viscous pulp. Not a
legible word to be found.”
She paused to let it sink in.
“The need for a medical editor is a good
sign. Really.”
At that point, I did start to cry.
Without missing a beat, she handed me a
box of tissues.
“You could have died from decompositional
toxic shock syndrome or even No. 2 lead poisoning.
The good news is, you’re going to
be fine.”
I wiped my eyes and looked at her. “But
what about my book?”
She was already writing on her pad. “As
I said, I’m referring you to a very talented
medical editor. She specializes in impacted
cases like yours.”
I managed to take the prescription slip and
thank her. I started to leave. She stopped me.
“Don’t forget your manuscript.”
She handed me the corrugated box that
contained what was left of the book. It felt
much lighter than I expected—and suddenly
I had the terrifying thought that it might be
a novella, the maligned homunculus of the
literary world. And then (worse yet!) I noticed
the box had a terrible odor. My book stank.
Dejected, I walked down the hall to settle
my co-pay. Would my insurance cover a medical
editor, and if so, could I afford the 20%
of fees not covered? And if not, how would I
ever get this foul-smelling offal into shape? If I
couldn’t get authorization for a medial editor,
would I be able to revise the manuscript on
my own? Was that even legal? Should I even
try, or would that simply relegate me to the
slippery slope of vanity publishing?
I paid the receptionist, and she handed me
the receipt. As I started to walk away, she