Impostor Syndrome

“You thought I was there to catch Fowler…” Jake leaned in a little closer, his forehead just inches from Spencer’s nose. The ancient AC groaned loudly in the background while the older man sat upright in the government-issued steel chair. A cold paper cup of stale coffee sat untouched on the table next to his cuffed hands, “but I had you pegged for a while now, Spence. You see-”

Ok, listen. I know you have the pen and all, but… you and me? We need to talk. I’ve been on this ride with you for almost eighty thousand words, and it’s been a bumpy one, pal. In fact, we’ve been off the rails for like thirty thousand or so. You think your agent is going to accept this crap? You think he’s willing to send us out on submission like this? Come on.

You’ve gotta get my shit together. Look, I was onboard with you when you put the outline down. I get to be the hero! A new desk, new suit, and a new case to sink my teeth into. I can forgive you about the failed marriage you gave me. That’s so ‘back story’ cliché, but it lets me get into the great scene with the hot witness in chapter four, and I’m okay with that. But I’m what – twenty six? I just got my detective shield, bud. I should be dropping all my case notes into a file for review by my senior partner. Somehow, you’ve got me holding back vital clues all the sudden?

This little gem I’m about to drop on the villain, for instance… What the actual fuck? You’re expecting me to sell to the reader that I have known this guy was committing tax fraud since chapter seven, but Sergeant Collins and I never discussed it once in the bullpen. That’s bush league bullshit and you know it. Our beta readers will DNF this thing the second they get to the reveal, even though you had them going for like seventy-five percent of the time.

I get it, man. You took a break after you finished the beginning hook. I waited on the hard drive for like five months before you dusted us back off. But the thing is, I grew up somewhere around chapter six. I started out young, hot, and aggressive. Real eighties Tom Cruise action hero vibes… maybe even Jack Ryan. And not the wimpy one from Clear and Present Danger, but the bad ass from that new series. Now, I’m fucking Colombo! You might as well write me wearing a tan trench coat and chewing on a stogie, man. I’m about to start patting my pockets to look for my notebook.

PLEASE SHUT UP. I JUST NEED TO GET THROUGH THIS SCENE. THIS IS JUST A FIRST DRAFT… IT DOESN’T NEED TO BE CLEAN.

Your agent is breathing down your neck to get this thing turned in, I know. But it’s not my fault that you decided to cheat on me with that short story collection earlier this year. Now, my partner has basically disappeared from the job for like ten chapters, and you gave me about 90% of the dude’s dialogue. I’m friggin’ schizophrenic, pal! I feel like half the time I’m still a bad ass piss-and-vinegar Irish kid, and the other half I’m an overweight donut-eating inner city Black guy. Am I Crockett or Tubbs?

Let me clue you in, okay? That thing you’ve been feeling for the last three weeks? Not writer’s block. It’s the part of you that knows you need to either quit while you’re behind or go back to page one. This is NOT my first case… And the drinking problem I have that you hinted about in chapter three was actually interesting, but you left it dangling out there. You’ve got to get Collins back on the page in the mid-section, and the love interest sub plot has to be more than just a couple of stunted closed-door sex scenes.

You’re stuck because you know you need to do a big rewrite, my friend. And you aren’t sure you’re the man for the job. I mean, you threw this mess together, so what makes you think you can fix it at all, right? So here’s what we gotta do…

“Daisy isn’t just your secretary. You don’t pay her shit, so she spends five nights a week hustling drunks and slinging beers down at Garvey’s on Eighth.”

Man, this stuff sucks.

I'M IGNORING YOU. I’VE GOT THIS.

Spencer met Jake's gaze, a smile beginning to crease the corners of his mouth. “That’s who you been talking to? Should’ve known that little slut was shaking it for more than me.” He sat back in the chair, moving his hands to his lap. He relaxed his shoulders, but his eyes remained alert, scanning the corners of the room before settling on the two-way mirror. “She’s just a lying two-bit whore, detective. If that’s all you got, you might as well take these bracelets off right now.”

What is this hard-boiled detective noir shit? Are we suddenly teleporting back to the fifties? Snooze fest!

ASSHOLE.

“First off, watch your mouth. That girl’s got more class in her pinkie toe than you’ve ever had. You don’t get it, Spence.” Spencer’s eyes shifted back to Jake, who was no longer leaning in and had stood up to his full height, now towering over the disheveled jewelry store owner. “I’m not counting on Daisy’s testimony at all.”

Jake reached into his pocket. The slim USB stick felt slippery in his sweaty hands. This was a real gamble, Jake knew. Whatever chance they had of catching this killer rode on the next few seconds. Their paper trail was far too weak without the ledger locked away in Spencer’s memory stick. The DA had insisted they’d never even indict without it, and this guy was so damn slick he’d be long gone before they would get another opportunity. The bodies were cold, and the case would grow cold with them. He glanced over at the mirror, nodded once to Collins on the other side of the glass, and tossed the stick onto the table.

“You know what that is, don’t you?” Jake arched an eyebrow. “That right there is twenty to life, pal.”

Better… still crap, but I’ll work with it. You gotta land this plane before I reach for my parachute.

Spencer’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but only for a moment. “Where the hell did you get that? Daisy doesn’t have access to my safe-”

Gothca! Jake winked at the mirror. “Got that, sarge?”

“Sho ‘nuff.” The gruff voice managed to sound bored through the tinny speaker. “We’ll just add that onto the warrant now, brother.” The door next to the mirror opened, and in strode the imposing figure of Sergeant Collins. He reached for the memory stick – the false one he had picked up at the CVS down the street – and flipped it idly into his pocket. “Hmm. I was looking for that. Thanks for finding it for me, Jake.”

Collins smiled and leveled his generous posterior onto the table, grunting as he shifted his belt where the detective’s badge ground into his belly. “So, you wanna tell us the safe combo now, or do we get to just cut the thing open for you, too?”

Wait… what? Suddenly it’s a buddy cop show-

ENOUGH! YOU ARE THE WORST CHARACTER ON THE PLANET, YOU KNOW THAT? I TOOK A BREAK FROM THIS BOOK BECAUSE YOU ARE A WORLD-CLASS DOUCHEBAG AND I DON’T LIKE YOU. I LIKE THE STORY. I LOVE THE TWIST. I WAS EXCITED TO START WORKING ON THIS THING LAST YEAR.

I.

JUST.

HATE.

YOU.

Well, that’s not really called for. I mean, you wrote me, right? You must identify with me somehow…

NOPE. NOT EVEN A LITTLE. YOU STARTED OUT LIKE A MACHO ASSHOLE, AND NOW YOU’RE JUST A KNOW-IT-ALL. I WANTED YOU TO HAVE A COMING-OF-AGE REDEMPTION ARC, AND INSTEAD YOU JUST MORPHED INTO A PUTZ RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES.

GOOD NEWS IS I GET TO BE THE EDITOR.

{CTRL F}

What are you doing?

{Jake}

Hey now… let’s not get drastic. Don’t move your cursor over the ‘replace’ button like that. Remember that we are in this together, right?

{Jess}

What!?

THAT FELT GOOD! NOW TIME TO DELETE THAT PESKY SEX SCENE… ADD IN SOME INTRIGUE ABOUT BEING THE LONE FEMALE COP IN THE HOMICIDE SQUAD… GIVE YOU A WHOLE NEW ATTITUDE…

But… Oh, I see what you did, there. And hey, now I get why I needed to keep that piece of evidence to myself! Collins would have taken the clue in a whole different direction, and I needed to protect a female source!

… Can we discuss some more changes over a coffee?

THAT’S BETTER. :) NOW ON TO ACT THREE…