Sleeping Beauty (5 page)

T
erri Spencer rushed up the stairs to the second floor of the liberal arts building, then walked down the hall slowly so she could catch her breath. It was the first day of the writing group, and she was late. When she entered the schoolroom, Joshua Maxfield waved her onto a chair next to a heavyset, bearded man who was seated on the side of a conference table nearest the door. Next to him was an older woman with long gray hair. Across the table were two middle-aged women and a young man.

“Sorry I'm late,” Terri apologized. “The traffic was horrendous.”

“It's not a problem,” Maxfield assured her from his position at the head of the table. “We just got settled. All you missed was a chance to get some coffee and doughnuts and I think we'll still let you do that. What do you say, group?”

Everyone laughed, including Terri. “I'm fine, thanks,” she told Maxfield.

“Then we'll get started by introducing ourselves. And I'll begin by telling you a little about myself. I went to community college in Boston after I was expelled from high school. I began
A Tourist in Babylon
in my English class as an essay. My professor encouraged me to turn it into a novel. I thought he was crazy—I honestly didn't think I had any talent—but I decided to give it a try. I transferred to the University of Massachusetts and finished the novel while getting my BA.

“
Tourist
was rejected by several houses before an editor at Pegasus Press was wise enough to discern its merits. The rest, as they say, is history. My first novel was nominated for all of the major literary prizes and was a bestseller. So I know a little about crass commercialism as well as literature.

“
The Wishing Well
was published a year or so later. I taught creative writing at a college in New England for a while but I decided to come west a few years ago and dedicate myself to working with younger students. I've enjoyed my two years at the Oregon Academy tremendously but I like to work with older writers for balance, which is why I conduct these seminars.

“But enough about me. Terri, why don't you tell everyone who you are, where you work, and why you're here?”

“I'm Terri Spencer, I'm a reporter at
The Oregonian.
I know all reporters are supposed to be writing the Great American Novel in their spare time. It's a terrible cliché but it's true in my case. I don't know about the ‘great' part but I am halfway through a book and I thought it was time to get some professional help.”

“Harvey,” Maxfield said, nodding to the bearded man sitting to Terri's left.

Harvey Cox told the group that he was a biotech researcher who had published one science fiction short story and was looking for help with a science fiction novel he was writing. Lois Dean, the older woman, had run across a set of diaries written by an ancestor who had followed the Oregon Trail in the 1800s. She wanted to turn them into a historical novel. Mindy Krauss and Lori Ryan were housewives and bridge partners who were trying their hand at a mystery, and Brad Dorrigan was a computer programmer who had majored in English Lit and spoke earnestly about the coming-of-age story he had been working on for several years.

“Okay, great,” Maxfield said. “Well, we certainly have a diverse group. That's good. It means that we're going to get different opinions when we critique each other's work. And that is one of the things we are going to do here.

“Now let me talk about criticism for a moment. Each week I'm going
to read something that someone in the group has submitted and each of you is going to be painfully honest with your opinions. That doesn't mean that you are going to be mean or spiteful. The only type of criticism I expect here is constructive criticism. It's perfectly all right to dislike something, but I want you to tell the writer
why
you don't like what he or she has written and I want you to suggest how the work can be changed for the better. So think before you speak.

“My job will be to moderate these proceedings but I'm also going to give you tips that I hope will improve your writing. When we start each class I'll spend some time talking about character development, outlining, and other aspects of the writer's craft. Now, I don't like talking to hear myself speak. I assume you're here because you are motivated to improve your craft. So, ask questions. Remember, in this group there is no such thing as a stupid question.

“And with that introduction, unless there are questions, I'm going to start our first session with a brief discussion of the method I use to develop story ideas.”

 

They took a break after the first hour, and Terri talked to the other members of Maxfield's class. Except for Brad Dorrigan, who took himself a little too seriously, the other aspiring writers were a pleasant group.

“Okay, back to the grind,” Joshua Maxfield said when fifteen minutes had passed. Terri carried a cup of coffee to her place. While everyone got settled, she checked the notes she'd taken about developing story ideas.

“I said that we're going to spend a portion of each meeting critiquing each other's writing,” Maxfield said. “Tonight, I'm going to read a chapter from a work in progress and everyone will comment.”

Terri was nervous that her manuscript would be the subject of the first critique. The other students looked just as worried. Maxfield squared up a short stack of paper that lay in front of him. He picked up the first sheet.

Maxfield read with his eyes on the page but every once in a while he would focus on one of the students to gauge their reaction. The faces of the others varied from fascination to horror. Terri had grown pale during the reading, and when Maxfield read the part where the killer ate the snack in the victim's kitchen, she nearly threw up.

“Any comments?” he asked the group when he finished. Terri tried to compose herself, terrified to show her true emotions.

“That was…very gruesome,” Harvey Cox managed. “I mean, if the writer was trying to gross me out he succeeded.”

“Why
he
?” Maxfield asked.

“It's got to be a man,” Cox said, casting a quick glance across the table at Brad Dorrigan. “Women don't write like that.”

“That's not true,” Lori Ryan protested. “Some of today's women authors write very grisly scenes.”

“Let's get back to your comment, Harvey,” Maxfield said. “Was this really gruesome? Does the writer describe his murders in detail or leave the details to the reader's imagination?”

Lois Dean raised her hand.

“Lois?”

“Before I say anything, I've got to tell you that I don't like books like this. I don't read them. So I'm biased against it. But I see your point. There are a few graphic parts but most of the violence isn't spelled out.”

“Is that good or bad?” Maxfield asked.

“Good, I think,” Mindy Krauss answered. “It's like in
Psycho.
You don't really see Norman Bates stab the woman in the shower but you're sure you did see her stabbed. Hitchcock makes you use your imagination.”

Maxfield nodded and looked at Terri Spencer.

“What do you think, Terri, more details or less detail? Do you prefer
it when the writer leaves nothing to the imagination or when the writer forces you to be part of his fantasy?”

 

Terri had all she could do to keep from racing out of the room but she made it through the rest of the class, even supplying intelligent answers on the two occasions she was asked a question.

As the discussion droned on, Terri tried to make sense of what had just happened. She told herself that the incident in the chapter was a coincidence, but she knew that was impossible. Milk and cake, milk and pie. It was too close to real life. But there was one possible explanation. Some writers fictionalized real events to make their stories seem authentic. Maybe the person who wrote the scene had read about the killer's snack and used the incident because it was so horrifying. For a moment, Terri felt relieved. Then she remembered the newspaper accounts of her tragedy that she had read. She didn't recall the snack being mentioned in any of them. Had the police held back that information? She had to know.

And who had written the scene that Maxfield read? She was pretty certain that Lois Dean was not the writer. Dean was working on a historical novel based on her ancestor's diaries and she had told the class that she didn't like graphic serial killer books. Mindy Krauss and Lori Ryan were working on a mystery novel, and Lori Ryan had not been upset by the grisly nature of the scene. Lori was even acquainted with women authors who wrote this style of book. But Terri leaned toward one of the men as the author. Which one, though? Harvey Cox had told the group that he was writing science fiction. That left Brad Dorrigan.

When the class ended, Terri waited for the computer programmer. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, and his hair was shaggy and unkempt. He was also thin and, Terri guessed, only five-six or seven—much shorter and less muscular than the killer Ashley had described.

“Interesting class,” Terri said.

“I expected more,” Dorrigan replied disdainfully. “I assumed that we would be discussing theory, certainly something more advanced. Outlining, where we get our ideas from—drivel. Maybe Maxfield was a one-shot wonder, like the critics say.”