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arc852 · 3 years ago

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An Unlikely Duo Ch. 3

Warnings: Fear, panic and mention of treating a person like a pet

Word Count: 2426

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

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Wilbur spent the hours leading up to dinner looking through his laptop trying to figure out what song he should play for Tommy. He hadn’t meant for it to take that long and had actually wanted to play before dinner was ready but picking a song Tommy might like was a lot harder than he thought. Not to mention, the more he stared at his own sheets of music, the more he hated every single one.

He let out a sigh and shut his laptop, rubbing a hand down his face. He’d figure it out after he got back, he supposed.

He headed down to dinner, only to see that they were serving spaghetti tonight. Wilbur smiled a little at the chance to bring Tommy some warm food. He could even give Tommy some bread with it as well. A full meal instead of just some deli meats he found in the fridge.

He ate his portion of dinner, putting a forkful in a napkin and hiding it away in his pocket when the adults weren’t looking. He grinned to himself when they didn’t notice and then did the same thing with a whole roll of bread. The adults were none the wiser and when he asked to be excused, they let him go with no suspicions. Perfect.

He closed the door to his room and kneeled down so he could place the food underneath his bed. He bit his lip as he stayed there for a moment, looking at the wall that Tommy was probably still behind. He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I brought you some dinner. Some bread and spaghetti. It was really good so I hope you like it. If not, I can always bring you something else.”

He waited a moment, to see if Tommy might come out or answer him but when all he was met with was silence, Wilbur crawled out from the bed and stood up. That was fine, the little guy was probably still scared and Wilbur couldn’t blame him for that. So maybe some music would ease him.

Wilbur grabbed his guitar and sat on his bed where he propped open his laptop once again. He frowned when he realized he was right back where he was. Unable to choose a song to play for Tommy.

He strummed absentmindedly on his guitar as he thought over his choices. He could try the song he was playing when he first saw Tommy...but the problem with that was that it wasn't actually a song Wilbur had written. He had just been messing around on his guitar at that point. He can’t even remember what he was playing.

A thought suddenly struck Wilbur. Maybe that was it. Maybe the song didn’t really matter. Tommy seemed to like it when he was simply playing around with chords. Maybe that would be enough.

Biting his lip, Wilbur pulled up a blank music sheet. Maybe messing around and writing a new song was exactly what he needed.

And hopefully it would be enough to ease Tommy’s mind and pique his interest.

***

Tommy had been in the middle of bending his newly acquired paperclip into a hook shape when he heard the door to the human’s room open again. He had felt a lot more comfortable when Wilbur hadn’t been in the room. But of course, the human had to return eventually. Tommy expected that.

What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to actually try and talk to him.

Tommy froze as soon as he processed Wilbur was speaking. Despite being muffled through the walls, Tommy had no trouble picking up on the words being said. He had been brought food, again. Part of Tommy, which he was pretty sure was his stomach, was happy at the chance to eat more food. The other part, the more rational part, was livid that the human would try it again.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken the food. Because now Wilbur had taken it as an incentive to keep doing it. To keep pitying him.

Well, Tommy wasn’t having it.

Overcome with anger and a sense of wanting to prove himself, Tommy marched out of the wall. He grabbed the piece of bread, ignoring the way the heat came off in fumes and the smell wafted around, making his mouth water. He ignored it all in favor of taking the piece of bread and coming out from underneath the bed.

The music had just barely started when Tommy decided to interrupt. Cupping his hand over his mouth in order to make sure he was heard. “Hey b****!”

Wilbur’s hand paused on the strings, his body tensing. A voice, Tommy’s voice, seemed to come from the floor. But that would mean…

Oh so slowly, as if anything faster would make Tommy leave, Wilbur put down his guitar beside him on the bed and then leaned over said bed, glancing down toward the floor. And there was Tommy, small as ever, with a familiar glare pointed right at Wilbur. Wilbur swallowed thickly, wondering what Tommy was doing out of the walls. “Tommy, what-?”

“I don’t need your f****** food, you giant prick! And I don’t want your f****** pity either!” Tommy yelled, all his anger put into the words. Wilbur, meanwhile, sat frozen, shocked at Tommy’s words. “I can do things just fine on my own! I don’t need you or anyone and I don’t need this f****** bread either!” And with that last yell, Tommy mustered up all the strength he had and threw the bread square at Wilbur’s face.

To the surprise of both the borrower and human, the bread hit its mark and hit Wilbur right beneath his eye.

The piece of bread fell onto the bed and Wilbur stared at it, not knowing what to do or say. He glanced towards Tommy, who was breathing heavily from anger.

But, as the anger slowly pulled out of his body, Tommy realized what he had just done. The anger quickly turned into an overwhelming sense of fear as the borrower realized how much he just messed up. He talked back to a human, not even that, he yelled and cursed and threw something at someone who was so much larger than himself. A being who would have no problem getting back at him tenfold.

Tommy wasted no time in scurrying back under the bed and towards the wall.

As soon as Tommy moved, Wilbur snapped out of his frozen state. “Wait, Tommy!” He got down from his bed and did his best to follow the borrower under the bed. He got under there in just enough time to see the tiny entrance to the walls close, with Tommy already in them.

Tommy pressed his back against the door, heart pounding and trying to keep his breathing steady. Seeing Wilbur follow after him had been terrifying. And even now, knowing Wilbur was right there, waiting outside his door made Tommy panic. There was no way the human could get him out of the walls...right?

Oh god but he totally could. All it would take is a hammer to the wall and Tommy would be exposed. Caught like the stupid borrower he was, why did he have to go out and do that-

“Tommy?” A voice cut through his panicked thoughts and Tommy tensed. The voice sounded close. Too close. “Hey, I’m not...mad or anything. I’m just a little confused. I gave you the food because I just want to help. Not because of any pity or anything. I don’t pity you, Tommy.” Wilbur’s words were gentle and calm but Tommy still felt his hands become fists at his sides.

“Why else would you give me the food? It’s because you don’t think I can get any myself.” Tommy spoke, proud that he managed without stuttering.

“That’s not true. I’m sure you’re plenty capable.” Wilbur said back and Tommy faltered a bit. “I just thought it would be nice for you not to have to go through the trouble of finding something. Besides, it’s cold. I figured maybe you’d want something warm.”

“You don’t know what I want.” Tommy spit out but it held less fire in it than before.

“You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed but I couldn’t help it. And maybe part of it is because I...I feel bad for before. For grabbing you.” Wilbur admitted, looking down at the fibers in the carpet. Tommy blinked.

“It was incredibly rude of you.” Tommy said, the fire from his anger all but gone at this point. A laugh escaped Wilbur, causing Tommy to flinch but he soon relaxed when he realized what it was.

“That’s fair.” Wilbur said inbetween laughs. Tommy couldn’t help but smile a little but it quickly left his face when a question popped into his head. A question he had been itching to ask since it had happened, really. He supposed now was as good of a time as any. With the wall between them, Tommy felt a lot more comfortable talking to the human.

“What was the deal with the whole three questions thing anyway? You could have just...kept me and forced me to answer all that you wanted to ask.” Tommy didn’t know why he was bringing up the fact that Wilbur could have kept him. Could very much still catch him and keep him. But the question was already out in the open.

Wilbur was silent for a long time, to the point where Tommy was starting to get nervous. Did he just make the human realize his mistake? Was this where the hammer to the walls came in?

“Tommy, I...I wouldn’t…” Wilbur was having a hard time collecting his thoughts. “I was never going to keep you. I was curious, yeah, and I definitely reacted wrong but you’re clearly a person and that’s...no, yeah, I was always going to let you go. The questions...I did that so I could get something out of our meeting before you left.”

Tommy blinked, mind running with this new information. Part of him wanted to say that Wilbur was lying but at the same time...he did let him go. Was that enough to support what Wilbur claimed?

“I...I didn’t think it mattered, if I was a person or not. Cause yeah, that s*** is obvious but other humans don’t seem to care too much about that. They see something small and ‘helpless’ and think, mine.” He remembered the stories his parents would tell him, of borrowers being caught and kept as pets even after they revealed they could think and speak for themselves. It was awful and did the trick for little Tommy to stay far away from outside the walls for the longest time.

“...Well those people are right pricks then.” Wilbur spoke and the bluntness of the statement made Tommy laugh. Despite the underlying anger in Wilbur’s tone, he was pretty sure the anger wasn’t directed at him.

“Couldn’t agree with you more, big man.” The nickname slipped out without him meaning to but if Wilbur noticed he didn’t say anything. Just let out a quiet snort. They sat in silence for a few moments and in that time Tommy realized his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it had been. He was still terrified but somehow...less, now.

Wilbur stared at the little door, the one that blended into the walls so well he could barely even see it. Half of him hoped Tommy would come out and they could speak face to face but he knew that wouldn’t happen. And he couldn’t really blame him either. Not with Tommy’s line of thinking. It truly was awful though, especially since Wilbur knew full well that some humans were just that bad. It made Wilbur sick just thinking about it.

He stared at the small piece of bread that he had taken with him, the one that Tommy had thrown and gently placed it back with the small pile of spaghetti. “I’ll leave you alone now. I know it was probably a bit...much, with me chasing you underneath the bed. Sorry, about that by the way. Um, but yeah. I’ll leave the food here, just in case you want it. Not out of pity or anything.” Wilbur felt the need to reassure further. “But just because.”

Tommy didn’t say anything at that. But Wilbur smiled anyway. “And if you ever need anything, I’d be more than happy to help you out.” He let his words hang there for a bit, letting Tommy soak them up. “Goodnight, Tommy.” And with that, Wilbur crawled out from underneath the bed and climbed back on top of it.

He stared at his guitar for a moment before picking it up to put away. It was getting late anyway. He should probably get some sleep.

As Tommy heard Wilbur shuffling around, he couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. It had gone...better, than Tommy would have ever expected. He still wasn’t sure if he believed Wilbur or not but some part of him really wanted to. It was dangerous to listen to that part of him though.

As the noises out in the room died down, Tommy took a deep breath and opened the door. He half-expected to see Wilbur still under the bed, waiting for him. But of course, he wasn’t. Judging by the silence and how dark the room was, Tommy could only assume he had gone to bed.

His eyes drifted over towards the small pile of food, still steaming. Hesitantly, Tommy made his way over to it and picked up the piece of bread he had thrown at Wilbur. It wasn’t as hot as before but it still held some of its warmth. It was soft in his hands with a spongy sort of texture. Tommy had had bread before but that bread had always been kind of old and stale. It was never like this.

He took a bite out of it and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

Tommy had never eaten anything warm before. It was an unfamiliar but welcome feeling all the same. The dull cold he always felt was, for once, warmed by the food. It was amazing and that was just the bread.

He wiped his tears away as he continued to eat.

And later that night, as he laid on the ground with his thin blanket and a full, warm, stomach, he couldn’t help but think about Wilbur.

#g/t #giant/tiny #mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #borrowers #au #borrower!tommy #human!wilbur #an unlikely duo #part 3 #fic #my fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot

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kerbieaddis · 6 years ago

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How I Got My Agent

Well, here's a post I never thought I'd have the chance to write.

After 6 years of writing seriously, several manuscripts, multiple contests, hundreds of queries, and a metric ton of determination, I am over the moon to announce I have an agent.

I can't even begin to tell you guys how happy I am. I have a long road ahead of me still, with revisions and going on submission, but having someone in my corner is such an incredible boost to help me fight through self-doubt.

My writing journey has been long and (literally) bloody, but for this post I'll just focus on the book that got me an agent. Before I wrote this book, I'd made up my mind to only write something if I really loved it. I was finishing up my master's degree, making plans to move to Philadelphia, and really didn't have time to write something new.

One night, after calming me down from an anxiety attack, my husband, Chris, said: "Don't you wish there was a machine that could erase all the bad memories?"

I thought on this for a moment. Part of me welcomed the idea of erasing bad memories, but as someone with a family history of Alzheimer's disease, it simultaneously terrified me. For that to work, I thought, it would need to be an artificial intelligence. Something that could sort the memories. I thought of my miscarriage from years earlier and how even though it was a terrible memory and had brought on several new anxiety triggers, it had lit a fire under me. Would I want to erase that? How would an artificial intelligence understand that I valued the bad memories?

I told Chris my thoughts. "But what if an artificial intelligence couldn't tell the difference between bad or good memories?"

"Sounds like a good science fiction idea."

But I can't write science fiction, I thought. I'm not smart enough. I don't know anything about science, how could I write science fiction? So I tucked the idea away as something that someone else could write. But not me.

And I didn't write anything on that book for a year and a half. But one day, when washing dishes, I heard in my head the voice of the villain. He only said one line, which is a spoiler, but it made the rest of the book suddenly click into place. I stopped washing dishes and scrambled for my computer, typing frantically with soapy hands.

Within an hour, I had my outline.

What I didn't understand about the science behind my plot points, I researched. I live near an academic library and spent many exhausted nights over quantum computing textbooks and articles about the ethics of artificial intelligences.

In one month, I had a first draft.

In three months, I had a final draft and a thumbs up from all my critique partners.

I started querying, knowing I had lots of rejection ahead of me. Previously, I had queried manuscripts for about a year before giving up, so I expected the timeline to be similar.

I had difficult classes, which was a welcome distraction from thinking about my queries floating in cyberspace. To finish a 25-page paper, I stayed up for two nights and finally turned it in, signaling my completion of that semester. Before passing out in bed, I checked my query email. I wasn't expecting anything, really, since I'd only been querying for a month and just a few people had responded so far.

I had one email. An agent wanted to talk on the phone.

I became lightheaded. I staggered down the hall and mumbled something to Chris about "someone wants to talk" which he found hilariously ominous. I was so sleep-deprived I could barely comprehend what was happening, so I asked my husband to read the email.

"They want a phone call," he confirmed.

It was Friday, which meant the phone call was scheduled for Monday. This agent's timing couldn't have been more perfect. I think if I would've gotten their email while still writing papers, I might have failed that semester because there was no way I could concentrate on anything else.

Monday came, finally, and we had our phone call. I vibrated with anxiety the entire time. Chris had "phone call duties" which involved herding our pets, keeping them quiet, and sitting by with a notebook to write down all the key points of the call since I knew I would be utterly useless to remember anything once the adrenaline faded.

It was an offer! The agent loved my book. They had ideas for revision, which I agreed with. They were kind and supportive and had great ideas. I got off the phone with my heart soaring. They were perfect.

But then I had the task of notifying all other agents. I only had out around 20 queries, so luckily that didn't take long.

More full requests came in. Each time, I nearly threw up with stress. One agent asked for the full, an agent I'd admired for a long time, but I didn't get my hopes up. I queried them because they liked my previous manuscripts, but I always assumed dark/horror wasn't their cup of tea.

A week later, when eating salad at a restaurant with my husband, I got an email from that very agent. They wanted a phone call.

I tossed my fork and grabbed a spoon, shoveling salad into my mouth. "They want a phone call in two hours," I explained to Chris, and he too, began scarfing down food.

We raced home and I panic-prepared for the phone call. Chris resumed his "phone call duties." Can I just say thank God for supportive spouses?

The phone call happened. Another offer! The agent was absolutely incredible. They talked about the themes in the book, themes I thought most people wouldn't catch. They wanted heavier revisions than the other offering agent, but as they explained what worked and what didn't work, I made a suggestion, and they added to that suggestion. I was suddenly overcome with an itch to work on the story again, because their enthusiasm and ideas sparked my creativity.

I told the agent I was surprised they liked the book so much, since I'd always assumed they disliked horror. "Pure horror, yes," they explained, "but not books with horror elements. Plus your book reminds me of Annihilation."

I swooned. Annihilation is one of my favorite books, and I had been trying to recapture the ominous unknown fear of that book in my own.

I got off the phone, shaking. Now I had a decision to make. I loved both agents, but I could only choose one.

I made a pros and cons list. I asked my friends their opinions on each agent and their agency. I did hours of googling. Each time a new email popped up, I was actually praying it wasn't another offer. I didn't want the decision to be any harder. My deadline was soon after Christmas, so several agents did email to ask for more time. More than one said they were leaning towards offering, but that they never offer without finishing a manuscript.

After lots of stressful crying, throwing up, and cramming chocolate in my face, I had my decision.

I officially signed with Bridget Smith of Dunham Literary. She was the agent I believed I had zero chance with, but in the end, she was the one who understood my book the most. Her revision ideas were so incredibly brilliant and they made me crave writing again, which is exactly what I want in an agent.

Anyway, I know when I read these stories, I loved to see statistics, so here's the querying stats on my sci fi:

Queries Sent: 20

Rejections: 8

No Response: 4

Full Requests: 8

Offers: 2

I think if there's anything I want other writers to take from this, it's don't give up and don't self-reject. I rolled my eyes when reading that on other "How I Got My Agent" stories, but it's true. I self-rejected a LOT. I even put off writing this book, which is probably the best thing I've ever written, because I assumed I wasn't "smart enough" to write it. You can do anything if you put the work in.

Maybe it won't be this manuscript, and that's okay. Maybe your writing isn't ready. Maybe the market isn't ready. But keep going, because with each manuscript you finish, it's another step on the journey.

Speaking of, I still have another journey ahead of me, and that's revision, so I should get back to it. If you got this far, thanks for reading, and good luck!

#querying #writing #literaryagent

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