Death by Marketing - 07
This reclusive writer decides he needs help marketing his books. So he places an ad, much like his great-great-grandfather... The lady who responds you've met before, but now she's her own mystery...
We’re now onto the 7th book in this series. And here is the crossover — where our marketing mavens meet our generations of reclusive authors.
(All previous stories linked below.)
Click also to see the full version as this may not fit most emails...
I
“They Laughed When I Sat Down at the Piano. But When I Started to Play! –
- - - -
IT ALL STARTED WITH that last visit to my Doctor. I came out of his office with a new prescription. He wanted me to switch over to some new anti-depression medication that wouldn't react with anything else I was taking. But he still didn't change his prognosis for me. I read that piece of paper with its hieroglyphic scrawls. Then I found out I was close to a city sidewalk trash bin. So I wadded the damn thing up and pitched it in.
I looked up into the misty Iowa sky overhead and squinted against the sunshine.
The hell with him. And that voice in my head. "You're gonna live maybe a month, maybe a few years. Or maybe next week. It all depends."
That' s what he said. Smug little man. Pretty framed diploma on the wall. And he had a cutesy secretary to line people up to arrive on time and receive his prescriptions. Probably gets paid off by the local pharmaceutical reps. Fat hell he's done any good for me except just keep taking my insurance money and the co-pay and everything above that.
All to tell me that I was dying. No hope for me.
Not like I didn't see it coming. I spent all the extra time I could working at my advertising firm. Or what we called "marketing". And we were the best in the state. More work than we could handle. I had to turn businesses away. Of course, we did really good work for those we had and they all paid their bills on time, and often sent bonuses over in addition to their fruit baskets and tickets to in-town games.
Which were all appreciated.
None of that helped my health though.
Funny thing is, I was too young to die. Yes, I'd put on some weight, and I was, well, over 30 and no prospects in sight. (Not that I'd given anyone much chance, since I was busy working all the time.) Hell, I was half-way to 40 and at this rate, I wasn't going to arrive there.
I decided if I was going to die, then I didn't need to be taking any more drugs that weren't going to cure anything. Because what he was "treating" wasn't anything physical.
No, I didn't drink, hardly ever touched any street drugs - and regretted those I tried. Because they didn't do any good. I didn't overeat, but I liked my pastries and chocolate like any woman does. But my shape was still good enough to keep a few eyes following me in the local stores and sidewalks. And yes, I still got regular requests for dates.
But I turned them down for the same reason as always.
Too much work.
And it was killing me. That work had become humdrum, average, usual. High-quality usual. And average, normal – those things kill you.
Since my life was my work, and my work was now routine, I was doing nothing that I got excited or enthused about.
I took some days off. And found out that the place ran just fine without me. No, that didn't cheer me up. I was satisfied that those guys and gals I'd hired and trained managed everything without me.
And again, no – that still didn't cheer me up.
Because I had nothing else to live for outside of my business – the one that I'd moved out here from New York and built into the best in the state, probably the entire Midwest.
Maybe the best explanation for these feelings was that "empty-nester" syndrome. But not because I'd had any kids. That business was my only child - and it was now on it's own. It didn't need me to coddle and pick it up when it fell any more. It could walk on it's own just fine.
Which meant I could do anything I wanted, because I'd still get my salary and bonus percentages until I died or sold the business to someone else.
But I had nothing else to do, and nowhere else to go.
- - - -
I PICKED UP MY DAILY newspaper, then sat at my old kitchen table. And found myself looking through the ads in it. I always skipped the news and looked through the big ads first, front to back, then went back to check the classifieds.
It was an old habit I had from when I was looking for new talent. Classifieds gave me a hint of what someone could do if they got the right training.
Old habits die hard, like old copywriters - even old 30-somethings like me that were dying for lack of anything to live for.
Then I saw it. That ad. Like the fabled “Shackleton ad”. But not quite.
Paying by the word meant a certain budget to stay within. So word choices were precise. Short, concise, pointed. And mystery just dripping off it.
What I read between the lines cast a lot of doubt as to this guy's intentions.
“Genius Female Marketer Needed.”
Probably wanted a bimbo to bed while she wrote his ads and took him for anything she could.
The next lines were all Shackleton - “enough adventure to last the rest of your lifetime.”
So that bimbo he wanted was probably a mail-order bride.
The next two lines were just more along that line – about rigors, hardship, not returning the same.
And the usual one about “fame and renown possible upon success.”
Everyone knew the Shackleton ad was a fake. So why did this guy use it as a model? Or was this another A/B ad to see what pulled better?
But the last line was the real hook: “Priceless secrets disclosed upon acceptance – Only to The One who Qualifies.”
A complete buy-now, and extremely limited quantities.
No, I wasn't interested in becoming anyone's bedded bimbo. Even for the few days or a year I had left.
The “priceless secrets disclosed” had me going, though. Sure, I had enough time to do some treasure hunting. Now that I had nothing else to do.
And for the first time in years, I got interested in something outside of running and expanding my own business. This ad – and finding the guy who could write so well in such a limited space. Maybe he needed a job. And maybe I wouldn't mind being his “bimbo” if those “secrets” were worth it.
So I pulled out my phone and called the newspaper. Classified Ad department.
- - - -
AND THEIR RESPONSE was even more curious. They had a small form to send out, so I just drove over and picked it up, filled it out while standing at their little counter. They said they would send it off.
What they didn't tell me was that it was to be sent by next-day express service.
Two day's later, I got one of those at my home address (which I used instead of my business, for prospecting new hires.) Even had to sign for it. And once I pulled open the zip-strip on that cardboard sleeve, the only thing in it was a simple note-sized paper with a street address on a rural road, and precise latitude and longitude.
All above an appointment for one o'clock three days from now. Not anything about how it was negotiable, or convenient. It just so happened to be on a Friday.
No signature. Block-printed hand-lettered. Each line precisely centered.
Smelled like coffee, maybe fried food.
Curiouser and curiouser.
II
“Do You Make These Mistakes in English?”
- - - -
I STOOD JUST INSIDE the door of my mini-home cabin, coffee mug in hand. Waiting for how long after one o'clock was this latest applicant going to take to arrive.
By the time I had emptied my third mug of the day, I hesitated to refill it again, as I'd be making a second pot. And that would throw off my metabolism. Good sleep was hard enough to come by as it was.
Just as I was about to turn away, well over a half-hour after she was supposed to arrive, I saw the cloud of dust on that graveled road follow, then plume up and pass over the car which created it, as that little sedan slowed to check the numbers on my mail box. Then that car turned in and crept up the driveway to slow to a stop in front of the tiny cabin I wrote in.
I could make out someone inside it, who was double-checking the address and fiddling with her phone or something. Then she finally got out and stood next to its door, hand over her sunglasses against the sun in her eyes. She wore sensible flats. Flowered skirt past her knees. Business blouse, pleated. And she was trim, but no skinny runway model. Well built, a sturdy Midwest frame. Middle-aged, but barely. Her face was pretty with simple makeup, but looked tired right now. All this under a stylish brunette hair-style that hung down just below her shoulders. No perm needed with her thick tresses.
And our eyes finally connected. Hers were a deep brown.
That was my cue.
So I opened the door and padded out onto it's small porch in my sock feet. It wasn't cold enough to need socks, but I was being polite to this visitor – like most strangers I'd met.
And I put on a wan smile.
That was her cue to come over to my porch and stick out her hand to shake mine. Like so many who had come out before.
And, like the rest, I smelled her perfume as I returned her shake. Which meant we'd be doing the interview out here on these two porch chairs instead of inside. It takes forever to get some of these scents out of that cabin once they enter.
“Thanks for coming. You must be Tessa. I'm Chad.”
I gestured to the chair in front of me. “Would you like some coffee, tea, or water?”
“Water, please.”
I ducked inside and pulled out a couple of bottled waters from the small fridge. It was about five of my long steps each way.
Once I cleared the screen door, I handed one to her and then dropped into my own chair on the opposite side of that narrow porch. I never installed railings, just so my feet and legs had room to slouch on warm evenings. Watching the sunsets grow into the east was often more revealing than squinting into the sun out of the west. And an east-facing porch doesn't get iced over as easily as one on the north or west – in this country.
She broke her silence while I was musing. “I suppose this is the interview.”
I smiled. “Well, the first, anyway. And you're probably thinking this is unconventional.”
Tessa nodded. “Not what I expected, for sure.”
“And what did you expect?”
“Well, I'm used to boardrooms or at least regular offices with receptionists and modern furniture.”
“Oh, I have three receptionists: me, myself, and I.”
She gave a wry smile at this. “Meaning, you're a one-man band.”
I nodded. “Way more efficient, and the payroll is non-existent.”
“But you need help marketing.”
“Just one.”
She paused a bit, waiting for the interview questions to start.
I took the opening. “So, you drove here?”
“Yes, I came from eastern Iowa, as you probably know.”
“And you have a going concern there, reputed to be the best Iowa has to offer.”
She nodded, and smiled. “Yes, I built it up from scratch after I came out from New York.”
“But you didn't start there – and you used to have a partner?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You've been doing your homework.”
“Well, most of it is on your own website.”
“I guess you can get Internet about anywhere now days.”
“A person can get what ever they want, if they set their mind to it. Satellite. Out back.”
She nodded, and waited.
“OK, what made you decide to answer my ad?”
“How you wrote it. I've had the habit for years of scanning the classifieds to find new copywriters.”
“And if worse came to worse, then maybe you could hire yourself a wordsmith.”
She nodded.
“Well, I appreciate your compliment, but that's off the table.”
Another wry grin crossed her face. “You know, this is one of the most unorthodox interviews I've ever had.”
“Giving or receiving”
“Both.”
“Then you know the interview started much earlier.”
She nodded. “When you saw me get out of the car.”
“When you turned into the drive.”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “Of course. I should have guessed. There are two legal professions that have observation as a requirement. Detectives and Writers.”
I smiled. “Glad to have you aboard, Watson.”
- - - -
TESSA SHIFTED IN HER chair and crossed her legs toward me. Then pulled a strand of hair out of her eyes with a single finger of her left hand. “Alright, then, what do I need to do to qualify?”
“Are you serious about wanting to be accepted? You've got your own business.”
“You're a mystery, and that is intriguing.”
I just smiled. “Alright then, what should I be asking you?”
She smiled in return. The game was afoot. “You selected me, out of probably many copywriting honeys that took your ad as an invitation for a mail-order bride.”
My smile turned into a grin. “Yes and no. There have been 15 I've invited out for an interview. 6 actually made the trip. Most didn't make as far as you have.”
“And the mail-order bride part?”
“Well, they mostly showed up in short skirts and wore enough perfume to never make it up to the porch. No matter how un-buttoned their blouse.”
Tessa chuckled. “That doesn't really answer that part of the question.”
“Sure that would be nice, as I am nearly a confirmed bachelor, but what I'm looking for is a more conventional business partner.”
She added a raised eyebrow to her smile. “So does that mean there are unconventional parts to this?”
“Like having to put up with a reclusive, prolific author and teach him what he's missing about marketing – or what he may not see as his own shortcomings.”
She relaxed at this. Somehow, I'd hit into some area of comfort for her. “That doesn't particularly add up. Your questionnaire told that you know more about copywriting than almost all of the others.”
“Others?”
Tessa leaned toward me on the arm of her wood porch chair. “Let's be real. I'm out of the Midwest. I run the best marketing operation in Iowa and all of the states that border it. I even have exclusive clients out of Chicago because they can't find any decent marketers in Illinois. So when I come all this way to find out more about someone who can write a classified ad – and then question me about obscure copywriting books – I know you know enough about marketing to be at least competition for me. So how come I haven't heard about you before?”
I chuckled. “Two reasons. I write and publish for a living. Which means I researched marketing in self-defense – as well as how to improve my craft. But mainly, it's because men don't market well.”
“Sure they do.”
“Just sports and beer. It used to include cigarettes, but...”
She laughed lightly. “The guys I hire can write for a lot of products.”
“Because you trained them to get out of their comfort zone. You trained them on the real basics, not most of the junk that's been written since the 50's.”
Tessa was grinning now. “And thank you for the compliment. I've taken on many copywriters with basic talent, and then groomed them up to being really good ones. But you're right, women have an easier time of learning how to market than guys. The trick is that most women are too distracted to ever pick a copywriting job to make their living.”
“Distracted?”
Tessa looked off into the distance. “You know, having a family, keeping up with the Joneses with fads and styles. Chasing men before they get too old.”
Her face turned solemn at this thought.
I interrupted her introspection. “Which comes to the real reason you're here.”
III
“The Diary of a Lonesome Girl”
- - - -
I WAS AMUSED WITH THIS pretty package of looks, intelligence, and outspoken-ness – until she went solid and quiet on me.
“Something else is behind your driving all this way to sit on my porch and talk shop.”
She was quiet, and looked down at her half-empty water bottle. Then took another sip.
I waited.
Finally she looked up at me. “To be honest, I've got nothing else to lose.”
“But your business, don't you have everything?”
She shrugged. “I've worked myself out of a job. I took a short vacation and found the business ran without me. So I'm no longer needed there.”
“More like you haven't been needed for a long time.”
She looked up at me, her eyes were direct. “What else have you figured out from your observations, Holmes?”
I gave a wry grin, which relaxed her a bit. “Your sedan is not new, it's a late model – which says you know value and functionality over marketing hype. You dress conservatively, while your looks are far more attractive – that you could still have any man you wanted – but you don't. You're unmarried – no ring or sign of one on that finger. And there's some sort of physical difficulty you're having, according to your skin tone and how you carry yourself.”
Tessa sighed. “Yes, I suppose I can't hide much from you. My doctor said I'm dying, but his only cure was for me to spend my remaining days relaxing, but...”
“You've always loved marketing, so having to be away from that is like you might as well be thrown into a rest home.”
A chuckle escaped her lips, along with a sigh. “So, I guess I can't qualify for your position.”
“That depends. It's not cancer, just stress – am I right?”
She nodded, again looking off.
“Then you probably have hit the impasse that your own marketing know-how should have prepared you for.”
That got her attention. “Like what?”
“You told me Schwartz was your most referred-to reference. OK, in his terms, when the prospect is most aware and the marketplace is most mature, then what kind of ad do you write?”
“Identification.”
I nodded. “Correct, of course. Yet success can buy you any number of things of any quality. And you would rather be in your office than at your house.”
“So?”
“All the material things you have in both of these remind you of what you've become, but you're only still working because you're trying to find answers for yourself. And all the stuff around you only says you're a complete success. And the phrase that comes back is, 'So if you're so rich, why ain't you happy?”
Her eyes moistened at this, she nodded and looked down at her water bottle. Her lower lip quivered.
I chuckled out loud, for her benefit. “Because you have been looking, but not observing, Watson.”
Shocked, she looked up at me again, puzzled.
“Look, Tessa, it's the 'forest for the trees' solution. Marketing isn't running ads and getting sales. Sure, it's 'salesmanship in print' – but what is good salesmanship? Finding what the prospect actually wants, which isn't necessarily what you're prepared to offer them.”
She brightened a bit at that.
I continued. “In this culture, at this time, you can get just about anything you want – and so most marketplaces run on availability and compete on price. They know that any customer or client can probably find something cheaper and get it delivered for less than you can sell it for. So it's a buyer's market. The only variable is how much some politician will get in the way with regulations and inflate prices on one side or the other.”
She shook her head. “You lost me.”
“Ok, let's cut it down to basics. Marketing is help. Pure and simple. Meanwhile, the universe runs on the Golden Rule – you get only as well as you give. But giving has to start first.”
She nodded, and was now relaxed in her porch chair.
“Tessa – to save yourself, you're going to have to find what you lost. Your own reason for existing – your spark.”
Then we enjoyed the pastoral silence for awhile as she considered.
And I looked out over the eastern sky, across the front lawn and the fields across the road. Autumn was coming, and the earliest trees had started dropping leaves, or turning their green leaves yellow.
All in preparation for the renewal that winter provided.
- - - -
“SO, CHAD, THIS IS ANOTHER way of saying that I'm dying because I've worked myself to death.”
I shook my head no. “First, you aren't dying. And if you love your work, then you can't kill yourself off with satisfaction from regularly producing great quality services for others – unless, you just aren't sleeping or eating, but we both know you get enough of each.”
Tessa blushed a bit. “I don't know how to respond to that.”
I chuckled. “Look, you are a good-looking gal, and a little diet and exercise would trim any part of you that you feel still needs it. But you and I both know that what makes a person look good on the outside is what's within. So you're going to have to find a reason to change your lifestyle habits. But it's more than just acquiring a boyfriend or a husband.”
She nodded. “Because they simply aren't out there.”
“Unless you make them for yourself.”
Her forehead frowned.
I smiled wider. “No, it's that you have to start giving more. And you are going to have to think over what we've covered today before we can complete this interview.”
“Sorry I got my own problems in the way of your interview questions...”
I shook my head no. “Tessa, that's part of the process. And you've gotten further than any of the other fifteen I've invited out here. So right now, you're the closest I have to finding someone that will be a good fit. But it also has to be a good fit for you.”
She smiled at that. Warm and honest.
“OK, would you like steak or burgers?”
“Pardon?”
We've talked ourselves right into dinner preps. I've got options for steaks or burgers as the main meal. Sweet potato fries, Flatbread or biscuits. Tea or fresh whole milk. But I can either start frying burgers, or we can get into some steak I have in the slow-cooker.”
She grinned. “Steak, then.”
“Oh – that house over there has a flushing toilet like you're used to. I've got a composting toilet inside this cabin, but the house will enable you to relax in more space up there. I'll serve dinner up on that table inside. Meanwhile, there's a couch and a decent-sized library, too. You should find most everything you need.”
Tessa was grinning now. And shook my hand. “Thanks Chad. I'll wait for you there.”
As she found herself walking up the graveled path toward the smallish house, I watched her pleasant walk. She'd both relaxed and regained more certainty, which both made her even more attractive.
IV
“The Man in the Hathaway Shirt”
- - - -
WHEN CHAD BROUGHT THE tray of steaks, fries, and pan bread, I'd already changed into more comfortable slacks and a knit top, under a loose sweater. All in shades of brown and tan.
I'd also found the dish-ware and cutlery to set the table. So we were sitting down and mostly through the meal before we started talking again.
“Chad, this is such a nice house. How come you've left it as mostly one big room?”
He shrugged. “Frankly, I haven't gotten around to it. The original house had burned down sometime past. They'd cleared off the rubble as part of selling it, and both the electrical and water were already there. So I hired an Amish crew to frame in, roof, and clad a house the size of the original slab, which was still in good shape. Then I framed in and finished the bathroom and utility area so I could do laundry, plus enough room for a couple of deep freezers, and other dry goods storage. The rest of the house was just insulated and finished as one big room, for now.
“I put this big table in here and the couch, plus some shelves on that corner for all the extra books I have. It's good to come in here sometimes to get away from myself. And I can watch DVD movies on that flat-screen with the computer hookup. Barest luxury necessities.”
“Does it get cold in winter?”
Chad shrugged. “There's a heater in the bathroom and the utility room that keeps the pipes from freezing. Plus the freezers have to be kept at a decent temperature to work properly. It's cool in here during the coldest winter nights. My cabin is easier to heat, so I stay there to work. Once I find a reason to build walls in there, I'll know where they need to go. Otherwise, it's great nine months out of the year and useful the rest.”
“But I saw another tiny-home cabin when I drove up...”
“Even Thoreau had regular visitors. I've got that extra cabin, that one you saw, with pretty much the same set-up as my own. You can use it while you're here. It's got everything you need, I just stocked it up this morning. Fresh Amish bread. That will save you the expense of having to drive to the nearest motel.”
“Wow, Chad. Thanks.”
He shrugged. “The least I could do. Besides, you deserve it.”
“What have I done to deserve all this?”
“Being yourself, coming all the way out here, putting up with my unorthodox questions.”
By now, we'd finished off the steaks. Chad rose to get ice cream out of the regular-sized refrigerator, pulling bowls out of the nearby cabinets. I collected the plates and brought them over to place into the dual sink that sat between the fridge and an old-style four-burner stove. Running water on those dishes made him smile.
He handed me a filled bowl with a spoon, and I took them with me to the couch. It was positioned to put our backs to the kitchen area. A low table was on that wall it faced. There was a laptop connected to a big screen, with shelves of DVD's above it, running the length of that wall.
I sat at one end of the couch and curled my feet beneath me. It was a simple craftsman-style couch, with wood arms. The brown-and-blue plaid cushions were removable, but comfortable.
The ice cream was some sort of vanilla, with nuts and a touch of caramel. And Chad had put a couple of chocolate chip cookies in each bowl.
I felt more like a guest at a rural hostel than an interviewee. But this unconventional interview had relaxed me more that I knew I needed.
My ice cream and cookies were done about the same time as Chad's. But I got up to take his bowl and spoon along with my own to the sink, waving off his protest.
- - - -
HE WAS SETTING UP THE laptop for access to its stored movies by the time I returned.
“No more questions, Chad?”
“Only if you want.”
“Can I ask them?”
“Sure.”
“You've got a lot of books here.”
“Spillover from my cabins. Same with the DVD's.”
“How long have you been writing?”
“Since forever. My Dad and Granddad were both writers, as well as my grandmother.”
“Your mom?”
“She was an accountant. And ran the business end with my cousin. Family affair.”
“Some of their books are in here?”
“I don't have a complete collection. Probably ought to, one day. I get free proofs and 'review copies' so they can expense them.”
“But you don't have them run your business for you?”
Chad shrugged. “Nope. I can if I want, but I had to get out from under that scene.”
I waited.
“Oh, we all get along great, but it was my Granddad's family house, then my Father got it, and with us four kids growing into adults, plus our two sets of parents – it was getting crowded there.
“Here I can stretch my legs more. And it's quieter, more predictably quiet.”
I smiled. “Better for writing.”
He smiled in return. “Much better. You write when the muses are singing, when they are playing that movie out in front of you – when it's a race to keep up with transcribing.”
“You don't have any problem with writer's blocks?”
Chad shook his head no. “Not really. If anything, it's just a pause in that endless flow of ideas. But I get out to check the property. There's a few animals on this smallish farm, so they need checking. And that break is often all I need.”
I smiled. “Too bad you can't bottle that stuff. I know more than a few writers that would pay big time to learn that skill.”
He shrugged. “They could learn it if they really wanted to. Lots of people have. It probably has to do with their goals and their mindset.”
“How so?”
“Basically, they want an excuse. So they don't look around for people who don't have that problem and instead focus on people who have 'solved' it – when the problem never existed to begin with. At least according to the people who were never bothered by it to begin with.”
“Like Maslow and Freud. One studied the exceptional successes, and the other studied crazy people.”
“Right. The old adage is that if you want to be successful, you'd study only successful people – but including those times they failed, in order to see how they solved those temporary setbacks.”
“By all these books – and I presume that by the newness of them, that these are your pen names, or are these your relatives – you've been writing for awhile.”
“Yeah, most of those books up there are mine – the vast majority. Printer proofs, mostly. And yes, I've got more than a few years' worth under my belt.”
“But you only decided you needed a marketer recently?”
“Mostly because I want to reach more people with my writing, but the ordinary routes are clogged with wannabes.”
“You make enough income without advertising?”
“Non-fiction, sure. But I like writing fiction more, because you don't have to cite sources and prove impeccable logic. And it's simply more fun. But my fiction are parables for the stuff that I would rather not argue about, but slide in these data 'under the radar'.”
I frowned. “Yet you know all this stuff about marketing like the best experts I know in this area.”
Chad gave me a wry grin. “But marketing is like non-fiction – I can do it, but I don't like it as much. So I tend to be getting more fiction muses clogging my lines and queuing up.
“Sure, I looked this over and said I need to get someone who all this comes more naturally.”
“And just happens to be a woman?”
He shrugged, but smiled as well. “Women are wired differently. Like I said, guys market beer and sports best. Women are better at nurturing things. In marketing, anyway. So they are inclined to like helping people grow and evolve. Men tend to want to compete – which throws away at least half of the potential prospects right off the bat. And besides...”
I waited.
“Hey you want some hot tea?”
I chuckled. “Actually, I want to hear the end of that last sentence instead.”
Chad looked around the room, as if trying to find an escape route. “OK, besides – women are a lot more fun to look at, and have around. I mean, if you want to really work closely with someone, wouldn't you rather it be someone of the opposite sex?”
He blushed slightly.
Then, as I considered what he said, so did I.
He rose at that. “Well, as I said, the end cabin is yours to use. But there are blankets and pillows in the storage room if you want to bunk here.
“Good night.”
And Chad was through the front door and gone.
Outside it was just after sunset. Twilight was setting in.
Considering my options, probably a shower was next. And if that other cabin was any more comfortable than this, then I wouldn't have to come back up in the cold morning to shower and dress here.
Practical.
Of course, my thoughts tended to want to unravel this mystery that was Chad. Part of that would be to see how he lives in that tiny cabin – by checking out that duplicate one...
V
“Never Underestimate the Power of a Woman”
- - - -
CHAD MET ME JUST AS I was stepping onto his porch.
I opened his screen door to knock, just as he opened the interior door.
“Good Morning! You like coffee?”
I could smell a roasted blend that pervaded his tiny-home cabin. And the smell of fried food.
“Oh, yes, please. What else do you have in there?”
Chad smiled as he handed me the mug in his hands. “Pancakes and eggs – sandwiched.”
“Got any extra?”
He grinned. “My secret is officially out. I was coming to invite you over.”
As he retreated to make himself another mug of brew, I saw his cabin for the first time. And noticed that the single small table had settings for two, and some folding chairs up next to it, leaving just enough room for the daybed to one side. And the tiniest, most efficient kitchen. It was true, this was almost the same as the second one I'd slept in last night. There was a closet in the corner for the composting toilet, and overhead was a loft that fit itself into the center of the cabin instead of either end.
The pancake breakfast was waiting for me, getting cooler by the second. And the sound and smell of Chad cooking his own portion was filling the air with delicious reminders of what was already waiting. I sat and looked it over more carefully.
Fried pancakes and eggs as a sandwich, as promised. Both cooked to perfection, and delicious. A choice of honey or pancake syrup to drizzle over them. Real butter had already melted and was soaking in to the top pancake.
The first taste sent me into heaven. It didn't take long for me to finish it up – and found myself quite filled.
I was just glad I had a mug of his coffee – which I sweetened with honey – to keep me busy while he piled through his own plate to catch up.
“Chad, that was great. Thanks so much.”
“You're very welcome. It looks like you rested well.”
“I did, and that other cabin is marvelous. I found plenty of your books to read, and that big bed in the loft over there – it looked like a hand-made quilt that covered it. And the pillows were so soft – I'm so glad you let me stay over, no motel would ever be this nice. This is more like a bed and breakfast.”
“Some have taken that idea and set up several tiny-homes together just for that use. But it's a heckuva upkeep job, a sizable investment.”
I leaned in as he sopped up the rest of his egg yolks with his last scrap of pancake. “So you spent the time and money outfitting an entire extra cabin just for visitors?”
He nodded. “Like I said – look around. Can you imagine having someone come and crowd into here with me while I'm trying to get any writing done? Not anyone who was used to some big apartment or house. Overnight is one thing, living this close to someone – well, at least I have that other house I could expand into if I needed.”
“Still, have your other visitors found that cabin to their liking?”
“Well, so far, no.”
“You're kidding – that's just gorgeous over there. And this whole set up matches this one – everything they really need...”
“That's what it's all for. People need to heal, and the land will help them if they'll give it a chance. A simple cabin keeps the process simple.”
“So, these other visitors didn't like something? I couldn't imagine anyone not loving it here...”
Chad shrugged. “Well, I'm glad you love it. The trick is that you're the first visitor I've really had overnight. The rest never made it this far.”
I was surprised. “Honestly? Wow.”
He'd been working this out for some time. I was impressed – on many levels.
We just sat and sipped our coffee for awhile. We were very nearly on top of each other, with our elbows and knees almost touching.
“So, Chad, what's the rest of your plans, then, if or when you finally find this partner?”
He shrugged. “Oh, there's lots of possibilities. It may be that the house over there needs to be finished up as a office rather than another set of bedrooms. I mean, we already have these cabins for that... well, what would you do with this setup?”
I smiled. “I think a little of both. You should be uninterrupted here, while your partner would work her wonders over next door. She might like a bigger kitchen, or she could use the kitchen in the house once you finish it up and add some accessories like a toaster oven. And a preps table, or maybe an island with high stools for eating there when the big table is in use otherwise.
“Then maybe partition the kitchen area off with a serving window, or just leave the whole thing open and add more side chairs and allow you to shift furniture around to give a presentation if you needed. Or get the two of you sitting together for some tele-conference. Plus, you'll probably need some space for recording webinars – you can set that up and break it down as needed.
“But writing ads also needs it's quiet space to concentrate. If there's no one in the big house over there, that's fine, but having the same setup every day is more sensible and productive. So she'd work from her own cabin, but utilize the house as needed.”
Chad nodded, smiling, and considering all I'd said. Then he just looked at me more closely. And at this close range, I could see the twinkle in his deep hazel eyes. “Oh, hey – I hope you brought some boots or at least sneakers – you really should see the rest of this farm.”
And he stood to pick up the plates and cutlery. Putting these into one of two large bowls, a second coffee maker had his hot water ready, which he poured over the plates along with enough cold water from a jug and soap. More water in the other large bowl was his rinse. Dishes went from one to bowl to the other and then to a rack over its own drip tray.
Chad poured the two bowls into a tiny sink in the corner, soap-filled one first. Rinse water also rinsing the remaining soap out of the first.
He explained. “There's a gray water tank down below, and the soap is biodegradable. It makes great garden fertilizer.
The whole process was completed before I could even volunteer to dry the dishes.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at the mug in my hand.
I looked down – it was empty. So I handed it to him.
And he rinsed his and my mugs out with the rest of the hot water, and set them into the drying rack as well.
After turning off the two coffee makers, he turned back toward me, which I took as my invitation to go outside. Because it was less awkward than his trying to move around me.
I was already wearing my sneakers, and decent pair of jeans, as well as the knit top and sweater from last night.
He grabbed a ball cap off a row of clothing hooks just inside the door, and as we entered the pasture, he snatched up a walking staff leaning against a nearby gate post. Chad led me down a well-worn pasture path, and was describing all the various trees and flowers along our way.
VI
“The Pause that Refreshes”
- - - -
ONCE WE RETURNED, I only paused to get the leftover coffee in its carafe to take with us up to the house. There, I poured it into two mugs and warmed these up in the microwave.
Tessa was standing over by the table, looking over the shelves of books that fit into the corner of the house, from the edge of a window in each side into an “L” that nearly went floor to ceiling.
I handed her a steaming mug of coffee, and reached around to my back jeans pocket to remove the honey bear squeeze jar and a clean, long-handled tea spoon.
Tessa was doing the expected of trying to squeeze enough honey in to sweeten it – but I interrupted her to take the bottle out of her hand. Then unscrewed the lid and handed her the long spoon where she soon got as much honey as she needed to bring that coffee up to her taste. I then quickly got the right amount of honey into my own mug, replaced the lid and walked the spoon and honey bottle back over to the sink and counter top where they belonged.
Coming back, Tess had picked out an anthology of short stories. “Hey, Chad, these are really good.” She showed me the cover. “This one is yours, right?”
I nodded. “Glad you like them. You know, these are all just a form of writing like your own copywriting. Look, turn over to the back, where the blurb is.”
She did and read what was there. “This is just good copywriting. And the excerpt was chosen to fit.”
I nodded again. “Now open to the first chapter and begin reading.” And I waited until finally...
“Hey, I see what you mean. It flows pretty well, like a Joe Sugarman ad. And the cliffhanger gets you to the next part and I had to quit in the middle of the second chapter.” Her finger held her place in that book.
“And yet, well, here...” I pulled a spare bookmark from the bookshelves, where I kept them just for such occasions. “You still want to read more, so this will mark your place until we can get back to your reading.”
“Because...”
“It's time to continue your interview.”
She nodded and sat at the table with her book and mug of coffee.
I'd already set my own mug down, but pulled a couple of other thick volumes down and brought them over to place onto the nearest uncluttered space of that table and sat myself across the corner nearest her.
“OK, Tessa, we were trying to find your spark again.”
“Oh, were we? Is this some part of getting qualified for this partnership you want?”
I shrugged. “Well, I hadn't intended that line of questioning, but the elephant in the room is that death prediction your doctor gave you.”
“Meaning that you're unwilling to have a partner that's going to die on you in the next year or so?”
“Well, I don't know if you got a good look at your face this morning, but you may be well on the way to a cure.”
She sat back at this. And though it over. Then sipped her coffee and thought some more.
“You may be right. I haven't been this relaxed, and also excited, in quite some time. Oh, wait a second...” She pulled out her phone and turned it off – not just put it in airplane mode, but saw that it was completely off.
“OK, Chad, now you have my complete attention.”
I smiled. “Thanks for taking that leap of faith.”
She smiled in return. “Well, it was a logical conclusion, Holmes. Now, about that spark problem...”
“Perhaps, Watson, it's a former problem by now. Your 'physician' may have already started healing thyself.”
She chuckled and grinned. “But then you're expecting me to stay around here to complete the cure.”
“Well, it has crossed my mind more than once.”
“But I'd have to drop everything...”
“And you said the business was running itself.”
She stopped at this. Because she didn't really have any other limiting considerations. And she weighed her whole life on one-half of the scale, balancing it against a new life with someone she hardly knew. She had no real anchors, as she only rented her apartment, owned her car outright. And her wardrobe – well, that was negotiable. But outside of a few dress-up clothes, there wasn't a lot she'd need to bring down here. Her own laptop, some backups. A few books and knick-knacks...
Then she shook her head. “Chad, it can't be that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because I don't hardly know anything about you.”
“Yeah, kinda whirlwind, isn't it? OK – well, you don't have to accept it. But maybe you would just spend a week or so and try it out?”
“And how would you pay me for my valuable time?” She was smiling, her eyes twinkling.
“Secrets of the universe, that's what I've promised. We haven't even gotten to all the work that needs to be done on the non-fiction books I've published.”
One of her eyebrows went up.
“Don't worry, it's really quite simple. It's got a regular format, which is mostly converting text to recorded audio and then to courses with videos. And getting everything published and marketed with ads. Between the two of us, it should go fast.
She leaned forward. “And about those universal secrets?”
I pulled over the top thick paperback, nearly two inches thick. “This is a summation of nearly everything about achieving goals, living life in general, and the core craft of writing – all that I've compiled in some two decades of distilling the key books in all subjects I've researched, including marketing books.”
Then I pulled over the other two, which were nearly the same thickness. “These two are anthologies about my fantasy works and romance. The fantasy is under a couple of pen names. I used a separate one for the more biographical or memoir-ish fiction I've written. The last one contains my ideas about romance, which is, well – it gives other insights. But go through those other two first, so you can make up your mind if you even want to read that last one.”
She sat there, a bit at a loss for words. Then pulled over the non-fiction book first and opened it. She started reading, then checked out the table of contents, and started looking up the headings she was most interested in. Before long, she was flipping back and forth, scanning and then returning to find other sections.
Soon, I stood quietly to leave her at it.. “There's a coffee maker over there, fruit in the refrigerator's crisper bins, and you can use anything in the dry stores or freezer chests you want. I'll be down at my cabin, back on my own writing.”
She looked up briefly, smiled, and then went back to studying the gold mine I'd just handed her. Her fingers were already holding several places in the book.
And I shut the door quietly as I left.
VII
“The University of the Night”
- - - -
CHAD CHECKED IN ON me at lunch, but I'd already cooked myself some cheese burgers and was finishing off the remnants.
That non-fiction anthology led to other books, which were also on the shelves. So the table was almost half-covered in books with different references.
I smiled at him but just kept going. He left as quietly as he had came.
BY MID-AFTERNOON, I was on the couch going through his fantasy fiction. I did find a pillow and coverlet. Plus I drowsed a bit in all that comfort.
The late afternoon sun coming in the west windows woke me. Soon I was back at the main table, and had stacked up the non-fiction references to make room for all the other anthologies I needed to pull down to understand the character references he made here and there through his later books. The fiction all read fine on it's own, but took on new meaning when you understood the back stories and origin tales.
Dinner came upon me before I knew it. Chad surprised me with steaks once more, as well as some canned vegetables. Plus be brought an Amish-made pastry for each of us, stuffed with apple filling.
By that time, I'd also found where he had some self-adhesive tabs so I could number them in order of what I was studying.
And I'd gone back through the non-fiction and was replacing bookmarks, then organizing the matching referenced books into piles to follow them.
Chad didn't mind that I didn't help with the dishes, and after he cleaned up the kitchen, he asked me if I had everything I needed. I smiled and nodded, having a finger on the sentence I was studying.
He smiled in return and slipped back out. I didn't even hear the door shut.
- - - -
SOMEWHERE LATE IN THE night, or early in the morning, I fell asleep on the couch – with a book in my hand.
By dawn, I found that the overhead lights had been turned out, the windows closed, and I had a warm and thick comforter added to the blanket I'd originally covered myself with.
At first, I didn't want to get out of bed. It was just so cozy and delicious where I was. And my dreams had been exciting, adventurous, and full of revelations.
But my nose twitched at the smells. Coffee, more fried food, and something else – cinnamon buns or something like them. Oh – and bacon!
After I untangled myself from all those covers, I stood and cat-stretched.
Chad was just smiling at me, in between his cooking on a two-burner table top unit he'd pulled from somewhere.
I pushed my hand through my hair, not liking what I felt. Bed hair.
So I headed directly to the bathroom, barefooted.
- - - -
CHAD HADN'T TOUCHED my piles of books, but took farthest corner of that big table opposite my study area to set up two full settings with big covered dishes of food, everything covered to keep it warm. And even a small vase filled with wildflowers he'd picked that morning. I had to smile at his extra effort.
Fortunately, I'd already brought my suitcase up here and left it. So I was able to change into what I needed but I returned to wearing jeans and sweater from yesterday. They were still some of the most comfortable and sturdy clothes I'd brought. Fresh underthings helped in lieu of a full shower. And I'd managed to brush some presentable behavior into my mane. The rush was because I knew that breakfast wasn't going to be hot forever. And I had a lot of questions to ask Chad, anyway. Burning questions.
As I walked back over toward the table, I noticed that Chad had folded and stacked the comforter, blanket and pillows at one end of the couch. And the room looked pristine – other than my own chaotic organization of books and sticky-tab notes I'd made and stuck to the table top to organize my thoughts.
“Ooh, Chad, this all looks great!” That escaped my mouth when I sat down by the food. And I discovered I was starving.
So he just smiled and let me load up my own plate to eat, then brought over cold whole milk in a pitcher, finally sat down himself and got his own plate filled. I got second helpings of everything I could. And politely refused his suggestion that he cook me some more.
Chad collected the plates and cutlery, and set them into the double sink, one with soapy water, the other as a rinse station. And knowing how efficient he was, and so used to operating alone, I just smiled my thanks every time I found him looking my way.
By the time he returned with a fresh mug of coffee for both of us, I'd returned to my earlier research mode, with the books and sticky notes all around me and within reach.
I think it did him good just to see someone who was as interested in this stuff as he was. His grin covered the width of his face, only narrowing to sip his coffee. And he was interested in what I'd found, but watched in quiet as I reviewed everything to find the questions I still had.
Eventually, I looked up and found he'd already left – taking his coffee mug with him. I'd been so involved in my studies, the rest of the universe had disappeared.
As I went back over all my notes, they started falling into groups of things. Related things that all flowed from one to the other.
Somehow, in my dreams, all this had fallen into place.
What he had discovered was an explanation for almost everything – not the mechanics, but the principles that everything seemed to run on. And methods to discover any that seemed to be missing.
The trick was that his fantasy books then explained and cross-referenced these non-fiction principles into action steps. Sure, the characters were made-up, but their responses were very human.
This was beyond a gold mine here. This material actually helped find gold mines – and diamond mines. And anything or everything else a person could possibly want.
Gob-smacked was the word I was looking for.
- - - -
“OK CHAD, WHY HAVE YOU sat on this and not let people know about this – isn't that a bit selfish?”
I'd come down to his tiny home cabin and barely knocked before entering. Now I just stood there – watching a grin slowly widen on his face.
“And, good day to you.” He fished up a spare seat on that end of his small desk, and I sat, waiting.
“The short answer to your question is: not actually. Like I said, I'd just gotten to the point of where it all started making sense. And that's where I sent out that ad – because I was going to need help.”
“And you got me, who the doctor said I was on Death's door just weeks ago.”
He smiled. “And now – there seems to be a spring in your step. You're skin tone's improved, as well as your appetite. Somehow, that's translated into digesting decades worth of work in less than a full day at it.”
He sipped what had to be coolish coffee in his own mug. “I checked on you a few times last night, but it wasn't until about 3 a. m. that you'd finally zonked out.”
“Yes, and thanks for those extra covers – and thanks again for the breakfast.”
“You're more than welcome – but all I'm pointing out is that maybe you've cured yourself.”
I stopped at that comment to take a new stock of myself. And figured that he was probably right. My energy was higher, despite the lack of real sleep. Going off the meds was one thing. The fresh air, and wholesome food was another. But I think the real point was being able to share in a challenge that was bigger that the both of us combined.
I just shook my head. “Well, you may be right – but we'll see if this isn't just the flush of excitement. It may wear off...”
He shook his head no. “Perhaps, but I really doubt it. You've probably not taken into account that the land itself has had a bit in your healing.”
“The land itself?”
“Like the old cure of sending people to the dry, hot climate of Arizona for health ailments. If people didn't get bored to death, then the stresses would leave and they'd usually heal up. But more important is that you're away from all the schedules, the 'now-you're-spozed-to's' and what-not that goes with surrounding yourself with a bigish city. Like – how many sirens have you heard in the last three days?”
“None.”
“And how many so-called 'news' broadcasts have you listened to?”
“Well, I did peek at my cell phone...”
“Which you shut off over 24 hours ago.”
I only nodded.
“Let the land do its work on you and you'll find yourself getting calmer and calmer, more healthy.”
“So that's your secret for staying trim?”
He smiled. “All that and spending a few hours daily in all sorts of weather, just checking on my livestock and fixing fences. All on foot.”
“Not that I'd be qualified to ruin my nails helping you.”
“Which brings us right back to the ad you answered.”
I frowned a bit at this. A leap of logic too far.
He just smiled. “That's why you came here. My copywriting is good, but you came to see if you're qualified. And pretty much you are – or I wouldn't have giving you all those 'secrets of the universe' already. But you could go ahead and leave now, if you want. But you're already planning to stay awhile. Unfortunately, there's still one last requirement unanswered.”
“Wait – you mean I'm in, I qualified?”
“Almost.”
“So what's your last requirement?”
“Now, the next point – other than the fact that I only recently finished my research – is that most of the world isn't ready for this. They think they are as happy as they possibly can be while being deluded by various government scams and deceptions, as well as Big Tech and Big Pharma and all the other messes out there.
“The point is not to try to save the world, like all the fiction stories go into...”
I interrupted. “Because like Schwartz says – even though these principles and data are often centuries old, they haven't been aligned to basic human desires. In short, the demand is there, but it needs to be whetted through marketing. We have to find those who are trying to stand on the shoulders of giants to see further. Even if it means we can only reach some three percent of everyone who's out there.”
Chad nodded. “Right. Exactly.”
I then realized that I had myself been marketed into accepting his offer. “So, Chad, since you have done all this work to get me this excited about partnering on your project, why won't you tell me then what is the final requirement?”
VIII
“Within the Curves of a Woman's Arm”
- - - -
“THE FINAL REQUIREMENT is to realize I don't know for a fact what I'm talking about.
“And so you're going to have to teach me as we test this all out.”
Her jaw dropped.
“No, Tessa, it sounds much worse than it is. Look – you know marketing from a hands-on perspective. You've lived this for decades. But the difference is between 'know-about' and 'know-for-certain'. One of those reference books covers the difference in choosing a lifeguard. Would you rather have someone who swam in hundreds of competitions over years, or someone who has spent years studying books and courses on the subject of swimming?”
“The swimmer, not the scholar.”
“Right. And I know all these data about how the universe works are correct, because I've lived decades of life proving and disproving them, building on what my father had already researched. So I know those, intimately.
“In Marketing, however, I've only had experience in writing my own book blurbs. And some eBay classified ads. So you're the expert in these. Plus, as I said, women are wired differently. I can write about women, and I can study female authors to get their viewpoints and emulate them. But there is a world of difference. A vast world.
“Yes, I'm an expert in some things, but a tyro in others. And that's my huge flaw. Sure, I can learn quick – but when I meant 'partner', that's putting myself right out there. Partners create a whole bigger than the sum of the two individuals.
So the question is whether you can simply tell me to shut up and sit on my side of the car, to quit trying to grab the wheel.”
Tessa took all this well. “Like knowing when you're being a Master, and when you're really need someone's guidance.”
“Exactly.”
“Wow.”
“So?”
Tessa paused for effect. “So, then – you want me to take you on as my single client, paid out of profits or something.”
I nodded. “Yes. I provide all the material, and offer that 50% of any increase in income is yours. But no, there is no upfront fee for you to collect. And if you or I finance ads, then that is a loan that gets paid back out of the profits before the income split.”
“Right. Sounds good. But this is a trial basis.”
“Exactly. Nothing in writing, means either of us can walk away at any time.”
“So, then, what's next?”
- - - -
“NEXT IS REVIEWING THE notes I've compiled about male-female relationships.”
“Because...”
“We have to be able to readily overcome friction and impasses. We don't have time to waste in getting this material in broader use.”
“And how would you suggest we do this?”
“This might sound weird...”
“And...”
“Remember that Romance Anthology I pulled out?”
Her eyebrow raised, as a smile crept onto her face.
“That's right – you need to double-check if I've got these right. A form of proofing, but content and continuity. I promise not to be arrogant in defense of when I made a female character say some male dialog.”
She laughed out loud. “OK, Chad – it's a deal. But first, we need to go shopping.”
“What?!?”
She reached over the table and took my hand. “Because girls need salads. And your spice cabinets are pretty bare. Plus, all cheeses aren't spelled C-H-E-D-D-A-R.”
I just chuckled. “Yes, dear.”
She shook her head. “Well at least you've got that part right.”
- - - -
YES, I COOKED HAMBURGERS for lunch, but she prepared a nice Lasagna for dinner and we had some wine coolers to wash it down. Both with fresh salads and vegetables.
While the afternoon was spent side-by-side reading that anthology, I quickly found that using an ereader so I could bring up a needed book without having to get up and hunt for it on the shelves. That way I brought up where characters started, and why that significance was that way.
In the evening, I showed her how that couch folded flat to a full bed, and we added extra pillows and all the blankets we wanted.
Of course, we didn't finish the complete anthology until some days later.
Close work like that, and the subject at hand, awoke a need in both of us for essential human contact.
And so “canoodling” interrupted us regularly. All part of testing and proofing these various principles and theories. Kinda scientific, and kinda not...
But there's nothing better than reading the same Romance together with your partner next to you in bed.
We taught each other quite a bit about what the other sex wants, and how they go about communicating it. Fortunately, there was really nothing either of us had to do for the next few days except continue to consult and test the accuracy of what I'd written.
I mean, besides getting up to prepare meals or snacks occasionally.
- - - -
TESSA FINALLY HAD TO leave, to return and pack her Iowa stuff to transport down here, and otherwise arrange things. Of course, she was motivated to return as quickly as she can.
The bottom line was that she left with a broad smile on her face.
And years added to her life – because now she had something and someone to live for. Her partner.
Of course, I smiled every time I though about her, too...
IX
“How to Win Friends and Influence People”
- - - -
THE SMALLISH HOUSE on that farm was quite busy and full not long after that.
Of course, we had some tents catered, along with a great spread of Amish-style cooking.
Because Chad and I got married at that event.
And that fact made our parents and relatives very happy on both sides.
I was more surprised than anyone when my old partner Judy showed up – with her own husband, Detective Johnson. Both with dark tans. All those years in some Caribbean island nation did them good. (At last, I finally found out his first name. When he signed the guest register. It was good to see them so inseparable everywhere they went and how they tended to finish each other's sentences. Married couples deeply in love can get that way...)
Judy had to comment about the weight I'd lost. I told her I'd taken up running on these long, empty gravel roads. Cleared my mind, and kept it that way. Just like Chad predicted. Of course he liked the slim form and the energy it gave me.
Not that I didn't take the two of us off-farm to various needful marketing functions, or that Chad never got to sneak out of his webinar appointments — the ones I'd organized to promote his books.
For I was both his camera operator, equipment crew, and scheduler – as well as his sidekick on the other side of that camera. And he could write his books the rest of the time – unless I needed to “check notes” with him.
I kept him smiling.
Just as he kept me smiling.
Because were building something much bigger than both of us put together.
It's turned out to be a heckuva lot of fun – this “saving the world in spite of itself” marketing campaign we're running. Because 3% of anything can turn out to be a lot.
Especially when I get a 100% of Chad and he gets at least that much back from me.
- - - -
AS HIS DAD SAID IN one of his many books, “Life is good.”
Book Universes Notes
AS NOTED, THIS STORY is a sequel to both “Death by Advertising” and “Last Chance”.
The first of those set the stage for Tessa to return to Iowa and re-build her business.
The second of those provided the character Chad, who was a son of Karl and Fiona. And also connected through their lives for his own backstory. You also then see how he got the idea for a reclusive author setup, and tiny-home cabins.
Death by Advertising was originally a standalone But so was “The Caretaker”, which became a springboard for two more stories, “Triangle” and “Last Chance”. That first story then crossed over into that trilogy when this story happened along.
All because of the unanswered theme of how a single reclusive author would find a marketer for his books. And you can see that this ending is very similar to how Chad's grandfather solved his own needs and found romance – by placing an ad.
You've probably noticed the Easter Eggs of famous print advertising headlines for each chapter.
Our next and last story in this series has its own connections - and mysteries. Stay tuned…
Next: The Chrysalis Cure - a final fifth generation (or is it?)
Earlier in this Series
This story is now available as no-cost digital download for paid members (below.)
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Writing While Farming to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.