I'm Writing a Novel on Substack

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” ~ Toni Morrison

So I’ve decided to try something new in writing my next fiction book. Wait…did I even tell you I was writing another novel? Yes, girl, yeeeees! I’m excited about getting back into my character bag and creating a fun piece that women (and men) of a certain age can truly appreciate.

But unlike my last fiction masterpieces that were written before the internet had taken off, and a few years after the digital revolution had begun, this time around I am including the reader. Yes honey, we are going to write this thing together. Well sort of…

Each week I will release a new chapter here on Substack. In the comment section, paid subscribers will have the opportunity to share what they would like to see happen next, and based off of the suggestions I’ll write the next chapter. Once the book is completed and published, my paid subscribers will receive a free autographed copy.

“So why is this only being offered to paid subscribers?” It’s a way for me to protect my intellectual property. Let’s be real; we both know how people like to lift your shit on the internet and claim it as their own, so only paid subscribers (all 47 of them) will have access to the new chapters each week.

BUT to give you a taste of what I’ll be sharing, below you will find my first chapter. And don’t forget to comment below, letting me know what you think should happen next. Deep breath, “here I go…”

Imani

When I applied for all of those jobs, the last thing I thought was that any of them would call me for an interview. Why? Because that had been the story of my unemployed life for the last year. But here we are…

I felt myself becoming anxious as I rapidly scoured my closet for something that would fit. A year ago this wouldn’t have been a problem, but a combination of menopause, diabetes, and grief had taken a toll on my small frame. I had a walk-in closet that was filled with outfits and shoes for any and every occasion, but since this recent weight gain and spending a year in isolation wearing nothing but sweats, I now had a serious problem.

A few weeks ago I decided on a whim to apply for several jobs. The thought was as random as the positions. From a Chief of Staff at a university to an Event Manager at an art gallery, I was tired of being a hermit and desperately needed to do something with my life besides watching Netflix and Hulu, and indulging in emotional eating. Like I said, I honestly didn’t expect any of these people to call me back, but to my surprise, one by one each of the employers sent me an email requesting an interview. Which is why I am standing in the middle of my closet in my bra and panties, having a full blown panic attack!

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Scanning all of my clothes one last time, I had to make a decision and quickly. My first interview was in less than 20 minutes via Zoom. So I hurriedly decided on an almost too small navy blue blazer, paired with a snug white camisole, a pair of wrinkled khaki shorts, and a pair of flip flops. I silently thanked God for curls that instantly popped when introduced to conditioner. Next, I threw on some lip gloss and headed down the hallway to my chaotic home office.

Once inside, I moved the mounting stack of overdue bills to the side, and made sure my Zoom set up was ready.

Natural light pouring through the window, check.

Pinterest inspired bookshelves serving as my background. Check.

Zoom loading on my ancient computer. I glanced at the screen to make sure the colorful wheel had stopped spinning and Zoom was in fact loading. Check.

As I sat down, taking deep breaths to center myself, I began to practice my interview smile. Then suddenly I began to sweat profusely! I grimaced. When did hot flashes ever occur at the ‘right time’? Never! I thought to myself as I frantically hopped out of my office chair and sprinted back down the hallway to retrieve the portable fan that served as my saving grace during moments like this. Now out of breath, I stopped and checked my watch.

“Five minutes,” I mumbled to myself as I began to race back down the hallway, feeling the extra weight jiggling, as I began to sweat even more!

“Fuck!” I screamed silently in my head.

Entering my home office, I searched the tiny space for an unoccupied outlet, plugged in the fan, and jumped in the office chair just in time to hear, “Dr. Boudreaux, thank you for joining us.” I took a deep breath as I plastered on my ‘interview smile.’

As I sat through the interviewer reading through a set of questions and never wavering from her script, it took everything that I had not to instinctively pick up my phone and began to scroll. How can someone be bored during an interview? Mentally, I had tuned her out and I knew I wasn’t giving her questions the full attention that I should have been. But hell, she looked just as uninterested as I was, and I was exhausted from my pre-interview prep. I was ready for her monotone voice and this mentally tortuous interview to end.

As we both sat there struggling to get through this process, I felt my lip starting to tingle. Trying to keep my face neutral, panic began to oozing through my pores, I casually ran my tongue along my top lip. Then my eyes widened. “Is that a bump?” But as the seconds swirled by, the bump suddenly felt like an indescribable lump. “What in the entire fuck!” I silently screamed inside. I slowly shifted my eyes to the small insert on my computer monitor, trying to take a peek at my face as the interviewer droned on and on about the position. Did she even notice that my lip was looking like a bad case of Botox?!

I began to practice the deep breathing exercise I’d learned in therapy, but honestly, that shit wasn’t working. Then the interviewer asked me a question, which I’d halfway heard, because my focus was on my growing lip! “Shit, shit, shit!” I needed to focus on wrapping this up and getting off this Zoom call as quickly as possible!

After the interview ended I shrugged the blazer off, grabbed my purse, and sprinted out of the front door. Driving like a bat out of hell, I finally entered Walgreens, making a beeline to the cold medicine section.

“Excuse me,” I brushed past the gentleman that was standing in the middle of the aisle and started grabbing everything that was for cold sores and fever blisters. He looked at me sideways, as my arms began to overflow with products, but I could have cared less. My face was the only thing holding up in midlife and I needed it to act right.

After checking out, I sat in the car trying to decide what to take and or apply first. When I looked up into the review mirror, I noticed that the swelling in my lip was going down. All I could do was release a sigh of relief as I tried to start my car and headed back home.

Notice I said tried. It took a few turns of the key in the ignition before the engine finally turned over and I was headed back home.

Later that evening, after glossing my lips with some Neosporin and taking an Aleve liquid gel capsule, I decided to mindlessly scroll on Facebook and see who was bragging about their grand babies, showing off some hideous dish they had cooked, or talking about all of the old friends they had recently met up with. I had just returned to the messiest app in the world only because of a brand I had recently worked with.

Today when I opened the app I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the friend's suggestions. One of them included a name and face I had not seen in over 30 years. Staring back at me was a picture of Kaden Thibodeaux. I grabbed my glasses to get a better look. My, my…he was still handsome, but not in the way that I’d remembered him years long ago. I smiled. Not a thirst trap smile, but a genuine, ‘it is nice to see a familiar face that didn’t fuck over me back then,’ smile. Before I could talk myself out of it, I tapped the friend request button, and hurriedly closed the app. I’d had enough excitement for one day.

Reaching for the bowl of Skinny Pop popcorn and my Olipop grape soda, I began to settle in to watch Just Wright for the millionth time. Although I’d been single by choice for the last nine years, I was still a sucker for a good, Black love story.

As I took a swig from the can, a notification appeared on my iPhone. When I stared at the screen I began to choke on the soda. Kaden had accepted my friend request. “Well damn, that was fast!” I coughed, not really sure what to expect. As I composed myself, my eyebrows furrowed when I opened the Facebook app only to discover that in addition to accepting my friend request, Kaden had also sent me a message. 

I took a deep breath and opened the message. It was a waving emoji. No words. Just a yellow hand waving at me. Normally, I ignored those, but for whatever reason I decided to respond with a message of my own…

“Hey There!” No, that sounded too eager. So I hit backspace and deleted it.

“What’s up?” Now I was sounding like one of those corny dudes who think they are cool. I hit backspace again and deleted that too.

“Hey There. (brown waving emoji). Great to see you.” I read over the message a few times, making sure I didn’t sound desperate like most people from the past who decide to hit you up after a thousand years have gone by. I nodded my head and hit send.

Not expecting a response back anytime soon, I was about to place my phone on the coffee table in front of me when to my surprise, a bubble appeared with three little dots doing a hypnotic dance. Kaden was messaging me back…

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Don’t forget to comment below: What was Kaden’s message to her? What should happen next?

Dr. Carey Yazeed is the author of 7 published books, including the novels Sideline Ho and The Games People Play, both published under the pen name, CJ Domino.

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