Chapter 1: Emergence of the writer

Matt Young arrived at his first college class, English 281--Creative Writing. It was no accident that the first-year student was in a second-year class.

Most advanced placement freshman students test out of between one and four classes. Matt had tested out of eight. His essay for the English composition class had captured the attention of Dr. Tess Humphrey, his current professor for the writing class. In twenty years of teaching creative writing, she’d had numerous exceptional students, a few of whom had even gotten a book or two published.

NEVER had she seen a student entering college with the ability to write like Mr. Young. She didn’t realize until she was halfway through his essay that she had been so engrossed that she hadn’t been grading it. She was determined to make sure he ended up with a career as a writer.

When she went back through the essay, she would have made several changes and corrections if it had been an assignment. However, considering that it was conceived and written in less than two hours, she was damn impressed. She couldn’t know that every English teacher for the last six years had told him that he should be a writer.

While she could see that he wrote well, she didn’t realize how much he loved writing. In the seventh grade he actually tried to write his way out of trouble. Having forgotten about a book report that had been assigned, he made up a story in his mind and wrote the report about that.

The book report had intrigued Mrs. Clements, his seventh-grade teacher. She hadn’t heard of the book before, and it sounded like a good book for the grade level. When she tried to find the book to read, she couldn’t find it, or the author, listed anywhere.

Having Matt stay after class the next day, she asked him about it.

She could see that he was nervous before answering, “Mrs. Clements, I didn’t really read the book. I forgot about the book report so I made up Angry Willie. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Matt fidgeted while she appraised his admission. Part of her wanted to laugh. The rest was torn between punishing him and encouraging him.

“I hardly approve of you trying to fake or lie your way through school. I would, however, like to read this book. I’ll give you a month to write at least thirty pages. The book report you turned in should be a good start for your outline,” she finally told him.

Matt heaved a sigh of relief once the classroom door closed behind him. Writing the story wouldn’t be much of a punishment. He loved writing.

Mrs. Clements did laugh about it once Matt left the room and the door had closed. She laughed again at the next parent/teacher conference--as did Matt’s parents. Matt’s mother filed the teacher’s report from that conference in the memory box she kept about his childhood.

Now, it was another teacher’s turn to both correct and inspire the promising writer. His first assignments for her class were light years beyond what the other students turned in. When she corrected his assignments, she was much more demanding than with the other students. Still, his grades didn’t reflect the harsh grading and she made sure to include words of praise and encouragement along with the corrections.

The third assignment was a five- to ten-page fiction story. What she was used to having turned in was a five-page story, well-padded with unnecessary words and double spaced to make the five-page minimum.

When Matt turned in the mandatory outline two days later, he asked, “What should I do if the story vastly exceeds ten pages?”

The question had surprised Dr. Humphrey. She thought for several seconds before replying, searching his face to see if he was just yanking her chain. “If it’s longer than ten pages, then turn in the first chapter or the first ten pages,” she finally replied.

After looking at the outline, she asked Matt to stay once class let out, asking, “Is this something you wrote before?”

“Sort of,” Matt replied. “I wrote a five-page story in ninth grade. Since then, I’ve thought about it occasionally, mentally adding to the story, but I’ve never written anything else down. I wrote the entire outline in the last two days.”

The professor found his comment interesting. Usually, students hijacked their good plots from a movie or television show. She’d been fooled by those before. In addition, the outline sounded like a story she’d enjoy reading.

Looking again at the outline in her hand, she commented, “You do realize that this story could exceed four hundred pages, don’t you?”

“I’m in no hurry and this will give me something to do next summer. If I get the first part written, it might encourage me to finish it someday.”

After looking at the outline yet again, she replied, “Finish the first chapter. Maybe we can work something out.”

Once he started writing the story, Matt found that he truly enjoyed it and turned in two chapters.

His jaw dropped when it was returned during the following class. The five-page assignment that had garnered an A+ in high school had been thoroughly savaged. There seemed to be more written in red ink than what he’d written. Even though she gave the assignment an A, she insisted that he do a complete rewrite, along with adding two new chapters.

Matt did find some humor in the numerous changes she’d made to his “correct” sentence structure. He’d learned in high school to make sure his sentences were correctly structured when he wrote, a trait that was now ingrained. Like everyone else, he sure didn’t talk that way, though.

“While your sentences are correct, people don’t talk that way and many of your sentences sound stilted. They don’t reflect the common usage of the English language--at least what passes for English in America.”

Based on her corrections and accompanying comments, Matt had to undo many of those “correct” sentences. He learned more about writing for publication from her pithy comments about his first two chapters as he had in all his previous English classes.

Aside from a few specific class assignments, his assignment each week was two new chapters, along with a rewrite of the previous week’s chapters. Enjoying the writing, Matt began turning in at least three chapters most weeks. With each week’s new chapters, the amount of red ink decreased markedly.

Grinning excitedly the Friday before Thanksgiving, Matt handed his professor-cum-editor a flash drive with the final rewrite. After the first five chapters, he’d stopped turning in printed pages and probably saved half a tree in the process.

“Twenty-three chapters and 459 pages,” Matt told his teacher proudly.

She knew the feeling, having had fourteen books published herself. The difference was that her books were much shorter and for a much younger audience.

Since it was his first class of the day, Matt always arrived a few minutes early. Two weeks before Christmas break, Dr. Humphrey was waiting for him, wearing a smug grin on her face. She was accompanied by a guest Matt didn’t recognize.

“Matt, I’d like you to meet my publisher, Darrien Warner. I sent him a copy of your manuscript.”

“I have to admit to being a bit dubious when Tess phoned and told me one of her students had completed a manuscript I’d want to publish,” Mr. Warner said as he shook Matt’s hand.

“I told him more than that,” Dr. Humphrey countered. “This semester has been torture for me, having to wait a week between installments of your book. I started reading it during lunch every Monday because I couldn’t wait to find out what happened. You had me on the edge of my seat every Monday. I’d get so caught up in the story that I missed the clues that the story would change direction. There were times I thought I’d get whiplash. Twice, I thought I knew where you were taking it only to be surprised when you took it in an entirely different direction.

“You walked a fine line that would make the Flying Wallendas jealous, making the story romantic enough to interest women while including enough conspiracy and action to interest guys. I had a hell of a time editing the story. I had to keep my comments from prejudicing you to finish the story the way I would have. I wanted you to surprise me again, and you did. Up until the last chapter, I still had no idea how it would end. Then you threw me for another loop, ending it in such a way that you can write a sequel.”

“Matt, I want to publish this story, and any sequels,” Mr. Warner said. “Normally, we only give writers a small advance, and don’t even give that to new authors. The advance is paid back out of royalties. In your case, however, I’m offering you $50,000 to sign an exclusive contract for five years. You’ll still get monthly royalties based on sales. The fifty grand I’m offering is strictly for signing with us.”

“How much are the royalties?” Matt asked.

“You’ll get the usual rate for a new author. It’s a bit lower than for an established author because we have to promote you as a new author.”

“Deal!” Matt exclaimed. The $50K was more than enough to cover what his scholarships didn’t for the remainder of his college education, including an off-campus (but still nearby) apartment.

Once Matt signed the contract, Mr. Warner handed him the check. Both men were grinning.

“You should use a pen name. Given the romantic side of the story and the sex in the story, you’re liable to find yourself stalked by lonely women. They can become love-crazed nuisances, tracking you down and stalking you,” he warned.

They agreed on TK Owens as a nom de plume.

“You should avoid other published materials in the same genres. Reading them, you might inadvertently borrow an idea or phraseology later, not remembering where it came from, and then find yourself being sued for plagiarism,” Mr. Warner advised.

Once Mr. Warner left, Matt offered to pay Dr. Humphrey for her help. She laughed and thanked him for the offer. “The first one’s free,” she explained. “Besides, I just received the best payment any writing instructor could ever get. Most students who are ‘published’ just get a poem or short story included in an anthology. Your story will be published--big time and for real. I’m really proud of you.”

Blushing, Matt asked her to continue as his editor.

“I’d love to. How about you pay me what I pay my editor,” she suggested.

With the business concluded, they stepped back into class long after it should have started. Dr. Humphrey enjoyed announcing that Matt’s story had just been accepted for publication.

After class, several of the girls gave Matt their phone number, asking for a copy to read. He had to explain that his contract didn’t allow him to make copies of the manuscript other than one to keep for himself.

Mandy, one of the bolder and cuter girls wondered if Matt would let her read his copy. “I know the copy is important to you,” she said in a suggestive voice. “I could come over to your room in the evening to read it when you’re there.”

It was definitely an original pick-up line, and it worked. For a week, Mandy spent every evening in his room. She read for two or three hours, then screwed his brains out. She finished the book Saturday night, and the couple didn’t leave the room the entire weekend except for meals.

Monday morning, she left to go back to her dorm room and Matt never saw her again, not even in class. It was almost as if she fell off the face of the earth. When he tried to call her cell phone, he found that it had been disconnected. Since she’d always showed up at his room, Matt didn’t even know her dorm room address to check on her. All Matt knew about her was that her suitemate’s name was Denise, and he was sure there was no shortage of girls named Denise on campus.

Matt was inspired and spent Christmas Break writing. His two married sisters wondered what he was doing banging away on his laptop all day, and pestered him until he told them. Marilynn was four years older than Matt. She had finished two years of college before getting married to Brian. Sheila was two years older than Matt and only finished one year of college before getting married to Charlie. The four of them worked for the same company.

Both sisters insisted on reading his first book. He finally relented after they both promised not to tell his mom and dad about it. Even though the sex in the book was soft-core or merely alluded to, Matt wasn’t comfortable with his parents being aware that he knew so much about sex. As far as he knew, they still thought he was a virgin. After reading it, Matt’s sisters teased him that he needed to write more books. After reading a couple sex scenes, both had screwed their husbands silly.

By the time Matt got back to school, he had the rough draft and a first re-write of his second book done. He had even outlined two more books to make it a tetralogy. By the end of January, the second book was ready to be submitted to the publisher for review.

Matt let out an excited whoop a week before Spring Break, finding that not only had his book been released, but it had reached number one on the New York Times Hardcover Fiction Bestseller list. Proud of his accomplishment, Matt bought several copies of the paper showing Inhale, Exhale by TK Owens in the number one position.

Now that he was a published author, he would receive an even better percent of the royalties for the second book. Matt had to sit down when he saw the first royalty check for book 1.

When Matt went home for Spring Break, Matt finally had to tell his parents because they wanted to discuss options for paying what his scholarships didn’t cover next year.

“I have it covered,” Matt replied confidently. That statement caused his father to turn and glare at him.

“And how do you plan on earning nearly two thousand dollars next semester while still attending school?” he asked tersely.

“I took the advice that every English teacher up to now has given me,” Matt replied, causing both parents’ brows to furrow.

“I became a writer.”

“Just deciding to become a writer doesn’t guarantee success,” his mother warned. “Besides, the process of submitting a manuscript and having it accepted can take months. Then you have to do rewrites until the publisher likes it.”

“I already did that, and the book has already been released. Last week, it reached number one on the New York Times Bestseller list,” Matt replied proudly--and he was definitely proud. The entire time that he’d been writing, he’d worried that it wouldn’t be good enough. Then, once it had been accepted and published, he’d worried about the public’s reaction to it.

His mom ran to her computer and logged on, quickly bringing up the New York Times website. “I don’t see your name here anywhere,” she said questioningly.

Knowing ahead of time that financing his education would be discussed, Matt was ready. He handed her one of the copies of the book he had purchased and brought home, as well as the syllabus from the creative writing class.

“Read the dedication,” he said, handing his mother the book.

“I dedicate this book to Tess Humphrey, PhD, my editor and mentor. She encouraged me to write this book, gave me the confidence to finish it and the tools necessary to tell the story properly.”

“Who is Tess Humphrey?” she asked.

Matt pointed to the course syllabus in his hand. It had the name Tess Humphrey, PhD, prominently displayed across the top of the first page.

“She’s your professor?” his mom asked, surprised.

“She helped me turn a writing assignment into my first book, editing both it and my second book.”

“Second book?” his dad asked.

“I wrote most of it over Christmas Break and finished it right after classes began this semester. Since I’m not an unknown author any longer, I get an even better deal for the second book,” Matt explained as he showed them the contract.

It was all Matt could do to keep from laughing at his parents when he showed them the photocopy of the first royalty check. Their jaws dropped and their eyes widened as much as a kid on Christmas morning coming downstairs to find Santa Claus still standing in the living room.

“I hope you’re planning to invest most of the money,” his dad said when he finally found his voice.

“Leave it to Dad to interject common sense into a situation,” Matt thought.

“Most of it,” Matt agreed. “Even though my student loans for this year aren’t due until after graduation, I want to pay them off. I’m also going to buy a new car so Mom can have hers back. I’m going to get a four-door Mercedes, not a hot sports car.

“I’m also meeting a consultant Monday morning. He’s going to be expensive. I have to pay him five hundred dollars a day in addition to covering his hotel and meals. Then, I have to pay to play golf with him at Torrey Pines Golf Course in San Diego. When I checked, it costs almost two hundred dollars each to play eighteen holes.”

“You play golf now?” his dad asked, surprised.

“Nope, but the consultant plays, and part of the deal was for the two of us to play there. He’s always wanted to play Torrey Pines,” Matt explained.

“A writing consultant?” his mom asked.

“No,” Matt chuckled. “Since my two books are about spies, the publisher wanted me to get a more realistic idea of the sort of things that go on in the cloak and dagger world. I did a lot of research for my first book, but he’s going to tell me about things you can’t find on the internet, at least not easily.”

“He’s a spy?” she gasped.

“I don’t know. He may have been one or may know someone who is. The publisher didn’t say. They just said he’s knowledgeable about the spy business.”

“You be careful,” his dad cautioned.

“We’re not going to spy on anyone. He’s just going to show me ‘consulate row’ in L.A., drive around to the type of locations where spies tend to gravitate to do business, and stuff like that.”

When their discussion was finished, Matt released a deep breath. Obviously, neither parent had read the book so there weren’t any questions about the frequent sex scenes.

Or so he thought!

Matt’s sisters laughed that evening when he told them that their parents knew that he wrote the book.

“I’m surprised Mom didn’t die of embarrassment,” Marilynn laughed.

“She read it right after it came out,” Sheila said, snorting from laughing so hard.

“And told us the book made her hot enough that Dad was a very happy camper all that week,” Marilynn snickered. Then they laughed at how red Matt’s face was.

The consultant, Roger, called Sunday night to let Matt know that he had checked into the hotel and thanked him for choosing a decent hotel. Evidently, several authors that he had helped previously put him up in a fleabag motel. The one Matt used wasn’t a five-star hotel or anything, but it was clean. It was one of those hotels where businessmen and women could rent a room or a suite for a week or longer. Even though it was quite a way from home, Matt chose a hotel in this area because it was near the places Roger wanted to show him.

Very early Monday morning, Matt made the sixty-five-minute drive to the hotel and met Roger across the street at Denny’s. If it hadn’t been so early, the trip could have taken two to three hours--probably two since it was Monday, hence many people were playing hooky from work. They sat in the corner booth and talked long enough that they had breakfast and lunch there. Matt made sure to leave both the breakfast waitress and the lunch waitress a very good tip since he and Roger had monopolized the table all morning. Roger did most of the talking while Matt scribbled notes as fast as he could, asking but a handful of questions.

After lunch, they headed north on the 405 freeway from the vicinity of LAX. Matt said a silent prayer of thanks for GPS units. He quickly had no idea where he was other than somewhere in the greater Los Angeles area. Ten miles later, they finally reached Wilshire Boulevard and turned east. For the next eleven miles, Roger pointed out one foreign consulate after another. Matt lost count after twenty, but Roger said there were nearly forty along this stretch, and around sixty overall in L.A.

While they only saw sturdy fences around three of the consulates, they could see guards either just outside of or just inside the front entrance of the rest. It seemed as if half of the L.A. police force was in the area as they saw an average of two police cars for each of the eleven miles they drove on Wilshire Blvd.

Next, Roger guided Matt to a nondescript store a few miles away. The inside of the front display windows was covered with what looked like butcher paper. Painted on the inside of the front window in front of the butcher paper was a faded sign proclaiming, “Joe’s Repair Shop--we repair small electronic appliances.”

The store was dimly lit, and the “showroom” consisted of several sets of cheap metal storage shelves like the ones Matt’s dad had in their garage. Each shelf displayed one or two used gadgets ranging from coffee makers and waffle irons to boom boxes, an old analog television, and even a VCR. It looked more like a thrift store than an electronics showroom. With society so willing to throw away and replace anything that doesn’t work right, it had to be difficult for the repair shop to do enough business to be profitable.

The old guy who came out of the back of the store was definitely older than the television on the shelves. “What can I do for you gentlemen, today?” he asked while watching Matt appraisingly.

“Artie, meet Matt Young, a new author. Knowing you, you already read his book, Inhale, Exhale,” Roger chuckled.

“You wrote that?” Artie asked, incredulously. “I figured it was an old-timer who had retired from the game and now had too much time on his hands.”

“The closest he’s ever been to the game is a TV set,” Roger chuckled, causing Artie to laugh, too.

“You have one hell of an imagination, kid. I know people who have been in at least half the situations you described.”

“I thought he knew someone who had suggested the different situations,” Roger admitted. “I was almost through the book a second time trying to figure out who was helping him when his publisher called and asked me to take him under my wing.”

“Then bring him on back,” Artie said, reaching into his pocket for a key fob and pressing the button on it. That started a buzzing noise caused by activating an electromagnetic release. Roger lifted a section of the counter and motioned Matt through, closing the counter behind them.

Matt followed Artie into the back of the shop. Once he walked through the door, he froze and just stared. He imagined that he looked like his parents had when they saw the first royalty check from the publisher. While the lighting in most of the rear wasn’t any better than in the showroom, there was one area where three people were hunched over their respective wooden workbenches. The sturdy wooden shelves that lined the wall above each bench were filled with an incomprehensible mix of electronic equipment and plastic drawers filled with minuscule electronic parts.

Each technician had his head bowed over a tiny circuit board on his workbench as he carefully soldered parts onto it. In addition to a bright fluorescent light fixture over each workbench, each used a magnifying craft-light on a long, flexible gooseneck, much like ones advertised for tying fishing flies.

“Ding-dong,” some type of bell sounded. Artie turned a monitor around so only he could see it and turned it on. Nodding to himself, he turned it off and walked to a nearly empty workbench, picked up a cardboard box the size of a ring box, and headed for the front of the store.

“Wait here,” he told them.

“He probably has a customer who doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here,” Roger explained. “Artie sells state-of-the-art electronic devices. He sells high-end audio and video bugs. In addition, he has frequency jammers and all sorts of things meant to cause electronic mischief. If you’ve seen it on a spy show he has something as good or better,” Roger bragged.

“Could I buy a couple?” Matt asked.

“For what?” Roger queried.

“Hell if I know. Just to have them and try them out.”

“Got a pocketful of cash?” Roger asked.

“No, just debit and credit cards.”

Smiling indulgently, Roger explained that Artie’s business was strictly cash and carry. “If he took plastic, someone could access the account and trace his customers,” he explained.

Artie returned with a fat envelope and dropped it into a drop slot in the top of an ancient, but monstrous safe next to his workbench.

“Matt wanted to buy a couple of toys to play with but only has plastic,” Roger told him.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ve never met a best-selling author before. You sign my copy of your book and you can come back tomorrow afternoon. Bring three grand and I’ll send you home with a pocketful of goodies. They’re not the newest models so I don’t have much call for them anymore, but they’re still pretty damn good.”

“Deal!” Matt exclaimed. He still had no idea what to do with them, or even what he was getting, but was excited knowing that he’d have them.

After he signed Artie’s copy of the book, they thanked Artie and left. Roger laughed at Matt all the way to the restaurant where they had dinner.

“What are you really going to use them for?” he asked. “Gonna spy on your sister or girlfriend?”

“Nah, my sisters are both married, and I’m between girlfriends. I just wanted to play with them to see what they were like,” Matt admitted.

Roger made a rather cryptic call during dinner and gave the address of the hotel and the room number.

“I invited someone over tonight to do two things. She’ll tell you about computers and hacking, and she’ll set up an author’s website for you. The publisher wants you to have a website to promote your books. I’m going to have her add something to the website so people who used to play the game or who still play the game can send you story suggestions. Maybe you’ll find some ideas in their emails. If you try to reply to them and your email doesn’t go through, it’s a good indication that the story is legitimate, although pertinent information like dates and locations will be different.

“She’ll also include software to keep anyone from tracking your location through the web site or uploading a virus, worm, or any other malware. If the message gets through, it’s clean.

“Cool, thanks,” Matt replied.

Roger had Matt stop at a bookstore and buy three copies of his book. Matt gaped for several seconds at the huge round table filled with more than a hundred of his books piled neatly in stacks. A large poster hanging over it proclaimed: “Inhale, Exhale, a captivating tale of romance and intrigue. Top of the New York Times hardcover fiction list and the number one best-seller last week!”

While Matt knew his book was a best-seller, seeing the display and the poster drove the point home. Roger had Matt stop at a branch of his bank and withdraw $500 from the ATM.

An hour later, there was a knock on the door of the room. Actually, it was one knock, two knocks, and two more knocks. After checking the peephole, Roger opened the door. “Hi CC,” he greeted the woman at the door. She was only a few years older than Matt, had long, straight black hair, wore loose-fitting sweats, and had a perpetual scowl on her otherwise pretty face.

“Hi Roger,” she replied, giving him a quick hug. Her scowl almost disappeared for a second. It returned with a vengeance when she looked past Roger and saw Matt.

“CC, meet Matt Young, although you may be more familiar with his pen name, TK Owens,” Roger introduced them.

“You wrote that?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

“Yes, and Roger’s trying to help me make the next book better.”

Roger explained what he wanted her to do, and CC spent the next two hours explaining hacking in layman’s terms. She also explained about using the internet’s “deep web” and the “dark web.” The deep web is web sites not searched and indexed by sites like Yahoo and Google. You have to have special software just to access large parts of it, and passwords to access other parts. The dark web is even harder to access.

CC finally took pity on Matt. “You look like you’re suffering from information overload,” she laughed. “Let me build the author’s website your publisher wants.”

An hour later, Matt looked at the awesome website she’d built. She showed him how to add more books to the site as they were published. She also demonstrated the area where people could send him email, as well as redacted and changed stories of their experiences as spies. She warned that 98% of the emails would be from lonely, horny housewives and single girls.

After thanking her, Matt gave her one of the autographed books and $500. Then he crashed in the suite’s second bedroom. Even though the hardest thing he had done all day was drive, he was mentally exhausted.

Tuesday morning began with breakfast at Denny’s again and they talked all morning.

After lunch, they stopped at Matt’s bank again. This time, he went inside to withdraw five grand. As the teller counted out forty-five one hundred-dollar bills and twenty-five twenty-dollar bills, Matt wondered about his sudden willingness to spend so much money. Then he realized it was a business expense, money spent to make his writing better, hence allowing him to sell more books. Based on what he’d learned over the last two days, he realized that several sections of the second book needed to be rewritten. In reality, he should rewrite two parts of the first book, but it was a little late for that.