Plane Questions(Darrell Case) ‘Road construction.’ At least that’s what the sign said. Traffic bunched up. One lane open. I followed a red Chevy, almost hitting his bumper three times. If it didn’t get moving, I would miss my flight. Traffic inched along a little at a time. I kept glancing at my watch. Three miles down the highway, I passed the construction crew. One guy filling potholes and two men standing around doing nothing. For this I wasted 45 minutes? “That’s it, that’s it? For this, you closed a major artery leading to the airport?” To say I was upset would be an understatement.
I parked the car in short-term parking and ran into the terminal. Sweating and breathing hard, I waited, almost chewing my nails at the scanner. I emptied my pockets and removed my shoes. Metal plates in them. I barely acknowledged the officer saying. “Have a nice day.”
I waved a thank you at him, picked up my shoes overnight case, and ran. I was fifty feet away when they started to close the door to the plane.
“Wait wait.” I screamed. I must have looked like a madman. Hair flying. Gripping my overnight case in one hand and shoes in the other. The girl looked at me and kept the door open. I shoved my ticket into her outstretched hand.
She checked it and stepped aside to let me pass. Another woman pointed to a seat halfway up on the right side.
“Please take a seat, sir. We’ll be leaving it a few minutes.” She said, smiling. She had done this before.
“Thank you. “I said, hurrying by her.
I found my seat and dropped into it. Not tying my shoes, I shoved my feet into them.
“Good morning.” My seat mate said with a grin. “I thought we were going to leave without you.” She appeared to be a woman in her late 50s or early 60s.
“So did I.” I said, settling in. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Rough morning?” She said as the plane began to roll.
“You have no idea.” I said.
“Well, we’re on our way now.” She said. “I’m going to Nashville for a writers’ conference. I’m writing my first novel. My name is Genny Nate.”
“That’s exciting.” I said, shifting in my seat. She didn’t realize that she was sitting next to the opening speaker.
“H B.” I said, hoping she didn’t ask what HB stood for. I prefer to travel incognito.
"Ok." She said. I could almost see her mind spinning.
“I retired from an accounting firm earlier this year. My daughter is meeting me at the conference. We’re working on the novel together.”
” That’s great. I wish you all the best.” I said. I knew better than to ask what the novel was about. I did one time and almost got sued. The other author accused me of stealing his idea. Of Course, it proofed to be untrue, but I made it a policy never to discuss unfinished books with another writer.
Reaching in her bag. She pulled out a copy of A Gest for Life. “I’m going to read for a while. That is, if you don’t mind?”
“That would be great. I have some work to do.”
She opened the novel to page 98.
“What do you think of the book?” I said, pointing to the novel. I couldn’t resist. She appeared to be about a third way through. Here I was, about to find out what a reader really thought. Hopefully without her knowing who I was.
“I like it. But it lags. In some places like in chapter three. About halfway through. I had to go back to the previous page to see who was speaking.” I remembered the passage well. It was one of those chapters which ran like a racehorse. I tried not to be embarrassed.
“I’ll let you get to your reading.” I said, reaching into my case for a document I was working on.
Eyeing the manuscript, she said. “Oh, are you going to the writers’ conference?” She said, smiling.
“Yes, I’m to be there for the full two days.”
“This is exciting. So you’re a struggling writer too?” she said.
I try.” I said.
“It’s a difficult road, isn’t it? She said.
“Yes, it can take years.” I said, thankful she still didn’t know who I was.
She glanced at the title on my manuscript. “Mercy on Trial? You might think of changing the title. You’ll learn more at the conference.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you.” I said. My publisher had said the same thing.
For the next half hour, as we flew over fields, forest and small towns, she read and I worked.
Suddenly, she looked up and closed the book. “You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?”
“I’m not sure. I do some traveling. My wife usually goes with me, but she’s visiting her mother this week.”
Her eyes widened. Picking up A Gest for Life, she turned to the back cover. There, in full color, was a photo of me standing just outside my office. Two red spots appeared on her cheeks. She held up the novel she had been reading. “You wrote this, didn’t you? Your Hunter Blackstone, aren’t you?”
“Yes, it’s my latest book.” I said, smiling.
“I…I’m sorry. It doesn’t lag.” She said.
“Yes, it does. You’re right. My editor said the same thing. Sometimes I get so caught up in the story I forget about the details. Please tell me more. Are there any other areas where I could improve the book? I really want to know.”
“You’re the first speaker at the conference?” She said the embarrassment spreading to the rest of her face.
“Yes, and you can help me.”
”What can I do? This is my first book? She said, her hands in her lap.
“I’ve been juggling two topics around in my head. What would you like to hear me speak about at the conference? My journey to publication or how to write?”
“How about both?” She said, coming past her embarrassment.
With that, she opened up to me. The rest of the way to Nashville, we had a very meaningful conversation. When we exited the plane, she introduced me to her daughter. I agreed to look at their manuscript, and they promised to review mine before we published it.
As soon as I was in the cab to the hotel, I called my editor. “Look George, there are passages I need to rewrite in A Gest for Life. Can we do that?”
He sighed. He must have wondered at that moment why he wanted to become an editor. “Look, Hunter, they have already published the book. We can’t pull it back from the stores.” I knew he wanted to say I told you it needed to be clearer in certain areas. He didn’t say so but I knew that’s what he meant.
“It is what it is.” I said, vowing to do better.
“Have a good time at the event, Hunter.”
“Thanks George, I will.” I said, ending the call. I already knew two of the participants. The mother and daughter. Their book turned out to be a very excellent novel.

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