The Digital Novelist

By Roberto Scarlato

Cal Cronin wanted more. Writing for more than twenty years, he’s ready to hit it big. But when a new writer comes to the market in 2011, during the biggest ebook boom, Cal is not one to be eclipsed so easily. He wants to know who this mysterious writer is and how he is able to capture the human condition. Along with his lackey, Cronin will discover that the most terrifying thing about creativity is the loss of self that comes with it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberto Scarlato
• Release date: Apr 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386958406

Roberto Scarlato

Roberto Scarlato is an author, blogger and audiobook narrator. He writes speculative fiction, mystery, suspense, thriller, romance, horror and crime. Scarlato grew up in a small suburb of Chicago, where his love of a good story was cultivated by shows like “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” and “The Twilight Zone.” A bibliomaniac from the moment he learned to read, he began weaving together his own tales at an early age.  In November 2014, Scarlato quit his day job. He now writes and narrates full time. He married his high school sweetheart in 2010 and they have a daughter.

Book preview

The Digital Novelist

1.

Cal Cronin couldn’t believe it.

He read the manuscript again.

It was perfect.

Flawless.

So, he read it again.

The dialogue flowed, the twists were engaging, and every metaphor was subtle. The entire story was not contrived or forced at all. There was only one problem: Cal Cronin hadn’t written any of it.

Now, sitting cross-legged on the covers of his hotel bed, he placed the last page on the stack of papers next to him.

He was still in his suit, the tie loose around his neck. Two hundred and forty-seven pages the manuscript had been. Yet it all passed in a splendid instant, as if he had lived another life; which good novels are supposed to make you feel.

Cal’s eyes focused in on a beam of light across his wrinkled pant legs. He turned to the window.

The blinds were drawn, but the light was now creeping in, caressing his leg in a gesture of warm assurance.

There, there, he imagined someone saying, You’re still a good writer.

But Cal knew the truth. He had been bordering on hack territory. Once you got in, it was hard business getting out.

Cal burned his first four books because, who knew, they stunk. Then shopped around a fifth. His seventh got him noticed and his sixth had gotten three mediocre reviews. By his eleventh book, his agent had settled for a small press publisher. Cal pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he remembered that he had settled too. It was unfair and he was bitter about it.

Such a fool, he thought. I would’ve done anything to sell my book.

Faced with this new, possibly international, bestseller he grumbled loudly.

Then, still on the bed, he pulled the phone onto his lap.

There were three rings.

Then a high-pitched voice on the other end. Hello? Hello, Cal?

It was Neil.

Yeah, it’s me.

You finished?

Yes.

Good, huh?

Yes.

Surprising?

Where did you find it, again?

Slush pile. They never read the slush pile. They just tell me to do it. They wanted to see if I could find something that would sell.

How many times?

What?

How many times did you read the damn thing?

Five. Why?

I read it three times.

Gets better every time, doesn’t it?

How is that possible?

The man has a gift.

How is that...any mistakes?

None. I’m not sure it needs any heavy editing at all.

Impossible.

It’s not that...

Stop talking! I don’t want to hear another word. Listen, I’m glad that you snuck this out. I’m glad you mailed it to my hotel rom. I’m even glad that the story is so well-crafted. But I’m telling you this is plain impossible. No one has this much skill out of the blue from a slush pile.

Nothing’s impossible for a writer.

2.

With remarkable speed, the work of Simon Kovacs, the budding writer, was headed to all the major book chains.

Even though Cal left the book out in the rain, relishing the ink streaming into the sewer drain outside, a copy of  The Formidable Giant  wound up in a different slush pile and was picked up for a speedy publication.

During that time, Cal frequented the local hotel, getting a drink to settle his nerves. Daily he would comb the reviews on his laptop. They were pristine. Not one bad rating. The largest complaint was also extremely, scarily positive. That review ended with the phrase, This book moved me. We need more writers like this one.

Cal practically squeezed the keyboard.

These nitwits didn’t know what they were talking about, he finally decided. But in the dark corner of his mind, he knew it