But you don’t get to hear it. You only get to hear what her friend, Will, thinks about it. (I’m cruel, I know). UPDATE: You can now read the story here.
“The end,” I conclude.
Will shakes his head.
“That’s a terrible ending,” he declares.
I shrug, and take a sip from the mug I’ve brought from home, that he made my drink in and slid across the counter at me a few minutes ago.
“But was it a good enough story to warrant a discount?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows at him.
“I suppose,” he grumbles. “I’ll give you twenty percent off.”
I squeal and clap my hands.
“I’ve improved by fifteen percent,” I gush.
“Your protagonist was still too passive for my liking,” Will says. “And that ending was” – he breaks off and shakes his head.
“Endings don’t have to be happy, you know,” I say, still relishing my discount.
“Yeah, but your protagonist basically ended up exactly where she started,” Will replies.
“Not exactly,” I say. “She still has the white gown.”
“Right,” Will returns, “but what good is that if she’s not wearing it like a white gown? I feel like your protagonist’s attitude is that it may as well be rags.”
“That is her attitude,” I insist.
From my novel, A Year with the Baptists.