Chapter 54: Submission
Columbia University DormitoryRoom 110
Matthew was still slightly glazed over, the particular fog of someone who had consumed more of a certain kind of snack than was strictly advisable in the middle of the afternoon.
"Wow," said the young man who had just walked in, sniffing the air with practiced recognition. "Someone had a brownie."
"What? No," Matthew said, with the reflexive panic of someone whose brain was operating at reduced capacity. "I don't even know what that is. My parents donate money to this school."
The young man stared at him.
Knock knock.
Adam opened the door to room 110 and looked at the two people inside. Both faces matched what he'd been expecting.
"Hey. I'm Adam. Room 111, right next door."
"Ted." The young man extended his hand. He had glasses and an open, friendly face — none of the elaborate romantic mythology he'd eventually construct around himself was present yet. He was just a college freshman who was happy to meet his neighbor. The persona came later, after enough experience to sand it into something deliberate.
"Matthew." The tall one managed a nervous smile.
Adam shook both hands. He had genuine affection for Matthew, which had nothing to do with the television version and everything to do with what he knew the man would turn out to be — someone who chose one person and meant it, completely and without revision, for the rest of his life. That kind of person was rare enough to respect on sight.
"He's not a teacher," Adam said, nodding at Ted, noticing that Matthew was still slightly formal. "He's your roommate."
Matthew looked at Ted. "You're not faculty?"
"When did I say I was faculty?" Ted put his bag on the top bunk, establishing territorial claim. "How many did you have? There's a welcome party tonight, you should eat something real first."
"Not that many," Matthew said, with the dignity of someone who had eaten quite a few. He produced a half-eaten brownie from somewhere and held it out to the room generally. "Anyone want the rest?"
"I'm good," Adam said.
"Same," Ted said, and pulled a larger, more elaborate version of the same thing from his own bag. Matthew's face lit up with the specific joy of discovering a kindred spirit.
Adam watched the two of them bond over this shared interest and thought: of course they're best friends. Of course.
"I have somewhere to be," he said. "See you guys tonight."
"Welcome party," Matthew called after him. "Lots of girls. Don't forget."
Adam gave them a thumbs up and left.
Random House PublishingMidtown Manhattan
The receptionist at the front desk was warm and efficient.
"I'm here about manuscript submission," Adam said. "Who would I speak to?"
"Oh, you're a writer!" She beamed at him with genuine enthusiasm. "Seventh floor — the editorial department. Editor Jack Cerf is in today. I'm sure whatever you've written is wonderful."
"Thank you," Adam said. "I hope so."
He took the elevator up.
In the lobby behind him, a heavyset man in his forties approached the same desk.
"I'm here to submit a manuscript as well."
"Do you have an appointment, sir?"
"No, but—"
"We'd need you to mail it in. Someone will review it and be in touch."
"But that young man just walked straight up—"
"He had an appointment."
The man watched the elevator doors close and muttered something unflattering about the publishing industry, youth, and the general unfairness of things before turning and leaving.
Seventh Floor — Editorial Department
Adam knocked on the office door marked J. Cerf, Editor-in-Chief.
"Come in."
Jack Cerf was a compact, alert man in his mid-fifties with the evaluating eyes of someone who had read enough manuscripts to make quick decisions and rarely regretted them. He looked up at Adam without particular surprise.
"Adam Duncan, sir. I'm a student at Columbia. I've written a novel and I'd like your honest assessment."
"Columbia." Cerf's expression shifted a degree toward engaged. An Ivy League affiliation in New York carried specific weight — not because of the academic content, but because of what the network represented. You never knew who someone was going to know.
He took the manuscript Adam offered.
Lord of the Hidden, Volume One: The Fool.
He read.
Adam sat quietly and waited, which Cerf noticed and appreciated. Most first-time writers who sat in that chair couldn't manage it.
An hour passed.
Cerf closed the last page. He looked at the manuscript for a moment, then at Adam.
"Where's the rest?"
Adam smiled. "We could talk about publishing terms first."
Cerf leaned back. "For a first novel, it's genuinely impressive. The atmosphere is consistent, the mystery structure holds, and the world-building has enough internal logic that I kept reading to test it rather than to find the holes." He paused. "It reads like someone who knows where it's going."
"I do," Adam said.
"How long is the full work?"
"Long," Adam said. "Multiple volumes."
Cerf tapped the manuscript with one finger. "Let's talk."
End of Chapter 54
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