Page 10 of Rewriting the Story

I was able to turn that heartbreak into a novel that sold well and made lists I used to dream about. Then, my second novel somehow surpassed the first one, and more and more opportunities started to knock on my door. It was great. My life was seemingly perfect to the people around me. I was no longer a child who dreamed about being an author. I was officially published with one of the best publishing houses in the country.

I’ve never been more miserable.

“Hen, you have to stop looking at that. It’s going todrive you crazy.”

“It already is driving me crazy,” I remind him, thinking back to our conversation yesterday, when one random question made me spiral. If I can’t get words down, then it’s looking next to impossible to have this be my career until I die.

“Yeah, so stop looking at it,” he says as I hear him typing across the line. “How is your word count today, or are we not mentioning that again?”

As I highlight the small paragraph I wrote and see the number come up, all I can do is palm my forehead and slump against my desk.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” I sigh heavily. “I’m at about three hundred words for today, and I don’t even know if I like them all.”

“Well, that’s three hundred more than yesterday,” he says, trying to lift my spirits. “If it makes you feel better, I only wrote five hundred words yesterday.”

Huh, that actually does make me feel better. “For which project?”

He only laughs. Mitch is the type of guy to have more than one story in his brain, and even though I’m also like that, he tends to act on it. Whereas I usually stick to one manuscript at a time, he’s always jumping between documents, as if it was a game of leapfrog. I admire him a lot, though. I don’t know how he keeps it all sorted.

He did show me his spreadsheet one time, but I can’t imagine how confusing it still gets.

“For the one I’m on an actual deadline for. The other two are just passion projects for right now. I don’t know if I’ll even end up pitching them to my agent.”

“Well, if you ever need an extra set of eyes, I’m always here.”

“Thanks, man,” he says, and I hear another question coming in his pause. “Have you given any thought to the messages you received a few weeks ago? Maybe that has something to do with you not being able to write. I know I hate when I have to decide something. It always weighs my body down until I figure out what to do.”

I know he’s trying to help, but I’ve been trying to get that off my mind. I’m pretty sure I’m going to decline the invitation sitting in that group chat.

I hate to admit he’s probably right. The invite has been looming over my head like a dark cloud for weeks, and I still haven't made a decision. It definitely hasn't helped my writer's block, but this aversion to writing has been going on since I got home from my last book tour.

I don’t know what happened. The tour was great. I met readers from all over the country and got to chat with some other amazing authors I look up to. While I was catching flights and traveling, I was fine.

Then, I got home, and it all crashed on top of me. I realized I had nobody to come with me on these things, nobody to look out into the crowd to be able to celebrate my wins with. It punched me in the face—the fact that I’ve spent all this time alone and am just now realizing it.

I don't mind being alone. It just made my stomach drop when guilt overtook my body. I had so much to be thankful for. Here I am, living out my dream, but at the same time, I also want something more.

How greedy and unworthy I am to feel the way I do—but I can’t help it. Some people would kill to be following their dreams like I am, and here I am, complaining about it.

“I don’t know what to do, Mitch. I still have some time, but I can’t think about…” I trail off, unsure of what to say. “I just can’t.”

“Well, if you ever want to talk it out, I’ll be here. I know how tough it is since she’ll probably—”

“Exactly. That’s why I haven't even entertained the idea of going.”

He clears his throat from across the line. “Just think about it.”

“I will,” I tell him, even though I might be lying.

“I have a meeting to get to, but I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Have fun and get those words in,” I say.

He smiles back at me. “Get those words in. You can do this. Don’t think, just write, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I say as I hang up the phone.

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