Page 49 of Rewriting the Story

Henry: Very funny.

Mitch: Proud of you, buddy. I take it things are going well?

That’s not really the truth, but if it means I’m writing again, I would call that going well. I’ve got a small part of my groove back, and that is cause for celebrating.

Henry: Well enough, I guess. Getting words in is always good.

Mitch: Just take care of yourself first. The manuscript can always wait until after the trip with your ex and all your old friends.

Henry: I’m going to get a coffee. I’ll be around later if you want to call.

Mitch: Sounds good.

I stretch a little bit before I get up, and as I head into the main part of the suite, I run into Leo, who’s not only shirtless, but about to make a smoothie of some sort, based on all the fruit he has on the counter.

“Ah, I thought I heard typing somewhere. I figured that was you. Grant types far more like a madman when he’s working on his fanfiction.”

“Sorry, what?” I hold back my laughter, but in all honesty, Grant writing fanfiction makes the most sense in the world.

Leo merely shrugs. “Probably best for him to tell you. I’m sure he’s not mentioned it because he looks up to you.”

“That’s nice of him, but he really shouldn't. I can barely write these days. I might be a two-hit wonder.”

He shakes his head as he cuts up a banana. I move close to the counter, not wanting to wake the other two with our conversation.

“Is that what you think?”

“Yeah,” I say as I sit on a bar stool. “I didn't mean to bombard you with my shit, so I’ll just—”

“I don’t mind, mate. Plus, I barely know you, so maybe it’s a little easier with me than the other two. I’m sure Grant would kiss your arse; he’s read both of your books multiple times and won’t shut up about them. Oliver is okay to go to for advice on occasion, but he doesn't care about anything but his almost wife right now. That leaves me, clearly the smartest, most intelligent one of the group.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “You’ve chosen wisely, Henry. So, what do you need from me? A shoulder to cry on? An ear to listen?”

“Maybe just a listener for now,” I say as he throws all his stuff into the blender. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t write. When I wrote my first two books, they sort of…came out of my mind. It wasn't as difficult for the words to come out, but now, it feels like work when it used to feel like the easiest thing in the world. It feels like my job, rather than this thing I love and grew up wanting to do.”

Leo simply nods as he turns the blender on, his smoothie mixing as I feel my shoulders relax a little bit. It felt weird to admit that, but it’s the truth. All I wanted to do was write and make a living off it, but now that I’m actually doing that, it’s harder than I wanted it to be.

It all feels pointless—the words, the characters, the book—when it’s just me celebrating and then moving onto the next one. All my accomplishments seem…small. They seem little and pointless, even though some people would kill to be where I’m at. I’m twenty-five, and I’ve already crossed dreams off my list of where I’d thought I’d be by the time I was forty.

I should be happy. I should be thriving and writing until my fingers hurt, but every time I sit down at my laptop, my brain goes blank, and I have to force myself not to get up and do something else.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” I tell him, already weary of his tone.

“I didn't know you back when the girls and the other two did. So, from the outside looking in, I’ve never seen anyone else with the look in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“I can’t really describe it. I’d guess I’d call it weighted, if I were to assign a word to it. But you’re the writer here, not me.”

That makes me laugh. “Some days, I barely feel like one.”

“I’ve had that look you have in your eyes. I’ve felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“Not thinking you’re good enough. Not really knowing where you belong. Scared of where you’ll end up if all you have are your accomplishments,” he says as he scoops his smoothie into a bowl. “If I were you, I would try and figure out what it’s going to take to let that go, because it's going to do much more harm than good.”

I sit and really think about what he’s said. Do I think about all those things? Do I think that, on my own, I’m not good enough? That I don't deserve to have all these good things around me?

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