Page 54 of Rewriting the Story

Sincewegotbackto the hotel room a few hours ago, all I’ve done is stare at my computer and wish this book could write itself. I thought all the sun I got earlier today would have helped kickstart my brain, but apparently, all it did was make it worse.

This book is going to be a gigantic failure. I can feel it in my bones—something isn't right, and it’s showing through the struggles I keep having when I tryto write it.

I’m practically pulling my hair out every time I open this document, knowing everything I’m going to end up writing will probably be deleted or reworded by me or my editor at some point.

It would be nice if I could just finish this draft and actually turn it in, but even that feels so far out of reach from where I’m at now.

When I outlined this book, I was excited about it. I called Mitch after I was done and practically vomited the entire story out to him. He could barely keep up with me because of how excited I was.

Somewhere along the way, all these thoughts started to creep in, and eventually, they swallowed me whole. That’s the thing about having my books do well. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to even be having these experiences, but the fear and worry this book is going to be unsuccessful and not live up to the others eats away at me every single day.

Even if it somehow manages to get written and do better than my second novel, I’m not going to have anyone to celebrate with. It’s going to be exactly how it always has been—me alone in my apartment, getting a call from my parents about how proud they are of me.

That’s great and all, but I wish I had a partner in all this. I wish I had someone to share my success with. I wish I had someone to walk around the bookstore with and obnoxiously point out my books.

But when I picture the future in my mind, it all feels fuzzy and out of reach. I’m halfway through my twenties, and while I have success in my career, I can’t help but crave success and fulfillment in other parts of my life.

My timer goes off, and I realize I just spent the entire twenty minutes spiraling and thinking about how my personal life is going nowhere.

No wonder this book isn’t getting finished.

I reset it, but before I press the button, Oliver pokes his head into my room.

“I thought you were having dinner with your parents?” I didn't think Oliver was still up in the room. Tonight is free rein for all of us, since wespent the day together. Oliver’s family arrived earlier today, so he and his sister, along with Paige and Grant, are going to dinner. Leo told me he and Ella are also doing a candlelit dinner somewhere fancy.

It seems everyone has dinner plans besides me.

“I am. I’m waiting on Grant, but I wanted to check-in with you before I left.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Well, you’ve been holed up here since we got back. You should go out and explore the resort. Thisissupposed to be a vacation, and all you’ve done when we’re not hanging out is work.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, that’s pushing it, Oliver.”

“I’m just saying, Henry. It wouldn't kill you to put the voices away for one night and let loose in whatever way you see fit.”

I can see where he’s coming from, I guess. I mull it over before I eventually close my laptop and turn my timer off.

“You ready, Ol?” Grant says as he comes in, his face lighting up when he sees the two of us. “What are you two talking about?”

“Oliver was telling me to get out of the room tonight and enjoy myself.”

Grant starts to laugh before he notices neither of us are, although I've only heard Oliver laugh a handful of times. Most of the time, he scoffs or simply grunts in the direction of the joke.

“You’re being serious?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m actually going to take his advice and leave my manuscript for the night.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re working on your next book while you’re here? I will sell you one of my kidneys to be able to read it early.”

“Grant, you only have one kidney left, remember?”

“Oh, right,” he says as he thinks. “What do you want, Hen? An arm? A finger?”

“You are free to keep all your body parts, especially since I can’t seem to write this book without wanting to erase everything.” Both look at me as if they want me to dive deeper into that, but I don’t. “Don’t you guys have dinner to get to?”

“Shit,” Oliver says as he checks his watch. “Come on, pretty boy.”

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