Page 56 of Fraud
No calls. No texts. Not even an email.
I ate raw cookie dough all day and caught up on several TV shows.
By Sunday, I was a total disaster and seriously falling behind on my upcoming deadline.
If I didn’t get my butt in gear and focus on the third and final book from The Scandal Chronicles, I’d end up with another surprise visit from Jane.
And I doubted it would include a fun trip to the club this time.
But, every time I sat down to work, I would come up blank.
By Sunday night, I’d written a total of three words.
Three freaking words.
At this pace, I’d finish in twenty years and be the laughingstock of the literary world.
Well,Iwouldn’t be personally.
Because no one knew I existed. But Laura Stone would be.
I’d never had a problem with finding the words. Usually, I couldn’t stop them from pouring out of me.
I literally had to write.
Every day.
All the time.
But, now, when I needed those words most of all, I was stuck.
So, I phoned a friend.
“Do you know how late it is?” a groggy Jane said after several rings.
“No, not really,” I answered honestly. A quick glance over at my alarm clock made my eyes widen. “Okay, so it’s late. Sorry, but I need help.”
“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” she asked.
“It could have,” I replied. “But I figured, since you were making a crap-ton of money off me, I could call in this favor.”
“Oh, so it’s work-related?”
“Writing-related, yes,” I said.
Calling writingworkwas still an odd thing for me. Work meant colleagues and reports, appointments and paychecks.
Writing was fun and satisfying.
A job? Well, it was satisfying, I guessed. But fun? Not often.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, sounding more alert now.
I set my laptop to the side as I shifted around in bed.
I’d taken up writing in bed when I was home. I mean, why not, right? It was comfortable, and there weren’t exactly any rules when it came to this sort of thing.
“I’ve got writer’s block.”
