CHAPTER 43
GEORGE
It’s morning.It’s bright as fuck. I must have forgotten to put my sleep mask on last night. But the skylight directly above me doesn’t confuse me like it did the first time I woke up like this. (Although it’srightabove my face. Why???)
Anyway, no, I’m disoriented for a completely different reason today. Owen.
I mean, notOwenOwen. Although actually speaking to him yesterday was… Well, it was very nice to put a voice to the words.
But: his words. Ormywords, I guess. Or his words about my words.
Okay, maybe I’m not fully awake yet.
But I’ve got this warm fuzzy feeling wrapped around me, because I let him read the secret manuscript… Which… Oh my God, I can’t even believe I actually let someone read those pages. Only, it wasn’t just someone. It was Owen. And he said such nice things.
I mean, they were bullshit, obviously. He said them because he’s Owen and also because what the hell else are you going to say when someone lets you read their super secret book? But still. Still. It was so nice to hear those words.
I open my eyes and stare up through the glass at the sky. There’s a cardinal perched near the end of one of the evergreen branches above me. I can just see its head peeking out past the needles from this angle. It’s so close. I watch its head twist in minute jerky motions. I stay perfectly still. Wow.
And then it abruptly takes flight, sending the branch bobbing, which then unceremoniously dumps a blop of snow directly above my face with a small thud.
Right. And on that note… Back to reality.
I get up. Pull on Owen’s robe. I know I shouldn’t, just like I shouldn’t think about his deep, soft voice and those kind, kind words he said to me. But it’s cold, and I didn’t bring a robe, so I do it anyway and try not to notice the warm, woodsy smell.
I blunder my way down the spiral staircase and start my coffee. I’m in a good place with the Steele book, but I can’t afford to lose too much momentum. So it’s just as well I’m up.
Maybe today I’ll go back and fix that plot hole. Although I’m definitely feeling like the seduction scene toward the end of act two needs an overhaul. It’s coming across as stilted and kind of stale right now. Definitely not a “just want to live in those moments” sort of moment like the ones I apparently gave James and Henry.
I chuckle and shake my head. I mean, it was sweet of him to say, butplease. I’m a big boy. I can take real criticism. It’s not like Anabel pulls punches when she’s editing my work.
Intense.
Real.
I scoff. I’m not saying I’m not a good writer. I know how to write a book. But this isn’t really a book. Or I guess it kind of turned into something that vaguely looks like a book. Fine. But we’re talking about a bunch of scattered fever dreams of pages cobbled together without regard for planning or editing and with no real intention of doing anything with them at all.
Maybe there are a few good snippets, impressions. I like the idea of the characters and the situation. But it’s not abook.
I feel weirdly defensive of this. I know Owen’s not trying to back me into a corner by insisting my secret, barely-anything non-bookisa book. A good book. A book I should actually, like, write.
But he’s wrong. I know he’s wrong.
I don’t know why I started writing it. It started as one scene, one idea, something I just had to get out of my head because it was in the way, blocking my ability to get down to the work I was supposed to be doing. And then it just sort of exploded from there. But it’s not real, and it’s not a book. It’s not.
I’ll prove it.
I boot up my laptop and pull up the file.
Here. The first scene between Fletcher and Ashford. Good example. This is a ridiculous scene. They’ve been corresponding for months, and yet when they meet?—
Though now that I’m looking at this, it is pretty funny. And there’s a fair amount of suspense. And the chemistry between them is actually… well, it’s actually pretty great.
Okay, fine, obviously I’m capable of writing a random decent scene.
I flip ahead. Ah, here, the stable scene. I mean this one… Actually, no, this one is good too. I can see the development of the sexual tension between them. But it’s more than that, too. There’s an intensity to the emotions and…
But what about Winifred’s reaction when she walks in on them in the library?
