That began with writing.
With my trilogy done, there were entire new ideas swimming around my head, and I struggled with which one to choose. Doubt often made it hard. What if the few readers I had didn’t want to wait on a new book? What if I picked a concept and someone else had already done it better than what I could do? What if I poured my all into the pages, only to be met by indifference, dislike, or silence?
My foot tapped restlessly where it draped over the edge of the circular window seat in Dante’s library. I’d gotten comfy in a pair of sweatpants, a cardigan, and a tank top, all things Dante had returned to my place to get for me while he’d grabbed all the essentials for writing.
A week had passed since I’d reached my darkest point, yet I still hadn’t returned to my apartment. Going back right now felt like going back to the memories and emotions I’d left there, and I wasn’t ready to face that yet. Not when the dark desire to give in was still so fresh. Not when I was trying to start this new chapter about happiness and what that looked like for me.
I huffed and stared at the blank lined page of my notebook, clicking my pen to the same tempo at which I tapped my foot. I bounced my foot so hard that the messy bun on top of my head wobbled around like a bobble head. I hadsomany words andsomany ideas that they practically tripped over each other in a surge to get out, to get away from the voice chasing them.
You’ll never be good enough.
You’ll never make it.
You’ll never achieve your dream.
I closed my eyes and grimaced, dropping my pen so that I could hang my head in my hands. My foot tapping ramped up as the voices grew louder.
The smell of fresh coffee wafted across my nose. I peered between my fingers and found Dante sitting across from me, holding one steaming mug close to his bare chest while holding a second one out to me.
“I thought you could use a break,” Dante declared. The fading sunlight glinted on his nose piercing and cast shadows around his handsome features.
I blew out an incredulous breath and accepted the drink. “I haven’t even started.”
“That’s not true,” he stated casually. “You may not have written anything down yet, but you’ve done a lot up here.” He tapped the side of his forehead. “Progress is progress, no matter how small or invisible it is.”
I leaned back and pulled my knees to my chest. I rested my mug on my knees and held it with both hands, settling intothe warmth radiating into my palms. “Thank you. I’m trying to figure out what to write, but there’s just so much going on in my head.”
“Like?”
I shrugged helplessly. “Like what if people don’t like it?”
“Don’t write for other people. Write foryou. Write the story you’d want to read, and that will inevitably be one that others want, too. That’s all you need to do.”
Write for me.
I swallowed hard. “You think I should choose the story idea thatIwant most, not the one that would market the best?”
“I do.”
“But—”
He pressed his finger to my lips. “No buts. You can do this. You’re so fucking talented. Your stories are some of the best I’ve ever read, and you’ve seen how much I read.” He gestured around his library as though to emphasize his point. “The world needs what you write. So give it to them, baby. Give them the storyyouwant.”
I smiled softly behind his finger. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good girl.” He stood while sipping on his coffee. “While you do that, I’ve gotta run an errand. Are you okay here? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I’ll be back soon.” He leaned down to kiss my temple. “Hopefully, you’ll have a chapter or two done that I can read when I come back.”
His excitement for my story made my own grow. I’d never had someone close to me who cared about the worlds I created or the success of my dream. I’d been alone in those feelings, but … I wasn’t alone anymore.
With Dante running his errand, I downed my own coffee, retightened my messy bun, braced my notebook on my bentknees, and began to write. I had older ideas than this one, just as I had ideas that were more in line with what people tended to buy. But I wasn’t writing for them. I was writing for me. This was the storyIwas most excited for, and choosing that over the others felt like a huge step in a new direction. Dante had thrown a rope down into the dark hole I’d found myself in, and choosing myself in this moment felt like the first tug upward.
Shadows slowly crept across the pages as I wrote. I chewed on my thumbnail with a faint, thrilled grin on my lips. The enemies-to-lovers fantasy tale just seemed to pour out of me. I didn’t notice that the sun had faded or that my coffee had gone cold. With the warm glow of the fire and lamps in the library, I remained rooted in place, delighted to feel a flicker of light dancing in my soul. It had been so long since that creative, excited feeling hummed, and even though I knew doubt would start up eventually, I told myself to hold onto this electrifying feeling for now.
I turned the page to finish out the third chapter when a different kind of shadow appeared on the paper. I looked up to find Dante back, hands behind him as he knelt over me to see my work.
