That Day, Karen Deen [early readers .txt] 📗

show and thought the character was real in that moment when you were on the edge of your seat waiting to see what was going to happen? If I don’t believe they are real, then my readers won’t either.” I’m getting a little heated in my reply.

“Whoa, hang on. Please, I wasn’t teasing you. It was just a joke, but I can see you took it the wrong way.” There’s panic in his voice that he has offended me.

“Sorry, I’m a little on tenterhooks tonight. It’s been a strange two days. It’s just, people don’t understand what it’s like sometimes. When I’m writing, the story consumes my thoughts. I live in their world, I feel their pain, I cry the happy and sad tears, feel the butterflies of the love as it blooms, and yes, I hear them talking in my head. If that makes me crazy, so be it, but I have never been so happy in a job than I am as an author. There is not a day that feels like it’s work. To me, it’s my dream that’s now a reality. I wouldn’t give it up for anyone.” Not even the assholes who have me trapped in this life.

I made my decision in the last move that they don’t get to control my life anymore. I’ve moved five times so far, and every time it makes me feel more insecure. This is where I have lived the longest, and I needed to move forward trying to live a little. The fear was crippling me, I buried it and used the adrenaline to push my writing. To give it passion and strive to make it the best it could be. I’m done letting them control my happiness.

“To me, it’s intriguing how you write a book. I don’t think it’s crazy at all. It’s similar in some ways to me in building. It’s a project where I get a vision of what I’m trying to create. I start by sketching different ideas, then choose the ones I like. Refine it. Then I have to work out how to achieve that result in real life. Both our jobs involve having vision and then making it a reality, you with a finished book and me with a completed renovation. So, no, I don’t think voices in the head of a writer is weird. To me it makes perfect sense.”

Thinking about what he just said, I can’t help but smile.

Two creative souls.

“Thank you. That’s the closest I’ve ever had to someone understanding what I do. Now tell me, I think of plot lines in the weirdest places and times of day or night. Where do you do your thinking for your masterpieces?” I’m now really curious what his process is.

“A lot of time, I’m out in the surf, sitting on my board waiting for waves, or checking out some hot chick chasing her naughty dog down the beach.” His chuckle makes me feel warm, and the thoughts of him watching me should freak me out, but they don’t. For me, it’s a miracle I’m not panicking.

“Wow, she sounds hopeless if she can’t contain her own dog.”

“Not a chance, that dog is a force all on her own. Take it from me, she is one stubborn dog, the one time I met her.”

“Well, then you are a good judge of dog character, just saying.” I look down at my fearless guard dog who is fast asleep on the floor and snoring her way though some dream, her legs twitching.

“Yeah, possibly. But the other time I have bright ideas is in the middle of the night sometimes. I have trouble sleeping most nights, so when I think of something, I’ll go to my desk and start sketching. A few hours can go past, and I don’t even realize it. Then all of a sudden, I see the tiniest tinge of light on the horizon and know that there’s no point going back to bed. So, I head for the surf and start the day in the best possible way. Me against the ocean.” A yawn escapes from him on the other end of the phone.

“Sorry, I’m keeping you up. I know you worked hard today at my place, and then I’m sure you were busy helping others too.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m enjoying talking to you. And look, while we’ve been talking, the storm has passed and you haven’t even realized.” My eyes go straight to the window to see if I can get a glimpse of any flashes of light and listening for the rumbles. It takes a few minutes of silence before I hear a distant noise. How did he do that? He totally distracted me from what was going on around me.

“It’s almost gone. Well, your work here is done. I can let you sleep now.”

“I wish it was that easy, Asha. Just because I’m tired and fall asleep, doesn’t mean I stay asleep. Maybe I should download one of your books and that way I have something to read when I wake in the middle of the night.”

“Ugh, I feel your pain. I often wake in the middle of the night and end up writing. Some of my best parts of a book have been written in the wee hours of the morning when the world is asleep.” I can feel the fatigue of the last two days starting to creep over me too.

“Yeah, I know you’re up when I am.”

“What?” I almost choke on my own words.

“I know it sounds creepy, but I promise it’s not. Let me explain. I can see your house from my place. So, when I’m up at my drafting table looking out on the ocean, darkness all around except for the moon, I see your lone house on the headland with lights on. I would often wonder what had you up or if it was just the lights left on. Now I know.”

“Where do you live, can I see you now if I look?”