Chapter 4 Writer’s Block Elizabeth
Writer’s Block
Elizabeth
They wanted to see what I was writing? I am the queen of Regency romance with awards and bestsellers to prove it. Ninety-four framed covers line my walls floor to ceiling, and they were questioning whether I can write? My own son? We would be having words about this later.
I sat down at my desk, so incensed, as Grady and Lila trailed in behind me.
I didn’t need to be micromanaged like a child.
I had earned my own money. I had made my own way in the world.
Well, with my darling husband of forty years.
And then, poof! He was gone, in an instant.
And I was left here, drowning, with no muse, no inspiration, and .
. . no writing. But just because I hadn’t written didn’t mean I couldn’t.
I slid open my laptop, but the screen didn’t brighten. That was odd. Wasn’t that what always happened? When was the last time I had even been on this thing? I felt frozen. Where was the power button? I fumbled with a few buttons on the keyboard.
Grady leaned over and said, “Here, Mom, purveyor of all the words on this very machine, every day, allow me to assist you.” He put his finger on a blank key, and the thing sprang to life.
Great. I was hoping it had died, and then we could stop this little charade. “I know how to turn on my own computer!” I snapped. Which was a lie. Clearly, I did not.
My heart began to pound as the thing started up. I noticed my finger was quivering ever so slightly as it ran across the trackpad, as I located Microsoft Word, as I double-clicked to open it.
Blank. All that white space. Taunting me. That blinking cursor practically laughing at how I’d lost it all. My husband. My ability to write. My career. Everything that had made me me, that had brought me joy, was gone. Just like that.
I clicked on “File” and then “Open,” knowing that nothing new was on this laptop. So, instead, I opened an eight-year-old file that surely neither of them would remember. I scrolled down a few pages so they couldn’t see the title and said, “There! See! A manuscript.”
Grady’s and Lila’s eyes felt like they were boring a hole in the back of my head.
I turned, probably to say something snarky.
I wasn’t sure what yet, but I would have no problem coming up with that.
Only words on a page stumped me, it seemed.
But when I looked at them, their eyes weren’t on me.
They were on each other. These two practical strangers seemed to be having a conversation with no words.
And I had the distinct feeling it was about me.
Lila looked over my shoulder at the screen. “Elizabeth,” Lila said gently, “this is Love Unmoored.”
I peered at her. How did she know that from one measly page of text? “You should get a hobby,” I snapped. “The file I was working on must have gotten lost or accidentally deleted.”
Lila, who I barely knew, somehow found it appropriate to sit on the arm of my chair. “Let’s open a blank document and start something new,” she said gently, pitying. The girl who had one paltry not-even-close-to-bestseller was feeling sorry for me. This was definitely a low point.
“I don’t need you to get me started!” I retorted. “I’ve written ninety-four novels!”
Either she wasn’t listening or she simply did not care, because the girl had the gall to lean over and type Mrs. Percy could scarcely remember a petticoat being this itchy.
It was a silly little line. A throwaway that also made the reader want to keep reading.
Why was it itchy? Was it winter? Did she have somewhere to go?
An important function? The mailbox? All these questions for me to answer.
It irked me that this girl probably knew that my mind would race, that I would want to answer all these questions. I could. I knew I could.
I put my hands back to the keyboard, but I felt suddenly exhausted and burst into tears.
Lila did the oddest thing. She hugged me, then knelt down beside me.
“Elizabeth, look,” she said. “I’m going to level with you.
I know you don’t need me. Like you said, you have ninety-four novels to prove it.
But I need you. Desperately. This is my only chance.
If I ghostwrite for you, Apprentice might take a look at my next manuscript. If not, I’m out.”
I sniffled, wiping away my tears. “Well, that might be for the best!” I said. “This career will wipe you out!”
She shook her head. “But it’s my big dream. Not even to be a bestseller, necessarily. Just to put my words on the page and share them with the world. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, since I was a little girl.”
I remembered feeling like that. I did. And, well, it was clear that if Lila didn’t bail me out, all that was over for me too. And, deep down, I didn’t want it to be. So, I sighed deeply and said, “Fine, let’s give it a go.”
I was mortified that I had lost it like that.
If you had asked me years earlier, I would have said I didn’t believe in writer’s block.
But that was then. That was before, back when the world hadn’t broken my heart.
Back when I was invincible. Back when I was living a love so real I thought it could never, ever falter.
Now my love had flown. And with it, obviously, had gone my talent.