Dani
After droppingLuke off at the practice facility early this morning, I take a few minutes to find a local coffeeshop on my phone to slip into and get some work done before I meet Mona, Marie, and Becca for lunch. They’re showing me around Nashville this afternoon, but I have to get some words written before I can enjoy the sights.
It’s barely seven in the morning when I settle into a table to write. There are a few people visiting in the corner and a line of three to four people at the counter, while I quickly go through my routine of getting ready to write. My music is set, earbuds adjusted, and notebook’s set up next to my computer, while I wait for my order to be delivered.
Needing to get into the flow with my words, I quickly scan the previous chapter and make a few adjustments here and there to help with editing later. When I get to the point where there are no more words written on the paper, my order’s delivered to my table.
“Here ya go, hun.” An energetic woman who sounds as if she’s been injected with more than her daily dose of caffeine bops to my table. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I nod in appreciation as I take my drink and breakfast sandwich from her.
I assume she’ll just bop along to another customer as I glance to my laptop. But from the corner of my eye, I see her shift her weight from foot to foot and oddly remain standing next to me. Lifting my head to see what’s keeping her, I notice her face is flushed, and her eyes are wider than when she arrived.What the hell is wrong with her? Why is she just standing there?The place is filling up, and other customers surely need their orders.
“Uh…” I finally break the silence. “Is something wrong?” I ask when curiosity gets the better of me.
“You’re… You’re Charlotte Ann…” she says, barely above a whisper.
Flattered and shocked to be recognized outside of Washington, I reply, “I am.”
“Ohmigod.” Her voice raises slightly, but not enough for others to notice her enthusiasm. “I’m a huge fan. Are you sittin’ down to write, here in our café?”
I smile graciously, not wanting to make a big deal. “That’s the plan.” I eye my laptop, hoping she’ll take the hint. But she just stares in my direction and bites on her lower lip. She lives near Nashville; surely, she’s seen famous people before?
I glance around and am relieved to not be drawing further attention.
“Wow, this is amazing.” She stares for a moment longer then shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “This may sound crazy, but I actually have your latest book in my bag. Would it be too much to have you sign it?”
Holy shit, a true fan out in the wild. I’ve never had someone approach me out of the blue before and ask for my signature. This is surreal. I stare at her and revel in my thoughts for longer than I should before her raised eyebrows draw my attention. Shit. Don’t be a dumbass, Dani. Answer her. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Just bring it out when you have a chance.”
“Ohmigosh!” the young waitress practically squeals, as her long, brown ponytail swishes in both directions from her body bouncing with excitement.
“Jennifer,” a woman from behind the counter demands her attention. “I need you to take this order out.”
Before Jennifer returns to work, she whispers, “Thank you so much. I’ll bring it out on my next break.”
I sigh, relieved she’s not making a huge deal out of this. “I’ll be here.”
When she leaves, I do my best to get back to writing, but it’s of little use. I can’t for the life of me get my words to flow onto the page. I type a sentence or two, realize they’re utter shit, erase them, then try again.
Before I know it, thirty minutes have gone by, and I barely have a paragraph written.This fucking sucks, I internally groan. I have a bit of time before my next book is due, but each day, I need to meet the goals I’ve set for myself, or I’m fucked when my deadline approaches. In the past week or two, my brain’s been shit for getting words written.What is wrong with me?This never happens.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I still have an hour before I’m to meet Luke’s family. I slowly inhale to clear my mind, but it feels as if a million thoughts are exploding at once, and not one of them will help me write this scene. Closing my eyes, I do my best to focus on my breathing for a minute or two, to re-center my focus.
Of course, Jennifer uses this time to approach me again. “Is this a bad time?” she whispers.
Opening my eyes, I see she’s nervous, but she has no need to be. “No.” I might as well visit with her. To cover for my rudeness, I add, “I’m just stuck in a scene. Sorry. Please, take a seat.”
“No worries. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be inside your head,” Jennifer states in awe.
Rolling my eyes at the plethora of thoughts that are jumbled at the moment. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me. I’m a hot mess at the moment,” I admit.
“Are you working on Rowan and Callie’s story?” she probes.
Yep, she’s a true fan. And relief washes through me. For some reason, it’s easier to talk with people who really like my books. She must follow me on social media, because I’ve only mentioned their names a few times.
“Yes, I’m writing a scene that’ll give away some major plot points if we discuss it too much, but for some reason, they’re deciding to be difficult at the moment,” I grumble.
“Well, if they’re anything like your other characters, I’m sure their story will unfold as time goes on. Just give yourself time and relax. From the sounds of it, that’s how your process works, right?”
