View Full Version : Empty Writer (chapter one)

November 11th, 2010, 06:04 PM
Its November and unseasonably warm and a Sunday which I hate. I have the T.V. on, playing to the alternative music station, here upstairs while my hubby watches football downstairs in the front room. Im in my loft and the T.V. downstairs is louder than the one up here.

I have about seven internet windows up, along with my email, which seems to be inactive today. I even thought of sending myself a message to see if it works. I am beginning to wonder about Yahoo.

The document screen is zoning me out with its neon whiteness. I could get lost in the black bits of dust. Its like looking at the night sky with stars, but the exact opposite colors.

What do I want to write in the white sky of paper? My effin novel that is! But as much as I pray and type nonsense, nothing is coming to mind. My editor says is it just a slight case of writers block. Like its the flu or something. Like I will get over it. Yeah, right!

Seth doesnt even know what I do these days on the computer. He thinks I am typing page after page and preparing for a fifth book. He doesnt know I zone out on writing forums that have endless problems like me. He doesnt know I complain to strangers about why I cant write, or dont wanna write.

Believe me he has heard it all and now turns a deaf ear to it. As long as it makes us money so we can pay for our barely affordable home in a small suburb outside of Chicago.

Diane? Seth yells upstairs. You getting hungry?

No, I yell back.

Nine times out of ten, he is hungry and is yelling subliminally for me to come down and make him something to eat. And normally I would concede, quickly running down the stairs to do it, but not this time. This time I am going to pump out some words on this dusty white screen. Or I will scream!

I love Seth, I really do. He is the greatest husband he could be. I put him through hell and high water several years back when everything changed.

But I push that mind-numbing event behind me now. I am surprised he is still with me after all that has happened.

After years of therapy and medication, I am now normal. Ha! Yeah, whatever that means. Ive met people in the psyche ward more normal then the average person. Normal people in society scare me these days. The people that pretend they are real, but they ooze with fakeness.

Like the guy at the 7-11. When I get a pack of smokes, he says, How are you? But he doesnt give a shit. And why should I care what he thinks anyway? Well I do care. In my mind he is a potential buyer. Even if he were to only buy one of my books and add 50 cents in my pocket for it. I would even care for his review. Yes, even though he is a complete slob and ignorant.

Note to self, dont say much to anyone in public about anything.

I continue to type crap, whatever kind of crap people will want to read. It is true that sex sells. Sex is everywhere, on the street, in magazines, movies and yes in books. Not all books are like that of course. But my books, the ones I write, seem to be the only ones that move. So call me a romance writer, even though I know nothing of romance. Seths version of romance is a 5 minute quickie before bedtime.

But my romantic books have lust and sins and all that jazz. People seem to gravitate to all things bad for them. And if they arent doing it, they yearn to do it.

Sell, sell, sell. It is no different than when I used to promote the charge cards at the department store I worked at years and years ago. It was before college, before Seth, and before my nightmares met reality.

So now I am doing the same thing, but instead of promoting charge cards, I am promoting my booksthe books that barely make anything. My disability checks are more than that.

Yeah, I used to work. Now I am broke and busted mentally. Cant work. Supposedly I dont have that ability anymore. Although I cant see myself working as a store manager at Wal-Mart again either. That place was a living hell. And having to deal with rude customers wasnt the worst part, it was the people I worked with. All the drama, I could barely take it.

After the first breakdown, it became harder and harder to go back. I pretty much burned my mind with unnecessary pressure and worried about things that never happened. But something did happen. I snapped.

Nowadays when I go out, I dont say much of anything to anyone. Unlike the person I was, I now hate going out. I can feel the pit of my stomach raise through my throat and want to run straight out the store, or where ever I would be. I hate intersections when I drive. I panic and often get flicked off for going too early and hesitating to go at all. I hate making eye contact with anyone. I feel like it is a stare down and am always the first to look away. And to top it off I worry so much to the point I dont remember where I park after leaving a store and place or where ever the hell I am at the time. I search around like a little lost girl looking for her parents. But I have no parents anymore. My parents died when I was sixteen. Soon after that I met Seth. He brought me back to life.

It wasnt like this back then. I wasnt like this at all. I didnt see any signs I was sick. I used to be so happy and outgoing. Now I am overweight, overtired, overwhelmed and I cant seem to forgive myself for what I did to Seth.

I stare at the empty spare room to the left of me. It is still in the lemon yellow like we planned it to be. We didnt know what we were having, so we decided to go with a neutral color. She was beautiful when she came out. So still and silent, yet I could have sworn I saw her move.

I stare back at the nonsense on the screen, erase and start to look into my reflection from the glare of the morning sun. I type one word Adriana and start to cry. Her birthday is coming up in January. She would have been turning fourteen. I wonder what she would have looked like by now. Me? Her father?

I dont dare tell Seth, I could sworn I saw her the other day when I noticed a young girl with pin-straight golden hair and light blue eyes. Her face looked so familiar as a chill ran through me. She was crossing the street to get to school. That could have been Adriana.