“No!” I screamed. “You can’t do this to me! I’ve won two RITAs and a RoNA. Writers don’t nosedive like this. A writer has to have some horribly bad books under their belts before they shrivel up to die.” After which I took a break.
I took several breaks as needed each time coming back to my novel with more determination than before yet failing with each new attempt. After a long tiring day and a brief cry I went to bed hoping my house guests could find a way to help me as I was attempting to help them.
I woke on Saturday morning feeling tired and stiff. I put off getting out of bed as long as I possibly could. I showered and brushed my teeth hating myself, switching to words of praise and encouragement for following through with a good stretch work out. I tidied the house up after breakfast, going to work in the kitchen immediately after eating.
I went through the cabinets first, verifying plenty of drinks and snacks were available. I put a batch of loaded baked potato soup into the slow cooker, made a fresh batch of cookies and set up the coffee pot. Checking Lisa and Phoebe’s rooms one last time I locked up and went for a walk hoping to pass the time until they arrived.
I heard the sound of tires crunching into snow as I was unlocking the door to the mudroom. Removing the key from the lock, I decided to take a detour. I walked around to the front of the house just in time to watch Phoebe climb the front steps and knock on the door.
“Little pig. Little pig. Let me come in.” I called.
Phoebe responded. “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,” as she spun around looking for me. “Aunt Jess!” She exclaimed when she spotted me. She ran down the steps and across the yard for a hug.
“Did you have a nice flight?”
“We sure did.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“Lots of people all trying to get to different places. There were lights, music, and people speaking different languages. Santa Clause flew the plane!”
“Santa flew you here! He must know how special you are to take time off from Christmas preparations just to fly your plane.”
“It was just the pilot, Auntie. He was dressed up as Santa.”
I nodded.
“Everyone smiled when Santa boarded. The little kids were really excited.” Phoebe whispered. “They totally bought it.”
“Clearly you are too sophisticated for that. Let’s go help your mom with the luggage.”
I had just settled into bed when Lisa knocked on the door jamb. “Come in.” I said, turning my attention to her. “Did I forget something? Is your room comfortable?”
“The rooms are lovely. I was wondering if I could have a minute.”
“Yes. You must be exhausted.”
“We both are.” Lisa said as she sat down. “I think Phoebe fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.”
“The poor thing. How are you doing?”
“I'm sad but fully functioning.” Lisa responded. “How are you?”
I didn’t know how to answer her question. I thought about the problems I’d been having with the new book and the incidents leading up to those problems. I’d worked with Lisa for a long time. I made a decision and hoped it was the right one.
“Not very well. I was wondering, do you believe in things like magic? The power of Christmas?”
A confused expression appeared on Lisa’s face.
“Do you believe in Christmas wishes?” I asked.
She looked out the window at a bright winter moon for a brief period before turning to me and responding, “I do.”
Her answer was all I needed. I let everything that was happening spill out. All of it including the incident with the driver and the two incidents at The Naked Ankle. I could tell she was listening, compiling a list of logical explanations for everything. Then I showed her all four attempts to start the next Book Boyfriends Holiday Romance.
“This last one is really good. When did you stop working on it?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“You can’t
get back into it?” She asked.
I shook my head. “The two main characters are too good together. There’s no conflict. How can they break up and reconcile if there’s no potential for conflict?”
“You have a point.” She agreed. “You shouldn’t give up on the fourth attempt yet.” Lisa continued flipping through the stack of pages. “You always run out of gas early on?”
“365. Three hundred sixty-five words in or some other combination of those numbers.” I confirmed. I looked at Lisa. “I’m not ready to retire. I can’t stop writing without producing at least one more holiday romance. The fans are waiting for it and I’m still under contract.”
“There are options. Let's talk about them. You can keep starting novels and hope you push through the block. Clearly you are blocked whether it’s psychological, emotional, or as suggested something beyond your control." She paused for a moment. "What if?”
“What if.” I repeated prompting Lisa to continue.
“What if you did what the stock boy said you needed to do in order to get your wish?”
I must have made a
face because Lisa started to grin before she continued.
“Do it. Write about yourself and your life. Sit down and write hard and clear about what’s hurt you. Get it all out. The past and the present. If you fast draft it you can get out whatever is weighing you down and then you can move on. The stock boy didn’t say you had to publish it, he only said you needed to write it. If this is just an emotional block you’ll be able to move past it. If the stock boy was telling the truth then you’ll finally get your Christmas wish as well.”
“Write hard and clear about what hurts.” I repeated.
“It worked for Hemingway.” She studied my face. “Now you just look sad.”
I took a deep breath before answering. “I made that Christmas wish every year for several years. I believed in it. I waited for that wish. After years of doing everything I could to make it come true I accepted the truth. A Christmas Wish is not magic it's just a myth. There are some things we will never get no matter how hard we work or how badly we want them. I didn't get my wish because I made the one mistake you can’t make when it comes to wishes. I wished for something I'm not meant to have."
Tears welled in Lisa’s eyes.
I reached out for her hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Acceptance sets you free. With freedom comes joy and eventually hope.” I looked at her. “I’ll think about what you said. It may be time to do the hard thing. As for the wish, I gave up on that a long time ago.”
I did think about it. At five am the next morning when I could no longer sleep I picked up my laptop, opened a new document and began telling my story. It wasn’t very difficult, talking about the early years when it was just me and my mother. Remembering those days was easy. I was little and cute. The world was so big. The tiniest discoveries are amazing during a child's early years. In all of time we spent together my mother and I only had two really bad moments. I had gotten through writing about my eighth Christmas by the time Lisa and Phoebe were up and ready for brunch. I continued forward, finishing for the day just before I began writing about the months leading up to my mother’s death. I had written more in one morning than I had in years. The next day’s writing would be difficult, draining even. I closed my laptop, reminding myself that tomorrow was hours away. I was determined to make the best of the afternoon in front of me. The three of us left the cabin on a mission to explore town.
Things were already bustling by the time we passed the “Santa Crossing” sign at the entrance to Lodgepole Falls. The snowy streets, colorful decorations, and festive music were inviting, promising a good time for all. Phoebe stopped every few feet to play in the snow as we wandered in and out of shops. Lisa found a coffee house just as the temperature started dropping. We ducked inside as new snowflakes began to fall.
I claimed an open table, providing watch over gloves, hats and shopping bags while Lisa and Phoebe returned with the drinks. I looked around the room at the other patrons all in various states of excitement and good spirit until my eyes stopped at the back of the room. Mr. McKinley was in line with Lisa and Phoebe. All seemed to be enjoying their conversation immensely. I turned away pretending not to notice while I quietly seethed.
“Hi.” A voice said.
I looked to my right and found a boy of about 11 looking at me. “Hello.”
“Are you that lady on TV?” He asked.
“Which lady?”
“The one that writes the books my mom reads?”
“I don’t know. Do they usually say something about book boyfriends on the cover?” I asked.
He nodded, blushing a little.
“I am that lady.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can.”
“Did you always know you wanted to write romance novels?”
It seemed to be a deep question for a boy of his age but some adults are shy and sometimes they send a messenger. I’d run into it before. “I did not. Initially writing was something I did to sort out my thoughts and feelings. One day I decided I wanted to find out if I could write a book. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” He asked.
The answer was a bit long winded, I had to admit. I tried again. “The answer is no.”
“Thank you.” He said and moved on.
Something pushed against my chair from the other side. It was Phoebe.
“Back already?” I asked accepting my coffee from her.
“I just met a mountain man.” She announced.
“Where?”
“There.” Phoebe said, pointing to McKinley.
Lisa lowered her daughter’s hand as she sat down. “It’s not polite to point.” She corrected.
“How else will Aunt Jess know who I’m talking about?”
I held back a smile. “She does have a point.” I said.
“I didn’t know when I agreed to this trip that there would be two of you.”
Phoebe looked at her mother. “Sur-pr-i-se.” The eight year old sang.
I looked at Phoebe. “Quick, before you get us both into trouble, tell me about your new friend.”
“He’s tall and has a pretty smile. His name is Mac. He’s a mountain man.”
“What is it about Mac that makes him a mountain man?”
Something tugged at my sleeve. I turned to find a girl standing next to my chair. She didn’t say anything. Another messenger perhaps? “Do you have a question?” I asked.
“Do you pattern your book boyfriends after men you might want to date?”
Lisa nearly spit out her coffee. I placed a hand on her arm reassuring her that I had the situation handled.
“No. Not necessarily.”
“Thank you.” The child said and left.
“What was that?” Lisa asked.
“I’m not sure. She’s not the first visitor who’s stopped by with a question.” I turned back to Phoebe. “How do you know your new friend Mac is a mountain man?”
“He’s tall. He lives here on the mountain. He works on the mountain. He can lift heavy things and he has the right boots.”
I nod and pretend to think about this for a bit. “Okay. If he looks like a mountain man, dresses like a mountain man and does work that a mountain man does then he must be a mountain man.”
A small boy ran over to our table and stood next to Lisa. I was hoping she would be the recipient of the next question. No luck. He was staring right at me.
“Do you have a question?” I asked.
He nodded. “Do you have a type?”
“That’s very sweet but I think I might be too old for you.”
The child shook his head.
“Are you looking for a yes or a no?”
He nods.
“No I don’t have a type.”
“Let’s see where he goes.” I said the moment the boy was out of earshot.
We watched as he ran right over to the counter and got a cookie from Mr. McKinley. Looking around the coffee house I found my first visitor. I got the boy’s attention and discreetly called him over. “Did you ask me the question you asked because the man in the back said you could have a cookie if you asked it?”
He nodded.
“How would you like to make twelve cookies?” I took a small notebook and a pen out of my purse. “I will buy or bake you twelve cookies if the next time he asks you to ask me a question you give him this note.” I looked at the boy. “Will you do that for me?”
He smiled and took the note from my hand.
Lisa waited until the three of us were alone to ask, “What did you do?”
“Nothing. I did write a note pointing out that if a gentleman wants to know something about a lady in order to get a full and complete answer it is always best for him to address her directly himself rather than recruiting messengers.”
“She has a point.” Phoebe agrees.
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