Write Me A Love Story

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Always take chances. Always believe in yourself.

*

Everything they served was amazing. From the vegetables to the steaks, the chicken, all the way down to their strawberry and chocolate desserts. I couldn't even finish my plate; I did, however, finish my glass of wine.

I glanced around the venue. The gold and blue colors were pleasing to the eyes. The whole aesthetic was perfect.

"This," I motioned at the surrounding space and then at the food, "is all amazing."

"I told you," Reece chuckled. "Pioneering Arts is good. I heard they really care about their writers."

That was definitely good to hear. I'd hear nightmare stories on the internet. Writers beware articles.

I cleared my throat and reached for the bottle of wine. Curiosity took over. "Are you signed with them, by chance? For your poetry?"

"No, not them." Reece reached for my bottle and poured himself a small glass. He swirled the contents before smiling at me. "But I'm also with a publisher who cares for their writers. It's bliss."

It was good to know Reece was with a publisher that cared about him. Based on what Dolores had said with his last-minute change to his poetry book, all to add in a new poem he'd written for me, they had to be amazing. I doubted any other publisher would do that. I wondered if Pioneering Arts was just as great.

"Hey." Reece placed his hand over mine and clinked our glasses together. "Don't be nervous, okay?"

Was it that obvious? Was it all over my face?

"You got this, and you'll be fine."

The second the words left his mouth, the surrounding lights in the venue dimmed. Quiet murmurs and excited whispers filled the air. In the sudden almost silence, I heard the sound of clinking heels walking into the space.

I turned around in my seat to see a woman with curly brown hair walking to the center of the hall. A podium had been placed there; or was it there the entire time? As she approached it, a light shined on top of it. She rounded the brown pedestal and faced everyone in the room.

"Hello, hello," she said into the mic. Her brown eyes passed over each of our faces. "I'm happy to see all of your smiling faces. My name is Rhonda Davenport, head editor at Pioneering Arts. I would like to thank all of you for being here tonight."

Small applause filled the room. I looked around at everyone as I joined in on the clapping. Reece did, too. Then we quieted down when Rhonda raised her hands.

"I first want to say congratulations to all of you." She pressed her hands together. "You took the chance and entered your stories, and look! Here you are, sitting here, waiting to hear if you are placed among your peers. Writing a completed novel is amazing in itself, so please, I want to tell you, even if you do not win a prize tonight, you've already won."

She said very important words. All of us—every writer in this room—did win. We wrote a complete story. I felt that victory when I reached the end of my novel. Yes, I had a severe panic attack when I made it there, but I was here. Reece helped me get here. He may have submitted my entry and put my words back in their place, but he guided me the entire way. He helped me map out my characters, plot my notes, and get my story together.

I was here because Reece helped me see myself.

"With all of this being said, it is time to announce our winners." A man came out from the corners behind her and handed her an envelope. She nodded, quietly thanking him, before opening the flap. She pulled the contents out in one swoop. "In third place," she spoke into the mic, "we have Michelle Nichols and her novel Love Me First. A YA romance entrance with teens in high school trying to discover their sexuality. A beautiful piece of literature, a heartfelt coming-of-age novel. Michelle," Rhonda lifted the paper above her head as she smiled, "congrats!"