Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Eight

Abby....

It's taken me two weeks to come down from my Green Acres high. Since meeting, Saffy, Emma, Sally, and Ronnie, I appreciate them more than ever. Since becoming an indie author, I honestly have met some really incredible people; people who I know will be lifelong friends. God, I miss those girls so much already! The signing has done wonders for my creativity, though. Since getting back, I've book ideas coming out of my ass! I'm currently writing two new books. I'm absolutely loving my writing. The words seem to be beautifully flowing and it feels so good. There is nothing better than words coming without force. When they don't come at all, it's an author's absolute nightmare. I've lost my writing mojo on quite a few occasions, and it used to stress the hell out of me. Now, I don't panic. If the words are dormant, I simply use that time to do other things. Sometimes, I think that writer's block is just my mind's way of telling me that it's frazzled, and I need some time out. So that's what I do. I read, listen to music, sing stupidly around the house, watch films, anything to take my mind off the fact that there's nothing currently in my mind!

I've been so caught up in my writing pit; I haven't even had a chance to go through any of my emails, my Facebook, or Twitter notifications. So that's what I'm doing now, slowly wading my way through 829 emails. Then I'll start on Twitter, finishing off with Facebook.

***

Three hours and twenty minutes later, I'm now moving onto Facebook. Wow, that's a whole lot of notifications right there, 1,022 to be exact. Then there are the forty-four private messages and thirty-two friend requests. I don't think I've ever had that many friend requests. Mind you, I did meet a lot of lovely new people at the signing. I'm so chuffed that many of those peeps have liked me enough to look me up on Facebook and Twitter. I know that a lot of authors have websites as well, but for now, I conduct all of my business via social media. It's difficult enough maintaining those pages, let alone having to run a website too. I take my hat off to all the authors who do.

Leaning over my iPad, I start checking the friend requests, with thoughtful interest. I don't just accept anyone. I always check whether we have mutual friends. Do they post book related things? Do they look like a serial killer? If the answer is two yes's and a no . . . I accept their friendship. Taking a large gulp of my bottled water, I nearly choke on it as I stare down at my screen. Shit! I've received a request from Yate Sheridan! I am shocked that he'd even send me one. We didn't exactly part as the best of friends. If anything, I pissed him off. Confirm? Decline? My finger is tense as it waits for me to decide what to do.

I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought about him once or twice. On a few occasions, I have found myself replaying our very last conversation. I question whether I was right to judge him in the way that I did. I must have come across as a Grade A, fucking bitch, who was not only shallow, but a hypocrite, too. He came across as someone who is open, honest, kind, and genuine. He bought me a £64.50 round of drinks for fuck's sake, that in itself screams that he's a keeper! However, I shot him down because I knew that he'd feed my insecurities. Being with someone like him would gradually erase the confidence that I've tried so hard to build. My work has helped me become the person that I am today. My writing gives me a purpose. It's the only thing that I think I can do well. So well, that others actually love to read the words that I tenderly pen. They love the characters that I create. Nothing beats that feeling. What my real life isn't able to give me, my words can.

As a writer, I give my characters something that I can't find: Love.

I did feel something when I was with Yate; a warmth that could be felt right down in my bones, it felt nice. Then I go and open my big mouth, and fuck it all up. Which is why I'm pleasantly surprised to get his friend request. Why would he even want to be friends with someone like me? So with my heart thudding at the warm thought of him, I do something spontaneous, I press confirm. Inhaling a deep and calming breath, I'm pleased with myself. This is my way of saying that I'm sorry.