Mr. Write [COMPLETED]

Chapter 31 - "Life, the universe, and everything."

"Hello darling," she said.

She pulled back, put her hands on his arms and studied him.

"You're in one piece and you have been with Cece for a few days. I'm impressed!"

Milo laughed. Marilyn turned her attention to Elliot on the counter and smiled.

"Trying to get on top of a problem?" she asked.

Elliot nodded.

"I've taught you well," her mother said.

She stepped over to Elliot and kissed her forehead.

"How is it going?" she asked.

"Not as well as I had hoped," Elliot said. She frowned and shook her head. "Wait. What are you doing here?"

Marilyn waved her hand carelessly.

"A meeting and a delayed plane. I will be gone in the next two hours. I have just enough time to hear your problem and help you with it." She gestured to Milo. "Be a love and grab me a stool."

Milo carried a stool from around the counter and set it before Marilyn before hopping back up on the counter. Marilyn grabbed a couple of crackers and sat, her soft hazel eyes appraising her daughter.

"What is it, darling?" she asked.

"I started writing today but it went horribly and now I have no idea what to do and feel completely at a lose how to fix it," Elliot said. "I know exactly where the story needs to go but have no drive to put it on paper. It's like every word I put down I second guess the minute I write it out."

Marilyn nodded.

"Do you like the story?" she asked.

"Yes," Elliot said. "I was really excited about writing it yesterday and now it's like I have this voice in my head saying it will be no good."

She dropped her gaze away from her mother, breaking off pieces of cracker, dusting the counter with crumbs.

"I see," Marilyn said.

Elliot looked at her.

"You do?"

"Of course," her mother said, smiling. A smile that seemed to ease all of Elliot's knotted thoughts. "The solution is simple. Move on."

Elliot frowned.

"What?" she asked.

"Move on. Find something new to write and write it. Right now, nothing good will come of you doubting yourself and trying to write this book. You need to find the spark again. That love of writing that made you pick up a pen in the first place and write a very repetitious story about animals."

Elliot tossed up her hands, sending crumbs flying about.

"You're bringing that up? I was eight, what did you expect from me?"

"A larger vocabulary," her mother said, "but it had it's charms."

Her mother's smile widened and Elliot felt her face lighten, her own lips curling up.

"El, something I have learned over the years is that you can't fight with art. It will show up, that is something I can promise you, if you are patient and wait for it. But while you're waiting, find something new to do. You'd be surprised how fast that old project comes back."

"What about Beck?"

"Is he struggling with writing?"

Elliot scowled and rolled her eyes.