15 Fulfillment

I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling; the room felt stuffy, and I had a raging headache. It had been a week since the book tour had ended, leaving me mentally drained. However, that wasn't the reason for my current predicament. During the last leg of the tour, I happened to hear a speech given by a seasoned author, sharing his experiences in writing his novel.His words kept replaying in my mind.

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"Storytelling is a profound and personal art. Each one of us has something unique to contribute."

"The essence of true fulfillment lies not just in the recognition of our peers or from readers but in the unyielding pride we take in the stories we create. To make stories that are our own is a gift we give ourselves as storytellers."

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The room seemed to close in on me. All the success I had achieved was from just copying someone else's work. Yeah, it didn't exist here, but I came to realize, unlike the other authors, I didn't feel any pride in my work. Well, of course, I didn't; it wasn't mine to begin with. I could make more money and find more success by continuing to do this, but I would never find true fulfillment.

It was like a business at the beginning. I wanted to help my mom and improve our lives, but now that I have more money than I ever imagined myself having, and our lives were more comfortable, I started to think more about myself. I wanted to write a story that was genuinely mine, a story I could call my own. The thought of continuing what I was doing now felt increasingly hollow. I wanted to experience the fulfillment and pride that the author spoke about during that speech. I wanted to prove to myself that I could create something original.

I pulled myself up from the bed, ignoring the persisting headache. I had been trying to come up with something for a week now. Today, I decided to forgo the laptop and opted for the pen and paper, thinking that might help.

It didn't.

I came up with a dozen ideas but couldn't seem to develop any of them into a coherent and satisfying story.

I marched into the living room. The area near the couch was littered with crumpled papers, evidence of my struggles earlier in the day. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Mom had added personal touches to the new apartment, making it feel more like a home. The walls were adorned with framed photographs, both old and new.

I sat on the couch and tried to write again with a newfound sense of determination. It only lasted an hour as I gave up and discarded a new crumpled paper to pile below. I looked at the discarded papers; maybe I should just stick to the laptop; this seemed very wasteful.

"This is going nowhere," I muttered, frustrated with the whole situation.

Maybe all I was good at was copying others'; I couldn't seem to come up with an original idea. I laid on the couch, my eyes finding the pile of discarded papers; they seemed to taunt me, and in a moment of frustration, I stood up and kicked the pile, scattering the papers in all directions.

"Don't mock me!" I yelled, the echoes of my frustration filling the room.

Taking a deep breath, I attempted to shake off the irritation. Glancing at the crumpled papers now scattered across the floor, I realized that was unnecessary – it seemed like something an edgelord would do. Wait, am I starting puberty? Is this why I'm having these mood swings? Oh... I'm not looking forward to this.

I sat on the couch with my hands covering my face when I heard the door open.The door creaked open, and Lucy entered, her eyes widening at the chaotic scene of scattered papers.

"What happened here?" Lucy exclaimed, her eyes scanning the room's chaos as she looked at me.

I sighed, my headache still persisting. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"Really?" Her gaze held a mix of concern and skepticism.

"Yes, it's nothing. And how did you get in here anyway? The door was locked."

"Your mom gave me a key."

"Wait, did Mom ask you to come here to check up on me?"

"Yes, Danny, I am here to babysit you."

"I told her I was fine; I am almost thirteen."

Lucy's eyes roamed around the disarray, and she wore a thoughtful expression.

"Does any of this have something to do with your mom?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"My mom," I repeated, confusion evident in my tone.

"Well, is this you acting out because your mom is dating again?" Lucy inquired, her eyes searching mine for any signs of emotional turmoil.

"What? No, why would you think that? I am happy that she has time for herself now."

Mom had more time for herself now that we were more financially secure. She had met Nathan through her friend Alexandra, and they had become friends, and they had started dating a few months ago. I liked Nathan; he was a good guy, and mom was happy being with him, and that was enough for me.

Lucy looked skeptical.

"Why would I be upset? I was the one who convinced her to start dating again," I replied.

"This is a whole another thing," I added as I pointed to the mess.

"Alright then, what's wrong?" she asked as she started picking up the crumpled papers scattered around the room.

"I have been trying to write something new for a week," I said as I joined her in cleaning up the mess.

"And…" she said, asking me to continue.

"I can't think of anything…." 

Lucy continued to help me tidy up the scattered papers, and she listened to me vent. It felt good to talk to someone; I started feeling better than before.

"You know, Danny," Lucy said, "creating something can take time. You can't force inspiration; it has to come naturally. Maybe you're putting too much pressure on yourself."

"Yeah…. maybe you are right," I said, sitting down.

She sat next to me. "It might not happen overnight. It could take a while, maybe a month, a year, who knows? The important thing is not to rush it. Let the ideas come to you when they're ready."

I thought about what she said. She was right; I had time. It wasn't like I had a deadline or anything. It wasn't a race; I could take as much time as I want.

"Come on, let's go get some dinner. We can go to that burger place that you like," Lucy said.

"Now that is a great idea, let's go," I said. Some fresh air would be good for me. May be i am thinking too much in to it. I could write something that was my own.... but not now because i have no idea on how to do it. I did have time i mean i was only thirteen so i'm gonna put this on the back burner and wait for the right time and when i get the right idea i can try again until then i will just have to 'copy'....hey its not like its hurting anybody.

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He will continue what he is doing

this chapter is to set up some plot points in the future chapters.