The Authors Tale

Was this what I was destined for? An unknown author trying to finish a book or progress in something not seen in years? Was I too overzealous? Too ambitious? Writing for what, Myself? Will I get a chance at doing what I love for a career? Were these the thoughts of typical writers trying to find the words to finish their own work? I lifted my head from my computer desk, feeling the intense heat from my desktop lamp. It’s 12am, and I have been retyping and typing my book for two hours. I felt the gears in my head churning. Stephen King, J.K Rowling, what were they doing that I couldn’t put on paper? The two authors I have looked to for writing since I was just a child endlessly searching for my own style, my art. I had spent days stuck at my computer searching for the next design to put my craft into work. To keep the ideas of a fresh author afloat. Is there even a sliver of a chance I can bring back and/or create a fantasy book these authors did with ease? My eyes had felt like someone had just picked up a pile of sand & tossed it at me. Loops of thoughts with no real progress. Word choices? I thought plots? I took a deep breath and looked for options to help organize my book and found this app called “Inkitt” .

I immediately downloaded the app as I had been writing on Microsoft Word and docs. It was just word vomit as far as the eyes could see. Thoughts or ideas I was trying to put together to create my masterpeice. I was in shock as I saw a community that felt at home, a place to put ideas and thoughts, and to be unique.

Fresh new thoughts of my new book coming into view like I was getting out of the writer’s block stage. A new profound delusional sense of self taking over as I typed away. Three months had passed, as I smelled like an old sock that hadn’t been washed in decades. I hadn’t taken a shower, and I had written over sixty thousand words of progression in my book. I felt so accomplished and relieved that I could finally take a break. I looked down at my phone to text my soon to be wife, but her number was gone, and so were the pictures. Hundreds of missed calls from work and a job I had lost to time. I started to panic as I got up from my desk chair, but yet the chair vanished. My once house dissipated to an empty road. I looked around, feeling the soft drops of rain hit my skin, looking up at the sky. I was alone, with nothing but my book to tell my tale of losing everything. I opened the first page of my book to see it was a story of how an author lost everything, destroyed by the very thing he sought for as he vanished into nothing just leaving his book on the road to tell a tale. “The authors Tale”