Page 6 of Not in My Book

“Rosie,” she said gently. “There’s not much more time to wait. You need to decide on your storyline soon or you’ll be stuck with something you have no passion for. By the end of your time here, youwillhave to submit a thesis, and it’s better to start now than later. I can’t guarantee your thesis advisor will be as kind to romance as I am, so it needs to be as strong as possible.”

“You really don’t think there’s anything workable here?”

She hesitated. “Not necessarily. But it lacks your usual personality and voice and that’s what makes your writing so good. Everything you brought me from your other workshop last semester came alive off the page, and this feels … forced. Unlike you.” When I deflated the tiniest bit, she said, “Why don’t we both read through and see what we can keep and where to go from there?”

We sat in silence as she read through the copy I’d emailed her, and I sifted through my classmates’ comments, hoping something would spark inspiration. I narrowed my eyes at the impeccable handwriting, gripping the paper tightly in my hands.

Description isn’t working here.

Dialogue sounds unnatural.

Every statement ended with a period. What kind of psychopath took notes and included the periods? Anger simmered in me at the sight of his words.

“Oh my God. Look at this.” I handed her Aiden’s notes. “Have you reconsidered his expulsion from the class?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just as bad as he is.” She read through his comments, her lips quirking a bit before handing it back.

My mouth hung open in shock. “I am a goddamndelight. Aiden is a menace upon our class.”

“I do recall you threatening to toss his notebook off the Empire State Building last week.”

I waved her off. “Oh please, that was a joke.”

“Oh really? What about the time you told him his writing was nothing but bathroom graffiti?”

“Oh that?” I scoffed. “That was acompliment. Bathroom graffiti can be very poetic,” I said sagely.

She laughed and handed me back his paper. “I don’t know why you two act like this.”

“C’mon, indulge me. You know you want to gossip about Aiden. It’s our favorite pastime.”

“It’syourfavorite pastime.” She gave me a pointed look. “I swear half the time you come in here, it’s just to talk about Aiden. Finish looking through your notes for this chapter.”

I huffed but did as she said. She wasn’t wrong about Aiden. It was hard not to be affected by his words when he was an annoyingly good writer.

And I was secretly hoping every day that he’d wear that peacoat to class, even though the fall weather hadn’t gotten cold enough to require it yet.

“Rosie,” Ida said softly. She said it in the way she always did when she told me something wasn’t working, and she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. (The first time she used this voice with me was when I burst into tears after Aiden called my chapter “One big, lousy cliché.”)

“I know.” I looked up from my notes. “But I don’tknowwhere to go.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t continue the last one. I thought it had a lot of promise.”

“But you didn’t think it was good,” I pointed out.

“I didn’t think it was thereyet,” she corrected. “But I feel like you quit writing it for more significant reasons than you’re letting on.”

My gaze flicked away from her intense one. She was right. I hadn’t been able to continue that project or start a new one because I felt like a fraud. I was writing about some epic, sweeping romance and all I had to show for that in real life wasSimon? I hadn’t even come close to my own Happily Ever After; how could I write one for my characters?

“I want to write something new,” I said, ignoring her unasked question. “I want to write something that’ll challenge me.”

“Okay.” Ida pulled out a notebook from her desk drawer and poised her pen above the paper. “Let’s brainstorm.”

That was by far my favorite thing about Ida. She never made my writerly goals feel ridiculous. We spent the next hour discussing different rom-com ideas and tropes to play around with and not once did I feel like the idiot Aiden made me out to be.

I left Ida’s with a newfound determination. I would write a romance that was funny and sexy and charming, and Aiden could choke on his own dick.

I didn’t come all this way to let some pretentious asshole in a peacoat (albeit a very nice peacoat) tell me I’m not good enough. If he could destroy me in just a few words, I was a writer. I could do the same.

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