Page 43 of Writing Mr. Right

“No,” I admit, shifting uneasily in my seat. “But I’m working on it. It’s a slow process.”

“Like law is a slow process?” he asks.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I have to say, I admire you for pursuing two careers that require a lot of patience,” he states, and the awe seeps throughin his tone. “Do you mind if I ask how you ended up in law if you want to be a writer?”

“Um…” I hum. I lift a shoulder. “I guess growing up, I always loved writing, but everyone around me told me it wasn’t a realistic full-time career. If anything, it should be a side hustle. And writing isn’t necessarily something you need to go to school for—it’s the kind of skill that can be cultivated with lots of consistent practice.” I’m about to leave it at that, but the rapt attention from Joe’s glances prompts me to continue. “In high school, I wanted to take a cooking class, but the class filled up before I could enroll, so my guidance counselor put me in a law class instead. I ended up enjoying it, so I decided to study it in university. I didn’t know if I wanted to be a lawyer at the time, though. I started reading up on the LSATs, and during that time I found an opportunity to work here as a legal secretary, so I did the online certificate. I decided I liked it and ultimately didn’t take the LSATs. Recently, though, I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a paralegal…but I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Joe presses.

“I just… I don’t know,” I repeat lamely. I toy with a stray thread on my sweater. “I don’t know if I’m up to the task or if there are any opportunities. Plus, my workload as a legal secretary lets me balance my writing stuff nicely.” For the most part, at least. “And I need money for law school, which I definitely cannot afford on my own. I’ve tried asking Colin for a funding package, because he promised me when he hired me, but he’s not big on the idea. Says he relies on me too much as his legal secretary.”

“Okay…” Joe mulls over my words. “Let me ask you this. What attracts you about the law? What makes you want to study it and then work in the field?”

I take a moment to think about my answer. I stare out the window, at the bare trees and busy sidewalks and bumper-to-bumper traffic on the other side of the road. “I guess it’s theopportunity to be fulfilled by something. To dedicate hours of research and critical thinking into the written word, then have the chance to give a voice to people who need it. To appreciate when the law is just, and to fight for when you think the law could be improved. Cases are an extreme challenge but ultimately a labor of love. Working in law offers the chance to uplift others while proving your own worth to yourself.”

Hang on…now that I’ve said these words out loud, it hits me they’re all the same reasons I love fiction writing. One of my favorite parts of the writing process is research; I can get lost for hours on the web reading details that will enhance my story. I also use my intellect to think of creative ways to describe abstract concepts and get them down on paper. And isn’t the whole reason I wanted to write in the first place because I wanted to get more representation into the kind of media I consume? Isn’t it because I want to show publishing that our stories have worth, too? Maybe that’s why deep, deep down, I knew I didn’t want to give this up. It broke my heart to give up on writing not because I felt defeated, but because I simply didn’t want to. There’s too much I want to do.

Much like the law, books are also a challenge but a labor of love. Much like the law, writing can show people they can achieve whatever they want, so long as they work hard and don’t give up. And much like the law, books have the power to fight for justice. In doing so, writers prove to themselves they’re capable of so much.

Joe’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. “You know,” he begins, “it’s always nice to be helpful to people, but you should remember not to limit your own growth in the process. If you think becoming a paralegal is the next step in your career, you should go for it. If you think staying a legal secretary will help with your writing career, then keep going as you are. But remember, these areyourdreams. You should do what will be best for you.”

When he puts it that way, it’s pretty obvious that in not rocking the boat, in trying to keep myself afloat, I wasn’t thriving in the way I convinced myself I was. In keeping to myself and trying to make my own existence small, I was keeping myself down. And I deserve more. I deserve to command my own ship and tackle uncharted waters and find my dream.

“And if you do well today, I’ll be happy to vouch for you to Colin,” he adds.

My eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

He nods. “Listen, Ziya, when you’ve been in this line of work for as long as I have, you can easily spot the difference between people who do this job for a nice payout and those who do it because doing what’s right matters to them.” He gives me a once-over out of the corner of his eye. “I know if you were given the opportunity, you’d be the latter. And sometimes, the first step is having a great support system. I’m sure you have that already, but I’ll gladly be part of it, too.”

At the mention of a support system, my mind flashes to Aashiq’s bright demeanor. “Yeah, I think I do have that,” I say, my tone soft and wistful.

We make it to the courthouse, and for the rest of the afternoon, I watch Joe at work. Actually, I do more than just watch—Iobserve. I take in his defensive stance when he talks with the other lawyers, which then subtly shifts into a respectful one when he speaks to the judge. I note when the spot between his brows wrinkles when he thinks what the opposition says is ludicrous, and I see the beads of sweat trickling down his temple, which he discreetly swipes at so no one can tell he’s nervous. He also takes the time to explain things to me in quiet moments, such as the reason the courtroom is set up the way it is, why he argues one way over the other, how to find the weak point of the opposing side. All valuable information I never would have thought Joe would willingly offer me, given that I didn’t even think he knew my name before. Andall of this is thanks to Aashiq, because I wouldn’t have had the confidence to volunteer myself to tag along with Joe. Without Aashiq, I might only ever be the woman unsuccessfully juggling two careers while striving for more.

And it’s in the middle of the courtroom, realizing Aashiq is the only reason I’m sitting here, that the idea hits me. It’s not how ideas usually come to me, either; normally I think of bits and pieces of potential plots that I then stick together to make something cohesive, but this one rams right into my brain, fully formed and waiting to burst from my head, like Athena’s birth from Zeus.

I’m so used to drawing inspiration from other people, but I’ve never considered taking from my own life. Why not write about a woman who is visited by the physical manifestation of her muse, a man who must convince her to keep writing? Sure, it’s a wild story, and people may have to stretch their imaginations to read it, but as Aashiq might say, what’s the point in having an imagination if you can’t use it to reach heights reality won’t let you touch?

At the end of the day, when I return to the office to close up, anticipation accelerates my heartbeat. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m going to see Aashiq again after being apart from him, and it’s only the familiar excitement that always races through my veins at the thought of a new story. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the pleasant buzz that I nearly weep as I take the elevator up. It feels like the possibilities in the world, before closed off to me, have welcomed me back with warm embraces and whispers that they missed me as much as I missed them.

I walk into the office, and Aashiq sits behind my desk. Nothing is too out of the ordinary, save for the paper hearts littered in front of him he’s crafted from discarded files. I have no idea what waits for me in the email inbox or in the voicemail, and I don’t know if Aashiq has accidentally made a mess of things inhis earnest pursuit to be helpful, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less. Not with the adrenaline of hope rushing through every inch of my body. I don’t even have to speak when he looks up and our gazes lock; the grin on my face says it all.

Aashiq smugly stands up and splays his hands on the desktop. He leans forward as he says, “Itoldyou it’s a good idea to get out of the office every now and then!”

21

“Alright. Now that you have a book idea, it’s time to get brainstorming.”

Aashiq leans back against my headboard, cradling a bottle of chocolate syrup in his lap. While I’m not exactly sure what his physical needs are—he cooks with me and eats every now and then, but I’m not sure if that’s because he has to eat to survive or because he just likes to do it—he loves to drink chocolate syrup, so to keep him from draining my meager supply, I buy him his own. He squirts some of the liquid onto a spoon and stuffs it in his mouth, then waves the empty spoon in my direction. “What’s your usual process for brainstorming?”

I turn to face him from my seat at my desk. “I typically write out a pitch, and then I experiment with different outlines to see what works.”

“So, you’re a plotter, then?”

“Oh, definitely.” I shake my head. “I don’t get how people can just sit in front of their computer and type away on pure vibes. I need to know where I’m going—otherwise I’ll stumble around until I eventually hit a roadblock I have no idea how to get around.”

“Okay, so what outline do you want to use this time?”

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