Page 70 of Writing Mr. Right

“I love you, too, Ziya.” He squares his shoulders back. “Now. Three affirmations for yourself—go!”

At his “go!” I straighten my back. “I am successful, I am confident, and…” My heart swells as I drink in his strong, steadfast form. “I am getting better and better every day.”

Aashiq grabs my hand and presses a quick kiss to the back of it. “I’ll see you out there. You got this.”

He lets go and slips away. I wait like he said to, but none of my worry remains. I can always count on his classic pump-ups to inspire me and remind me I am capable of more.

And I am. I am capable of so much more than I thought I was.

“Alright, everyone!” Kyle’s voice booms from the other side of the shelves. “Sorry for the delay, but we’re ready to get started. Tonight, we’re hosting the launch party forMy Lovely Muse, and we’ll be holding a signing after the discussion. Now,without further ado, please welcome the author of the hour, Ziya Khan!”

I turn the corner to applause that echoes through the entire store. I tentatively wave at the crowd of people on the way to my seat. Zahra is already in her seat, and she nods encouragingly at me as I approach her.

I sit down in my chair, smoothening my skirt out. My gaze sweeps the audience, and I make brief eye contact with each person. My parents, whose smiles nearly split their faces, and who I’m sure are picturing the little girl who conjured up stories in their home. Imran Bhai, who flashes me a thumbs-up. Tasneem Baji, who claps extra hard for me when our eyes connect. Emily and Daniel, who give small but enthusiastic waves. Then there’s Adam, Elise, and Madison, my new friends from law school, who don’t entirely understand the publishing thing but are so impressed anyway. Kira and Antonio, who grin widely when my gaze flits over them. And my old coworkers Faye, Stella, and Sofia, who each cradle a copy of my book in their lap like it’s a lifeline. Joe’s here with his wife, and they’re both skimming over pages of the book. Even Colin’s here, which means so much to me. He dips his chin at me when our eyes meet. My agent and editor are also here, both being based in New York. It’s so special to be able to have them here and celebrate a labor of our joined love.

While there are admittedly more people here I know than people I don’t, I’m way happier this way. I know everyone wants the success story where they hit it big with their first novel and end up with so much prerelease buzz they get to go on a huge tour and fill stores with so many strangers clamoring to read their book, but I prefer this. I prefer to be able to scan the crowd and see my family, my friends (both old and new), and even my coworkers. I’d rather look out into the crowd and see the faces of those who supported and believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. They say writing takes a village,and while most people think that village is made up of literary professionals, there are so many more people who are part of it. And I’m so thankful I have mine.

Finally, my eyes meet Aashiq’s. The smile he has on right now is my favorite; full and wide and holding so much happiness I know is just for me. I stare into his blue-green eyes; admiration reflects back at me, and it takes everything in me not to cry, because we did it. We made it.

And suddenly, a feeling overwhelms me. Only this time, I’m not sure I can quite explain what it is, which is very strange. I’m nearing the end of law school, pursuing studies I’m passionate about. I have a wonderful family and great friends. I’m finally launching my first book. I have a man who I love wholeheartedly, who loves me back in equal measure, and who despite our circumstances, I was able to keep. All these great things mean I should be able to articulate the grand emotions I’m feeling right now. I am a writer first and foremost, after all.

But I guess there are some things even words can’t express.

* * * * *

AUTHOR NOTE

I read a tweet once that called writing the most embarrassing thing on earth to do because you’re putting yourself on display for rejection or validation, but it’s fine because we enjoy it. And I laughed and then went quiet, because while it’s funny, it’s also true. Writing is very fun yet totally humiliating.

I’ve grappled a lot with what to tell people when they find out I’m a writer. I want to tell them I’m happy, because I’ve accomplished a wondrous feat. Not everyone can be published—there aren’t enough agents or editors, and everyone is underpaid. I want to tell them about the excitement that courses through my veins when I outline a book, and the hope that lives in my heart that this book will be great. But I also want to tell them about the despair that fills my lungs as I receive yetanotherrejection on that same book months later when it goes out to editors at publishing houses. I want to tell them about possible exciting opportunities, but I also want to tell them that those opportunities don’t always work out, and that’s not something I can control. It can be so hard not to feel like I’m the one being criticized, because my art comes from me.

Most people only see the flashy side of the publishing world.They only see the big book and movie deals and the book tours and all the fan art. And they all automatically assume you’re going to be the next big thing. But while that’s the dream, it’s not the reality. For so many of us.

While there are a lot of books about books or publishing,Writing Mr. Rightis a little different. It’s not about exploring the industry side, centering around editors, agents, or publicity teams. It’s also not about the author side, with established writers struggling to meet agent or editor deadlines or ghostwriters trying to navigate their position in the industry. It’s a secret third thing: it’s about the writers at the very beginning. Just the writer, a blank page, and a dream.

I wanted Ziya to start at the very bottom because this is where the majority of writers are. Chances are, more unpublished authors will read this story than agented or published authors. It’s not as easy to get a literary agent or get acquired by an editor as people might think. It can be incredibly dejecting, isolating, and hopeless. And I’ve felt that more times that I can count.

But this is where I want to be your Aashiq. I want to hold your hand and remind you to step back and widen your view. I want to remind you to splash in fountains, to admire the snow, to enjoy the sunset. To go back to the basics. To stop and remember why you’re doing this in the first place. To look at yourself and learn to love everything, because you’re more than your failures. You’re more than the fiftieth rejection that just landed in your inbox. You’re more than the hate comment you saw. You’re more than your own insecurities. Think about how strong you are to love something so much that you’re willing to put yourself on full display to achieve it.

Sometimes loving your art means working every day. And sometimes loving your art is about taking a step back from it all to recharge and come back when you’re ready. Because no matter what anyone (especially your own mind) tells you: you’renot running out of time. Life is short, yes, but it’s also long. You have so many years to explore what you love, to cycle back and forth, to take time to remember why you love something. It’s okay to fall out of love with your art. And if you’re really lucky, you’ll fall back in love with it.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. And it is my sincerest hope that one day, you’ll consider yourself one of the lucky ones, too.

All my love,

Alina

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