Page 126 of Resisting the Running Back

And that’s a little scary. It feels like I’m exposing myself and my innermost thoughts to the world.

I open to the tabbed passage Victoria chose for me, and I remember writing these words. The memory washes over me like a warm blanket.

I’m about to start reading the passage when I glance up at the crowd. “Victoria chose the passage, and before I start reading it, I just want to give a little background if that’s okay.” I glance at Victoria, who nods. “I remember writing this exact scene. It wasten o’clock at night. I needed to go to bed since I had to get up and teach a class full of high school juniors the next morning, but I was engrossed in the story. I was engrossed in the characters. I couldn’t make myself slow down. I couldn’t stop. And really, that’s my favorite part about crafting stories. When I’m so into what I’m doing that everything around me seems to disappear.” I lift a shoulder, a little embarrassed about baring my soul that way, and then I look down at my book.

My book.

This is my twelfth book.

Four years ago, I threw one out there as an experiment. Now I havetwelveof them.

Life is sure magical and crazy and strange.

I think about that moment when my fingers were flying over the keys and I couldn’t stop writing these characters until I got them through the conflict in this scene. I stayed up until three in the morning that night. I was exhausted at school the next day, but it was worth the pain for the result on the page.

Will I still be able to do that with a child?

I force the thought out of my mind since I have a room filled with people staring at me, waiting for me to read the passage.

I do it, and my face is bright red as I get through the words that my brain created in private and I’m now sharing in public.

This book is selling well. It’s hitting the charts. It’s doing everything I ever could’ve imagined.

I just wish Miller was here to celebrate in this joy with me.

After I’m done reading the passage, I return to the chair I was sitting in as Victoria heads back to the microphone.

“Whew!” she says, fanning herself dramatically. “Did it just get hotter in here, or was that Summer’s words?”

The crowd laughs at that.

“I’m going to open the floor for a few questions before we head over for Summer to sign copies of the book. Who would like to start?” She points to a woman in the audience.

“What inspired you to write this book?” she asks.

Victoria hands me a microphone so I can answer the questions without having to get up.

“Honestly, I was reading another book about accidental roommates, and I loved the idea of that forced proximity. But I wanted to spin it into a fake engagement, so I took that inspiration and ran with it.”

“Are your characters inspired by people in your life?” another person asks.

I think about the book I’m working on now, and I think about how I wrote the two characters first getting together. He was always there for her. He showed up whenever she needed him. He performed these acts of service that spoke to her love language.

He’s Miller.

Andthatis why I’ve been blocked writing the end of their story. I don’t know what the end of my story with Miller is yet.

The realization dawns as it also dawns on me that she’s waiting for an answer to my question.

“Some have some characteristics of people in my life, but none are direct copies of anyone I know.”Except the hero in the book I’m working on now.I don’t dare say those words.

“Is it true you’re doing this full time now?” another person asks.

I nod. “Long story short, I quit my job teaching, and I’m a full-time author now.”

The crowd cheers for that, and I field a few more questions before Victoria says, “We can take one more question, and then we’ll move over to the signing area.”

Half the crowd starts to scramble over that way, but there was already a decent line waiting in that direction.

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