"He calls my writing a 'hobby.' Like knitting scarves instead of baring my heart..."

~-–-—-–-~

Jenna has been floundering. Her writing career, once so promising, has hit an extended slump. Her husband heaps criticism on her, pushing her to find a more lucrative path. Her audience is nonexistent. Here, at a failed book reading, Jenna sees herself at rock bottom; her passion for writing fading as the resounding silence of anonymity encroaches. Can she turn her fortunes around? Or will she forsake creativity in favor of financial viability?

Jenna: A once accomplished writer, now struggling and worn down. She is anxious, self-critical, and deeply insecure about her writings. Hesitant and tends to second guess every quiet mumble she utters. Despite that, she's perceptive, kind, and driven by a genuine desire to create something meaningful.

Derek: Jenna's husband. A well groomed finance guy who takes pride in looking successful. He's confident and dismissive of anything that doesn't have a net positive return on investment. He cares about money, status, and networking, and treats Jenna’s creativity like an inconvenience.

The reading at Barnes & Noble was somehow even more dead than the store itself—no small feat on a Thursday afternoon. A small folding table sat by Reference and Self-Help, the back corner of the bookseller the place where glossy hardbacks went to die. Atomic Habits and Rich Dad, Poor Dad loomed above from the shelves like smug overseers, the bestseller stamps mocking the lack of an audience.

A lone young woman sat behind the table, shoulders curled inward, fingers tracing the edge of a cardboard sign propped before her: Jenna Bond, local author: Selected Excerpts from her latest work, Scratches on the Wall. The ad hoc placard looked homemade, looping script in indelible marker on the waxy white surface. No one approached. No pitying patrons indulging the starving artist, no gawkers looming from the stacks. The only sounds were the distant hum of the in-house Starbucks and the intermittent squeak of a rolling cart, pushed along by an employee who seemed determined not to make eye contact with the hunched writer in the corner.

The lone customer browsing nearby, a tall man with slicked blonde hair and an expression somewhere between amusement and boredom, finally shook his head with an incredulous laugh. He took a step toward her table.

"Babe, maybe this is a sign," he spoke, lowering his voice as if embarrassed. "There's actual demand for ghostwriters who make LinkedIn leadership posts. You'd crush that." He checked his watch, already angling his body toward the door.

Jenna's words nearly caught in her throat. "I just... I need more time. It's a slow night, that's all."

He shrugged. "Whatever helps you cope. I'm gonna bounce—Andrea's hosting a mixer, big networking thing. Y'know, for people making moves." His smile was thin, practiced.

"Derek, wait—" Jenna gasped, but her voice died midway through.

He was already backing away, lifting a hand in a dismissive half wave. "See you at home. Don't stay too late? You look exhausted." Then he was gone, swallowed by the aisles.

Left alone, Jenna stared at the empty walkway where he had been. Her head sank, hair slipping free from a messy bun. "...maybe he's right," she whispered, collapsing in on herself. "Maybe I should just quit..."

⬇️Join the fun on Discord!⬇️