Page 78 of The Write Track
“You’re going to learn that no two authors have the same path,” I explained. “We all take different routes. Eventually, we might find ourselves in the same place, but nobody gets there the same way.”
“So basically you’re saying that you got the luck and we won’t,” Lisa challenged, her tone icy.
“No, that is not what I’m saying.” I desperately searched for a way to ease the tension. That was when Preston decided to make his presence known. He didn’t come from behind us but from somewhere ahead, suddenly detaching from a tree. Had he been hiding there the whole time? Did he approach from the other side of the lake and lay in wait? I couldn’t decide.
Either way, his approach was predatory.
“It’s definitely luck,” he said in his most reasonable “don’t turn this into a thing to cry about, silly female” voice. “The luck can disappear at any moment. That’s why writing is better as a hobby.”
I glared at him. Hard. “That’s not what I was saying.”
“Am I wrong?” Preston adopted an innocent expression. “Don’t the statistics prove that most authors do it as a side gig and need a full-time job to be able to sustain publishing?”
He wasn’t technically wrong, although he was being a jerk when phrasing it that way. “Not everybody can write full time,” I agreed.
“You lucked in to being able to take care of yourself,” he continued. “How long do you think you will be able to sustain that though? Or is that why you’ve attached yourself to Nathan Cooper? He’s one of the few authors who have been able to maintain a position on the bestseller list year after year. It makes sense that he would be appealing to you.” He took a dramatic breath. “Even though there are other people out there with better jobs,” he added, almost under his breath.
“It’s not an easy job,” I replied, desperately searching for something to right this conversation. “You should never give up on your dreams, though.” I could have let it go and insisted we head back, but I did something else entirely.
“There are people out there who will push you down in an effort to elevate themselves,” I explained. “They’ll tell you that your dreams are stupid and get subtle digs in under the guise of backhanded compliments. Don’t let those people ruin your dream.
“There are a lot of different ways to make writing part of your life,” I continued. “Sometimes it’s a full-time job. Other times it’s not. Sometimes you need a day job when you’re starting and it will eventually turn into a full-time job. Other times it will never fully sustain you.
“The important thing is that you’re comfortable with your path.” I pinned Preston with a death glare. “Don’t ever let anybody else tell you that you’re not good enough, because if they’re saying that, they have a reason.” I took a deep breath. “It takes so little grace not to be a butthead. The people who insist on crapping on your dreams are the ones who are never going to be happy. Don’t give them the power to do that.”
With that, I turned and started walking. I didn’t look over my shoulder to see who was following. Instead, I marched straight back to camp.
Nathan was at a picnic table with some of his readers when I appeared around the final bend. I wasn’t crying, or shaking, or even crowing. I was resolute.
I strode straight toward him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I could hear Preston calling out for me from somewhere on the path, but I ignored him.
Nathan stood, as if sensing something had happened, and I walked straight into his arms.
He caught me, wrapping me tight, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, his hands moving over my back. “What did he say to you? Did he do something?” The next question came out as a growl. “Did he touch you?”
When I pulled back, I knew my eyes were glassy, but I refused to shed a tear. “He can’t ever hurt me again. You were right about the things you said, about who he is. I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.”
“Of course you are.” He stroked my hair back from my face, his expression earnest. “Do I need to beat the snot out of him?”
The question made me laugh, and I shook my head. “He’s a small man, and you’re a giant. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
He grinned. “I’m still willing to do it. I don’t care if I have to stomp on him like an ant.”
“You don’t,” I promised. “He can’t touch me any longer. I gave him that power for far too long. He’s a ghost from the past. I’m looking toward the future now.”
An emotion I couldn’t quite identify sparked in Nathan’s eyes—hope?—but it was replaced by a smug smile as he turned to greet an approaching Preston. “That’s good to know.” He kept me close, hugging me tighter. I couldn’t see his face, but somehow I knew he was sending a warning look toward Preston. “I’m glad you’ve finally realized your worth.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“Oh, he’s definitely an idiot.”
“You know I can hear you, right?” Preston challenged.
“We know,” Nathan confirmed. “We just don’t care.”
ONCE I GOT MY EMOTIONS UNDERcontrol, things progressed as they were scheduled to progress. We had dinner together as a group—there had to be seventy-five people spread out over multiple tables—and the sound of raucous laughter filled the air.
Nathan wanted to stick close to me. It was written all over his face. Preston insisted the men sit in one group and the women in another, however, and he reluctantly agreed when Bree looped her arm through mine and led me toward a table.
