No sentences were formed within the three hour time span I sat staring at my computer before meeting with Sandra for breakfast. It was beyond frustrating, not being able to type out a simple thought. I had even convinced myself I’d do a short story, something to get my feet wet after the few months of writer’s block. Still, nothing. The time crept up on my lack of creativity, causing me to flash through a shower and hastily throw my hair up into a bun to meet with Sandra. She’d give me a once over, turning her nose up at my jeans and basic sweater, but I didn’t care. She’d seen me at my best, and she’d really be appalled to see me in a pair of leggings and a hooded sweatshirt, my daily choice of clothing whenever Martin wasn’t around.
We agreed to meet at coffee shops since the beginning of my nasty divorce. She complied, although she thought that I was being ridiculous. I thought so too, but my lawyer insisted that if I weren’t going to be getting a restraining order, then I better not show up in routine places where he’d know I’d be. Martin hadn’t dealt with the divorce well, and the last thing I needed was for him to show up to say hi to mommy dearest and ‘accidently’ run into me.
“Corrine,” she purred, standing promptly from her chair to give me a hug. She always used my full name instead of my nickname.
Her black shift dress hugged her hips so tightly that she didn’t need to adjust the fabric when she stood. “How have you been feeling lately, darling? I’m sure a big weight has been lifted off of your shoulders since signing the final paperwork yesterday.” Her words were sincere, but inside she was devastated. Her son no longer being married didn’t fit into her fairy tale world.
I patted her back while she embraced me. “Hoping my head will clear some for a new story.”
She released me, searching my face. She was trying to read me like always. “You’ll think of something, you always do!” She squeezed my shoulders then took a seat. I followed, sitting across from her, dropping my bag by my feet. “I’d like to discuss a new contract for a three part series.”
I smiled, grateful we were getting right to business. She didn’t need to pick my brain about the absence of Martin.
“I was hoping to talk about that, too. I’ve got a few ideas, I thought maybe I could branch out of romance, give paranormal or chick-lit a try.”
Sandra’s lip twitched through her smile. “Maybe we should do a few more romance series, then discuss trying a new genre. You’re at the top right now, Corrine. Your fans would be disappointed if you pulled a 180 on them and wrote toward another reader base.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks. “I guess that’s true.”
Sandra’s grin widened, relieved I complied with her reasoning. “Great! Nothing says you can’t incorporate snippets of other genres, but keep the main focus on romance.”
I blinked through my smile. Yeah, keep sex in it, that’s what they all read your books for anyway, Cora.
“Do you have a plot idea in mind?”
My bottom lip curled inward. Fidgeting with a packet of sugar, I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t let her know I was still facing writers block. “I’ve got a few ideas in mind.”
There was no bluffing around Sandra. Her lips pressed together.
Tossing the sugar packet down, I needed to reaffirm her. “I know it’s been a while, but I’ll have something for you soon.”
“You’ve got two weeks to give me thirty thousand words, or your contract with our publishing house is void.”
My eyes bugged out, my chest beginning to tighten. “What?”
She sighed, setting both her palms on the table. “Look, I’m going to be blunt with you. If you’re not producing stories in a timely manner, then we can’t represent you.”
My jaw hung open. She couldn’t be serious. “You of all people know I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Sandra’s frown deepened. “Yes, and I’m truly sorry for what my son has put you through. I think if you would have given him time, he’d have changed his ways. His therapist informed Martin Sr. and I about his positive progress. He would have come around, but I understand, Cora. Being abused isn’t easily forgotten.”
Her eyes were heavy as she spoke, a slight croak hitching her words. She was being honest, and I should have felt more guilt for leaving him than I did. “I gave him chances,” I whispered, searching for my strength. “I couldn’t do it anymore. Living my life with someone who needed to control my every move, then would apply force when I didn’t do as he demanded… it’s not a life.”
Sandra nodded. She understood, but the sorrow was evident in her eyes. She didn’t feel bad for me, she felt awful for her abusive son. That was what irked me the most. “I won’t hold your decision to divorce against you, because I’ve never been in the situation, but I am here for you.” She bit her lip, glancing around the room. “Look, I can give you four weeks to finish thirty thousand words. If you don’t have anything by then, I’m afraid you’ll have to shop for another publishing house.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, peeling my eyes from my short fingernails to meet hers. “Okay. I’m going to go on a hiatus and get you your words.”
Her shoulders untightened, a broad smile flashing in my direction. “That sounds perfect. Locking yourself in that big, beautiful house Martin worked hard to purchase for you to build a family in will surely clear your head. Light some candles, run a bubble bath, the writing flow will be there before you know it.”
I grinned and nodded, ignoring her attempt to hide how bitter she was that I got the house in the divorce. “Getting away from everyone is exactly what I need.”
She patted the top of my hand. “I’ll even leave you alone for those four weeks.”
Good thing, because I wouldn’t have met her for our weekly coffee and book talk. I’d be halfway across the world, getting my writing flow back with a man I’d never met in person.