The Author's Dilema

Ms. Chapman started writing novels after her husband had passed. It seemed like a good hobby at the time—but as time passed, her escape from grief became her life-long career. Ms. Chapman never suspected that she would become a famous author at the age of thirty-two. Ms. Chapman never suspected she would traveland sign copies of her book, Female Fatal, to fans across the globe. Ms. Chapman never sought this life… but neither did she reject it.

Time passed on, and Ms. Chapman began to grow wrinkles on her face and arthritis in her bones. She became a grandmother—and realized that the one thing that made her life a success—was becoming less of a dream come true to her.

It wouldn’t help either that the publishers who owned the Female Fatal series were pressing this elderly woman to write more. Like a damp towel being wrung for the small amount of liquid it didn’t have.

The obnoxious buzzing of an alarm clock shook the silence in Ms. Chapman’s room. She slowly opened her eyes and focused on the time displayed on her clock. The faint outline of 6:30 could be seen, but when she reached for her glasses on her night table, she could see the time more clearly. Ms. Chapman ran her fingers through her dry almond-brown hair and spread her arms out to stretch. She felt a small pop in her lower spine that sent a cold shiver trickling down her body. She immediately worried that her back went out—but when she rose from her bed, she realized her stress was in vain.

Ms. Chapman got herself ready for the day—and when she stepped out of her room, all clean and dressed in a bright blue blouse, she stopped in her tracks. A little child streaked past her, running so fast she felt a breeze brush on her skin.

“Carter, be careful!” Ms. Chapman warned her grandson. “I don’t want you to knock into anything.”

Carter seemed to take no notice, for he was running in circles around the couch while he held a toy airplane in front of him.

“Nerrrrrrrrrr!” He tried to make a sound like an airplane flying in the sky.

Ms. Chapman let out a chuckle and rolled her eyes.

She had been taking care of her grandson, Carter, for almost a month now. Her daughter and husband were away on vacation—and Ms. Chapman found this the perfect opportunity to spend some time with her lovely grandson. Not only that, but after her daughter had gotten married and started a family of her own… Ms. Chapman’s house had become more… quiet.

She went into the kitchen and made her and her grandson breakfast. 

As Carter was nibbling on his toast, she took a sip of her strong, black coffee and opened her laptop.

She signed in and went to her email. She felt her stomach sink upon seeing the headline to the most recent email sitting in her inbox.

When can we expect the 10th issue of Female Fatal? The headline read.

It was her publisher, Mark. 

Ms. Chapman thought it unprofessional and disrespectful for her publisher to send such an email to her. If he wanted her to write another issue to her series he would have summoned her into his office. It would have been a hassle to drive to his office, considering that she has to take Carter to school—but it would have been better than sending such a blunt email to her.

She was a big decision he was asking of her—one that she needed to take time to think about.

Ms. Chapman reminded herself that there was a time when writing the next issue to her book series was considered “fun work.”

Now she had begun to see it as “work work.”

“There was a time when I thought writing was also fun work,” Ms. Chapman mumbled to herself.

“What did you say, grandma?” Carter asked through a mouthful of yellow scrambled eggs.

“Carter, don’t eat with your mouth open!” Ms. Chapman ordered.

By the time they finished their breakfast, they left the house and Ms. Chapman drove Carter to school. 

It only took them five minutes to leave her car and walk little Carter to his classroom.

“I’ll pick you up after school, sweetheart,” Ms. Chapman said, kissing the little boy on his soft, chubby cheek.

“Bye grandma!” Carter shouted before he rushed into his classroom.

Ms. Chapman couldn’t help but smile.

“Fun work,” she murmured.

By the time Ms. Chapman got into her car, her phone was ringing. She scrambled into her purse but couldn’t seem to locate it. The phone’s audio connected to the car’s speakers, amplifying the annoying guitar-chord ringtone she’d become all too familiar with hearing.

When she found her phone in a side pocket in her purse, she rolled her eyes at seeing who was calling her.

“Hello?” she answered, putting the phone to her ear.

“Hey, Chapman, are you able to come to the office today?” asked a man who sounded like a prepubescent teenager. “I’d like to talk to you…”

“Yeah, Mark, I saw your email this morning—”

“You like the idea?” he interrupted. 

“Well…”

“Come by my office, we’ll have a little chat,” Mark suggested, then ended the call.

Ms. Chapman cursed under her breath and put her phone away.

“Oh his father was a much more considerate publisher than he is,” Ms. Chapman said.

It was true, Mark Senior acknowledged the fact that the Fatal Female series that people had grown to love was a hobby more than it was a piece of writing she wanted recognized in the world. She remembered how considerate Mark Senior was when Ms. Chapman had become hesitant to sign off her book. He had been her publisher up until her eight issue was released; that was when he passed from natural cause. Now, Mark Junior seems to treat her like a product. A way of making money. That was something Mark Senior never did.

“So inconsiderate…” she would say.

Luckily, Ms. Chapman didn’t have much set on her agenda that day. She had planned to get together with her book club and discuss chapter 60 in Moby Dick—but she wasn’t looking forward to hearing the other members of her club chattering about topics unrelated to Moby Dick; that was typically what they did during their book club meetings.

She postponed the meeting to a later date and drove thirty minutes to her publisher's building. Once inside, a young receptionist recognized her and led her to Mark's office. Once they were in the private lobby just before his main office, she offered Ms. Chapman a beverage.

“No thank you, our meeting will be fast,” Ms. Chapman answered the woman with a dry smile.

The woman then rapped on Mark’s office, and immediately he opened the doors.

“Come in, Miss Author!” He welcomed her with a bright smile. His pearl-white teeth were glistening so brightly Ms. Chapman thought she had been blinded by their whiteness. 

Mark was a small, skinny man, with small marks in his cheeks that suggested he suffered from terrible acne when he was younger. Ms. Chapman recalled that her first meeting with Mark Junior was… quick. He spoke so fast, and so convoluted, as if each sentence was a series of words jumbled together. When she would sign a contract to make one of her novels into a film, Mark was not super supportive of her decisions—but rather behaved as if the decision was his own. 

“He was all about business,” Ms. Chapman would say. “Whereas his father was not… he was more considerate.”

She supposed Mark was the reason why Ms. Chapman felt discouraged in continuing her writing career… even if she reminded herself that she had played in the game long enough. Honestly… she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to stop writing—but she knew she just didn’t have as much heart in it as she had before.

Mark offered Ms. Chapman to take a seat in a leather armchair. Her tush sunk into the fluff of the furniture when she sat. She felt both comfortable with the furniture she sat on and uncomfortable at being in Mark’s company.

Mark took a seat in his chair and did a full 360 before turning to face her.

“Now… what do you think of my proposal?” Mark began. “Can we expect another issue of Female Fatal?” He announced her novel’s title as if it were something grand and mighty. 

It made her feel even more uncomfortable.

“Listen, Mark,” she began, licking her dry lips. She began to wish that she had taken that offer from the woman in having a beverage earlier. “I don’t know if I’m up for writing another novel this time…”

She shrunk when she saw Mark’s expression turn gloomy. 

“And why is that?” he asked in a dry tone.

A part of Ms. Chapman felt as if she shouldn’t have brought this conversation up… But then again, when was a better time? 

“I think it’s time I stop my series… I’ll stop writing altogether… I’ll retire. I have enough money to do so, and now that I’m living near my daughter and my grandson Carter, I’d like to spend my time being his grandma… I’d like to spend more time with my family. ”

Mark made a facial expression that showed he understood her point. “I thought you loved writing, though.”

“I do…” Ms. Chapman answered, and she meant it.

“I may be just a publisher—but I do know that with you dedicated authors, there’s no shortage of time that will prevent you from doing what you love.” He then cleared his throat and grabbed a rubber ball on his desk. He began to fidget with it as he continued, “I understand why you don't want to publish. Your previous book was enough of a hit to still make a decent income. We’ll also be expecting another movie to be released from your earlier novels. But beside this fact, are you sure you really want to retire? From writing?”

Ms. Chapman felt the words come out of her mouth before she could think them.

“Yes.”

The meeting was concluded and she went home feeling more downcast than victorious. She reminded herself that by vocalizing what she felt, it spared her from having to write another novel that she would find tortuous to herself. But still… something didn’t settle.

“Retire from writing?” she said out loud as she drove home.

The day progressed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation she had with mark. Her dream job was to write. She had achieved that. But now… she was calling it quits on her dream job. It had become work work—instead of fun work. That much was apparent. But that wasn't why she felt sad about it… It felt as if she was beginning to regret her decision to retire from writing.

Maybe it would have been more appropriate to retire from writing the Female Fatal series—but from writing all together?

The clock struck 9:00 and by that time she had already tucked Carter into bed. That gave her about an hour and a half to herself until she’d have to go to bed as well.

She grabbed her phone, took a seat on her couch, and dialed the number of her daughter.

“Hey mom, how's my baby boy?” her daughter asked on the other end. “I miss him, is he already in bed?”

“Yes, he had a long day at school,” Ms. Chapman answered. “He could barely keep his eyes open as he brushed his teeth.”

Her daughter laughed.

“You sound sad,” her daughter noticed once silence descended upon their short exchange.

“Mark wants me to write another novel,” Ms. Chapman said.

“And you’ll do it?” her daughter asked, her tone suggesting she was in support of whatever decision her mother would make.

At the moment, Ms. Chapman seemed to be considering the decision and didn’t give an answer.

“Mom?” 

Ms. Chapman blinked as she was taken out of her thoughts.

“Ever since you’re father passed, writing has been the one thing that’s made me feel whole,” Ms. Chapman answered. “You were a little baby, so you wouldn’t remember clearly, but after I had to stop my job as a journalist to take care of you, I felt the need to go back to writing. I experimented in some short stories, but you made sure that whatever attention I was giving to my writing, you’d bring it back to yourself.” They both let out a chuckle. “As you got older, my passion for writing increased—and it became less of an escape from the grief I felt than a calling to something I’ve always wanted to do… After I wrote the first novel of Female Fatal, it was an instant success. I wasn’t too comfortable with all the publicity, but I was glad that the writing I did brought joy to other people… It has become my dream job to write these books. Now…” She took a pause. In that exact moment, she felt as if she knew her decision to the dilemma she was facing. “Now… My dream job feels less like a dream than a job. I can no longer continue my career as the author to Female Fatal—but I think I can still continue my career as an author.”

Ms. Chapman noticed that after she had spoken, there was a wide smile on her daughter's face.

“So what are you thinking about writing, instead, mom?”

“I’m not sure…” Ms. Chapman heaved. Then she was hit with an idea. “I’ve been coming into Carter’s class to read short stories for the children—maybe its time I read them a story of my own…”

Several months later, Ms. Chapman found herself sitting in a small wooden chair, facing a crowd of small children all sitting around her. In her hand was her latest book—a children's book that she was proud to have published. This story was not about a female spy who travels the world hunting bad men—but rather a story of an unlikely friendship between a dog and a duckling. This exact story has begun to sell more copies than her first novel of Female Fatal.

But of course—it wasn’t the money that Ms. Chapman was after—but the smiles. And sitting in front of all these smiling children, about to hear her latest story—reminded her that once again, Ms. Chapman was working in her dream job…