One Writer to Another

In my life, I always thought that running after your dreams was the most important parts to being successful. Because of that, I made sure I would stick to that thinking. As a child and a teenager, I wrote non-stop, trying to be an author like my grandfather was. He used to be a writer of many books back when he was younger, most featuring stories of romance and adventure.  

Whenever I went to go to his house on the other side of town, I got the opportunity to share tea with him and talk about all of his published work. The time I got to spend with him was really special and gave me the inspiration to create a book that I may hopefully publish one day. 

The problem is that I’m still a little scared to share my work with other people, except for him. That’s why I was dedicating today to finding out if I should throw it out to the world or shelter it forever. I had to before it was too late to speak to him ever again.

I walked in the hospital with my small bag and went straight to the receptionist desk, waiting for clearance and further instructions. She handed me a piece of paper with a number on it and pointed me in the direction of their patients’ room.  

              “Okay, 368. 368.” I said repeatedly so I wouldn’t forget. I skimmed the room numbers that were lined up along the bleak hallway. It was getting late and visiting hours were coming to an end, so there weren't many people walking around the building. Even if there was a lot of commotion, I still wouldn’t let it distract me from seeing my grandfather.  

Me along with my family were all shocked to learn that he had Leukemia. It came all of a sudden. The doctors informed us recently that he may not make it past six months. It took a toll on all of us, and we made sure we spent time with him, even at hospital visits. Tonight though, only I came to check on him. I had to give him something for only him to see. 

              I found the door to his room and knocked on it. Seconds later, a nurse answered. She smiled brightly and put a pen back into a pocket of her blue uniform.  

              “Good evening ma’am. Are you here to talk to Mr. Morrow?” she asked. 

              “Good evening to you too miss-” I paused to read her name tag. “Sonya, that’s a nice name. But yeah, I came here to visit him. Is he awake?” 

              The nurse nodded and invited me in. “Yes, he is. I just checked his vitals and he should be fine for now. You only have 45 minutes till visiting hours are over.” 

              “Okay, thank you for the information. Have a wonderful night!” I called out as the nurse closed the door on her way somewhere else.  

              After she had left, I stood around, examining the place he will be sleeping tonight. I walked closer to the bed, watching my grandfather laugh at the TV across the room. I grinned at the sight of him happy, not wanting to interrupt him. Quietly, I placed the bag I held on to on a nearby chair, but the crinkly material grabbed his attention. 

              He turned off the television and greeted me, raising his arms for a hug. “Hey Adaline, I am so glad that you could come. I was getting tired of those stupid game shows playing all the time.” 

              I bent over the bed to give him a hug. “With how hard you were laughing; I don’t think so.” 

              “The only thing keeping these shows on air are the people in it with bricks for brains,” he stated matter-of-factly. He sat there amused by his own words, but it was immediately replaced with a face of agony. 

              Concerned, I gently grasped his arm with one hand and held is face in the other. “Are you okay? Is it getting worse?” 

              “I’m fine. It’s just the cancer like usual. Nothing I can’t get over,” he waited for me to get all happy again, but I couldn’t stop frowning. 

              “I’m really worried about you, grandpa. Are you really sure that you are okay?” 

              “Yes darling, don’t worry about me,” he stared directly in my eyes. “Even if I don’t live to see the next day, know that I am A-Okay. We all have our times to end, and it’s alright if mine is soon,” he reassured. 

              The thing is, it only made me feel worse. I picked up the bag from the chair and sat in its place. I didn’t like the thought of losing him so early. 

              “So, before you forget why you came, did you bring the book? I heard you talk about it and I can't wait to see your progress.” 

              “Oh yeah, the book,” I pulled my bag up and slid out a small, leather book with a white label on it. On the title, the word “Drafts” was written in cursive in a faint blue ink. I flipped through the pages to reveal the words I wrote over time. 

              I could tell how interested he was in the book by how his attention switched from me to the little journal in my hand. His gaze ran over its surface and the pages, trying to get in as much of it as he could. 

“I finished it yesterday after I completed my college work. It’s the love story between a prince and his young maid that I have been emailing you parts of,” I explained. “To be honest I don’t think it’s that good...” 

              He took the book and opened it, reading a random page. “Why do you think this isn’t good? It looks fine to me. Especially the kiss scene between the two. Very heart-warming for the reader.” 

“I guess, but that is only one part in the whole story.” 

“The one chapter about them trying to run away together, but failing to pass the guards was good too,” he mimicked one of the character’s serious face. “’It’s okay my love, you will be mine soon. Unfortunately, it will have to wait another day.’” 

“How could I forget that part. They were so bummed out about it,” I added. “The two really wanted to marry somewhere far away from the kingdom. I probably should’ve given the chapter more length.” 

“Adaline, why do you keep on second-guessing yourself so much? You can’t expect for the book to be perfect.”  

              I sat back to reflect on the story then I let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m not sure. It could be better than it is now, even if it isn’t perfect. I edit, but there is always something missing from it.” 

              “This is your first time writing a whole book, right?” 

              “Yeah, it is. It is much harder than I thought though.” 

              He slowly scanned more of the pages. “Did you tell your mom and dad about it yet?” 

              “No, I am still a little nervous about my work. That’s why I came to you about it. I remember reading all those amazing books you wrote back then so well. That’s why I came for some type of knowledge from such a great author like you.” 

              “I understand, but that was long ago…” 

              I got up from the chair and clasped my hands together. “Can you please give me advice? I really want to write books like you used to,” I pleaded. 

              “I'm not sure if I can teach you anything. Writing is a skill that takes time. You already finished the story, now you have to show others what you got,” he passed the book back to me. “If people don’t like it, then write again. Criticism is important, but you are going to have to keep on writing till your heart is content with your work.” 

              “Is that how you became a writer?” 

              “Yes, and every other writer before me. You have to start from the bottom then reach the top.” 

              I finally broke out into a smile and he did too. “Thanks for the advice. I hope I do well.” 

              “Hope? I know you will be great, probably not as good as me though,” he joked. 

              I stayed for a little longer, updating him on how our family is doing along with anything he missed, but I had to leave since visiting hours were over. I walked outside to my car afterwards, feeling the cold and brisk breeze sweep across the parking lot.  

              When I got into the car and turned the ignition, I looked carefully at the book one last time. The pages bound together gave me hope for the future I yearned for.  

              That settled it. I was going to have to get over myself and show others my work. For me and for my grandfather.