Colin returned home from his trip with a renewed sense of hope. There was a definite spring in his step, and although his family didn't seem to notice it, he felt it. It wasn't about the sex, although that had been absolutely incredible. Grace had ignited another desire in him. "It's never too late," she'd said, and he found himself agreeing. So after years of reading other peoples' work, he dared to dream again about writing his own novel. He allowed himself to believe that maybe this time it would happen. Yes, he'd be writing Miguel's biography, but that wasn't the same thing. It would serve as a fantastic warm up for him, and he was definitely looking forward to it. But his own novel with his own byline, down on the shelves of the Staadt bookstore . . . that was his goal.
He stood in his office, staring down at a dusty cardboard box he'd dragged up from the basement. He knew what was inside, yet he still felt a sense of giddy anticipation. It was like Christmas morning. No, it was better than that. By opening the box, he'd be opening a whole new chapter in his life. It was heady stuff.
There was no need for ceremony however. He pulled open the flaps and hauled out the first stack of paper. It was a partial draft of a novel he'd begun writing in college. Now, with his editor's cap on, he sat down to review his handiwork.
The very first sentence made him grimace. He hadn't quite written "it was a dark and stormy night," but it wasn't far off, and the manuscript went downhill from there. He'd been studying the Romantics at the time — Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats . . . their influence was obvious. But instead of inspiring great turns of phrase, it had resulted in him writing some of the purplest prose he'd ever had the misfortune of reading.
Only one other person had ever read any of this, and she'd seemed to like it. He thought back to the night he'd shown it to her and how she'd gushed about its brilliance. Cheap wine had been involved and after the compliments, they'd made love under the stars . . . and he'd proposed.
He ran a hand through his hair. Looking through the rest of the box was going to require scotch. Lots of scotch.