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I drummed my fingers on the desk, my eyes squinting against the bright led screen. There was a blank Word document on the screen. I had a play list full of “inspirational” music on my iTunes, which was just really a bunch of sappy pop and soft rock. Who knew mildly depressing music was the key to a writer’s success? At any rate though, this needed doing, and I had left it for far too long.

I grimaced at this thought, and stared down at the two books beside me, “Aural Dawn” and “Aural Noontide”. These were my last two books, the first having won a New York Times Best-seller award, and several other accolades. These books were the reason I’m sitting here, my butt going numb, struggling over how to start this story. That, and the fact that my fans, my publisher and my family were clamoring for me to create more “Aural” novels.

“Felix,” I told myself, “you just have to do it. Work that magic that has been working in your favor for the last three years.”

I had a moment of reminiscence then; it had only been three years since I’d become a “known” author. Before that, I had been working at an office building in downtown St. Paul, and here I was, sitting in a fancier office building, my face so close to the screen I can hear the steady hum of the monitor.

I sat up, a bit further away from the screen, as to not burn out my retinas and never be able to finish this novel. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, getting ready to type something, when a knock came at the door followed by a male’s voice.

“Mr. Fine, sorry to interrupt you, but…” the door opened and a tall man in his twenties walked into the room.
It was my “handler” Alan, aka my personal PDA and alarm clock. The second part was only because sometimes (actually, more than sometimes) I would fall asleep at my desk. “The studio reps are here, to work out the movie deal.”

I nearly groaned. My first book, “Aural Dawn”, was getting a movie adaptation. On one hand, I was interested to see my world come alive on screen. On the other, I didn’t want to deal with people. Especially studio executives; they were greedy, and wanted full control. Sure they’d pay to do the adaptation, but they wanted to twist it to their liking, their style, their way. I had a hard time letting go, but if he wanted to please everyone, he’d have to do this. Maybe I’d ask to be a screenwriter, or help cast Aero and Meris. Thinking that only slightly relieved the anxiety this meeting was going to give me.

“Mr. Fine…” Alan’s voice was the middle of disappointed and annoyed. Clearly, he had looked over my shoulder at the blank Word document.

“Never mind, you aren’t getting out of this chair, until there’s at least 20 pages done.” He said, clearly disappointed, but determined, “Or a plot outline, or something. I’ll handle this with your publisher.”

“What?” I turned in my office chair, “Isn’t the author supposed to be there, to try and get some kind of… ownership in the movie?”

Alan shook his head, finding it increasingly worrying that his boss hadn’t started writing his third novel yet. “Not necessarily, for all intents and purposes our firm holds the rights your first two books. It was in the fine print when you signed on, sir.”

It should have relieved me to hear that, but it didn’t. I felt helpless and useless at the same time. I hated feeling that way sometimes. I’m a 35 year old man for Christ’s sake, I have a wife, two boys and one on the way. I shouldn’t be the one being told to do my homework, and getting punished for not getting it done. The only solace in this Alan knows what I want; he always seems to know. I think he might have my office bugged, but maybe that’s me being paranoid.

“Go ahead, Alan,” I said, and Alan looked at me like I'd grown a second head. To tell the truth, I’m wasn’t going to argue with him when I had not wanted to do this in the first place. But, did I really want to leave it up to other people decide? Did I, really? Maybe not, but this was one less thing to distract me from starting my novel.

“Alright,” Alan said turning from me and exiting the room, but caught himself on the frame before he left fully, “I’ll tell you how it went when I come back. But, in the meantime try to work on your novel. We have to give your editor something by the beginning of next month.”

“Thank you, Alan. Close the door on your way out, and don’t let the studio executives eat you alive.” I said, only half-jokingly.

Alan shot me a look that told me, “I got this, don’t worry,” then he walked out of the room, straightening up. Alan could negotiate circles around practically anyone, but this was a gigantic movie studio. They came equipped with their own Alan-- A whole team of Alans. I couldn’t help but feel useless again. It wasn’t like I was totally inept in the etiquette of the boardroom. I had negotiated with the printers to double the first printing on my second book. Although, that had been because Alan had provided the statistics and details I needed to prove that it was necessary. Was I really this dependant on people to get things done? I hoped not.

I turned back to the computer, back to that blank Word document. Here was my one thing that I could do by myself and be in complete control. That is of course, until the editors get hold of it. It told me to make the draft twice as long as what I perceived to be the length of book. Maybe I could turn this situation into a scene for my book. A place to start, at least.

***

Meris walked into the guild hall, scanning around for Aero. The Aurate College guild hall was huge, with an endlessly high ceiling, great oak bookcases towering just as high. Her heeled boots clicked on the white marble floor as she passed tables piled high with books filled with the history, spells, and methods of the Auralithes.

“Stupid boy, doesn’t he know we have an important council meeting?” she whispered to herself.

Of course he knew, he had to know; she had been reminding him to finish his preparations for it for the last week. She took a left at a statue of the first Auralithe, Illian Ferrows. Maybe he was trying to find a quiet corner to buckle down and study. She chuckled low, knowing that was not how Aerole Ierilias did things. Still, she did like to think he was making some progress. This council meeting after all, did signify Aero’s ascension to higher level Aural Magic, and in tandem solidified Meris’s continued need to exist. Meris darkened as she thought of her existence. She only existed to serve young Auralithe realize and expand their powers. She was not completely human, but not completely anything else either. She was a Lightbringer, the one who gives the light, and nurtures it to an immense burning sun.

“He’s different,” she thought, “he cares.”

Aero was like a burning sun; too bright to look at, too hot to touch, too far from her reach. He was all carefree days, all flailing arms and legs.

“Stop…” she told herself, “You’re investing yourself too much Meris. Just be the good Lightbringer you are, and burn away in the flames of your charge’s triumphs.”


***