She reread the last paragraph she wrote—of which the process had felt like her teeth were slowly being pulled from her gums without the use of any anesthetic—and it was so demoralizingly appalling, Jane thought she might as well throw in the towel for today. It wasn’t happening. The prose was excruciating to read. Not even the most extensive rewrite could salvage this book. It was a bad one, and she knew it.

Jane believed that every author, especially romance authors like her who cranked out book after book, was allowed a sub-par novel once in a while. It was the way the universe balanced itself.

She knew this to be true, because over the years she’d had a few books naturally float to the bottom of the charts only weeks after they came out, even though she had cajoled herself into believing they were good enough. But good enough didn’t work for Jane now. She wasn’t a beginner anymore, far from it. It was time to recognize all the signs, admit defeat, and kill this book before it killed her morale entirely.

The very fact that she’d barely shown any of it to Annie, her most loyal cheerleader who always found at least one good thing to say about her words, said enough. This first draft would end up in the bin. It had been a long time since Jane had thrown away a draft. She cast one last glance at the open file on her computer, closed it, and heaved a big sigh of relief. The decision had been made. Good. Now it was time to tweak her schedule, have a look at her catalog, and assess the damage to her bottom line this missed release would cause.

Perhaps she should also tell Annie.

“How’s the shop doing?” Jane asked when they stacked the plates in the dishwasher after dinner.

“That book signing already has us in the black for this month and it’s only the sixteenth,” Annie said. “So, not too shabby at all.”

“Good, because I threw my first draft in the trash today.” Jane carefully analyzed Annie’s face. “And I had to overhaul my release schedule quite drastically, because at the moment I have no idea when I’ll be able to write the next book.”

Annie’s brows knitted together. “What’s going on?”

“The hell if I know. I suppose I got enthusiastic about the wrong story. I truly don’t know. All I know for certain is that the book wasn’t working.”

“Do you want me to read it? You’ve hardly shown me anything.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s not worthy of your time.”

“Every single word you write is worthy of my time.”