“This is not the time for platitudes, Annie.” Jane must be even more frustrated than she knew herself. She hardly ever used Annie’s name. It was all terms of endearment for them all the time, babe this and honey that.

“Hey, hey.” Annie rushed over to her and rested her hands gently on Jane’s hips. “You’re upset. I understand.”

Annie’s hands felt comforting, yet they didn’t change anything about Jane’s predicament. “I know what writing is and I believed I’d gotten so good at walking that tightrope of tension, resistance, and ease. At balancing the friction inside it takes to produce a work that comes straight from the heart. But right now, it feels as though I’ve lost it and it will never come back.”

“Oh babe. I’m sure it will come back.”

“How can you know? How can you even say that? You’re not a writer. You don’t feel the pressure on your shoulders every single day to produce.” Jane regretted her words instantly. “I’m sorry.” She curled her fingers around Annie’s wrists. “I’m just lashing out. I don’t know what to do. Not being able to write is making me feel so… empty inside.”

“There’s a lot going on in your life right now.” Annie leaned her head back and tried to look Jane in the eye.

Jane was unable to meet her gaze. She hoped Annie would keep talking for a while. Prop her up. Give her the much-needed pep talk she craved. Not that Annie’s words could change anything about the situation, but at least they could offer some comfort.

“I may not know first-hand how hard it is to be a writer, but I know it’s not easy,” Annie continued. “I also know you make it look damn easy most of the time. So easy, in fact, that you might sometimes forget how much you demand of yourself.” Annie smiled softly. “It’s so obvious what you need, my love. You need a break. God knows you deserve it.”

Jane sighed. She should have come to that conclusion herself, but sometimes she got so caught up with the tales she was spinning in her head, the obvious was out of her grasp. As long as Annie didn’t say Jane needed to get out more.

“You don’t have to write ten books a year anymore. It’s not necessary,” Annie said. “I know that in your head there’s this reasoning going on that says you have to, that everything you’ve built will come tumbling down if you write fewer books, but that’s just a construction of your mind. It’s not reality. We’re doing fine. You’ve made sure of that.”

“It’s just with the future of the shop being so insecure… I wanted to make sure we had enough.”