Opening up my computer, I quickly jot down the scene for the plot twist, so I don’t lose it.

“Right, now where was I up to?” Yeah, talking to myself is another sign I’m certifiably insane.

“You know exactly where you are up to, you idiot. They are about to have sex. Why do you think you were dreaming about surfer boy this morning, talking dirty to you?” Rolling my eyes at myself seems a waste of energy, but hey, that’s what us creatives do.

Coco lets out a snore from at my feet. The big energetic dog that wouldn’t stop running this morning has left, and in her place is the lazy lump that spends most of the day lying next to me while I lose myself in my book.

When I moved to North Carolina a year ago, I had no idea what my future held in store. Taking the leap and releasing my first book that I had written years before was the scariest thing I’ve done in my life. And let me assure you, I’ve done some scary things before now.

Three books later and I can’t stop.

Writing is my addiction.

“Okay, time to turn the heat up on my couple and finally let the tension bubble burst.” My fingers start dancing over the keys at a speed I never imagined I had. It’s like they have a mind of their own. The clicking noise of the keyboard is what calms my mind. I know that the words are flowing, and the story is coming together before my eyes. I’m lost in my own world, and it’s the safest place for me to be.

Hours pass when I’m writing, and sometimes I have no idea how many hours until I hear my stomach start voicing its disgust that it has been neglected again. Looking up from my screen, I realize I’ve been totally engrossed in my book and the day has been passing me by. It shouldn’t surprise me, because it happens on a regular basis.

Coco must sense my change of movement, as she rises slowly from her sleeping spot. I really need to set an alarm on my phone to make me get up and move more often. My body feels stiff as I start walking towards the kitchen to find food. Not sure what I feel like eating, I’m standing at the fridge door open, just staring in at all the food, hoping that something jumps out at me. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head.

‘Don’t stand there with the door open; get what you want and get out.’

Yet here I am twenty-nine years old and still doing the same thing.

Nice try, Mom.