‘What?’ I ask.
Analeise cocks her head to the side, slowed only by the delay of this café’s sub-par Wi-Fi.
‘They’re cute, and exceptionally written, yes. But they’ve all been relatively small so far. Run-ins and cafés and invites to house parties are great, but your readers need to see you really getting stuck in.’
‘I am getting stuck in! I redownloaded an app!’ I say.
‘And you went on four dates before you deleted it.’
I mutter under my breath. ‘You could sound less disappointed.’
She lets out a long, deep sigh, stilted by our fragmented connection.
‘I’ve loved your work so far, Amorie. The column’s performing well, but we can already see readers starting to dip off. It’s just quite... mundane. I mean, evenyoumade it clear that your three dates in Berlin almost put you to sleep.’ She shakes her head.
‘There was a fourth, actually. And it was juicy.’
‘Oh?’ Her eyes light up on the screen.
‘Drunk, messy night, went back to his and everything,’ I say, watching as she practically salivates.
Describing my night with Sam as ‘messy’ may be quite the stretch, considering how smoothly it started and how easily itended. But if she needs more drama, I can give more drama – even if it involves fluffing the truth.
‘Tell me more.’
‘You’ll have to wait for the column.’ I watch her shake her head with faux disapproval at my teasing. ‘But I guarantee it will bring those dropping readers back tenfold.’
‘Brilliant.’ She grabs her pen. ‘Can you get a draft to me EOD?’
‘Of course!’ I say.
‘And make it thrilling.’
‘Absolutely.’I swallow.
‘I’m serious, Amorie. Initial data says you need more variety.’
I prattle a quick goodbye, assure her that there’s ‘variety’ to come, and exit out of the call before immediately feeling my stomach drop. Just when I think I’ve finally found a groove, here I am back at square one – a hopeless case with no idea how you’re supposed to meet people. There’s a reason I can’t write a thrilling entry. It’s because nothing about me is that thrilling; I’ve always played it safe. I moved to London with Sara as a safety net, I gave up on journalism because the café was an easier sure thing, and I stayed with a boyfriend I knew I didn’t love for years because it was easier than being alone. I am bad at this. I don’t know how to take risks and go for things, and soon enough my readers will realise that too.
I take a deep breath and an extra-long sip of my latte before opening a fresh doc.
Date 8 – Bar-Crawl Bae
Who knew that a simple hostel night out would leave me pinned against a stranger’s door at two in the morning? But, hey, who am I to ignore sexual tension? That’s what this series is about, right? New, salacious experiences?
It’s a start for sure, but it’s hard to know where to go without diving into nitty-gritty detail. And every time I think about including nitty-gritty details, I think about the fact that this is on the same internet that my dad uses. But Analeise wants itsaucyandcaptivating, andnot boring. And what’s less boring than some good old-fashioned smut? The difference, however, is that the majority of smut that I’ve read, at least, comes from a lovely fictional place. This is my life. My life on the internet, where it may remain for ever.
This is all too hard. I need a doughnut and maybe a nap.
I catch Noah by surprise as I let myself into our apartment (another he bagged for free, this time from a pet-sitting service – we have a cat). His neck snaps towards me and he freezes, hunched over the trainer that he was already halfway through tying.
‘Are you finished already?’ he asks.
‘Writer’s block. Apparently, my articles are “mundane”.’
I shove my bag on our kitchen island and pull up a stool so I can properly slump down in defeat. He drops his lace and wanders over, taking me in.
‘Who said that?’ he asks.
