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With my feet kicked up on the railing, I took another long sip of the black-as-night coffee, letting it warm me up from the inside out while the caffeine worked on pulling me out of my haze.
I’d finally had a decent night’s sleep, mostly because I’d fallen into bed exhausted. Last night, I barely had enough energy to strip off my clothes before collapsing on the mattress.
The past few days had been spent thoroughly cleaning, putting my bed together, putting the delivered furniture in place, going grocery shopping to fill the now spotless and no longer nose-wrinkling, stomach-churning smelly fridge, emptying the U-Haul and taking the long trip to the nearest rental place to return it.
Hardest damn physical work I’d done in a long time.
However, every muscle now ached and every joint complained. A good reminder that I needed to get back on track with working out. Writing was a sedentary job and I needed to find a way to keep active and flexible.
Hiking around my property and swimming in the lake might do it. But when I checked the temp of the water yesterday with just my hand, my balls went automatically into hiding. They wanted no part of that frigid water.
Since the lake wasn’t too deep, my hope was in a few weeks the water would warm up enough for me to brave more than dipping in a few fingers.
I also needed to grab a tackle box and rod down at Harry’s Hardware in town to try my hand at fishing. When I was in there to buy the plastic sheeting for the broken window—along with some tools and nails to fix some of the shit that had been broken, more cleaning supplies and some other oddball stuff—I noticed hardware wasn’t the only thing Harry sold. He carried all kinds of outdoor stuff, like sporting goods as well as any landscaping equipment I would need.
Harry was happy to see me. My credit card wasn’t as happy to see Harry.
Back on Long Island, I had hired a landscaper to take care of all the yard work and to keep the gardens weed-free. I also hired people to fix stuff. Here, I planned on doing as much as I could myself and learn as I went.
However, now that the satellite internet had been installed two days prior, I no longer had an excuse not to get back to writing.
None.
I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. If I didn’t string words together to create a good story my readers would buy, I wouldn’t get paid. Simple as that.
And if I didn’t get paid, Harry would eventually be unhappy because my ass would be flat broke. Then I might turn into some hermit mountain man who had to live off the land.
Actually, that didn’t sound so bad right now.
Oh yes, I was officially delusional.
Unfortunately, reality was calling my name. And reality’s name was Mac.
I glanced over at my laptop sitting on a small table nearby. I hadn’t opened it once since arriving in Eagle’s Landing.
Not at the motel. Not since I moved into the cabin.
It taunted me.
Or haunted me.
Depending on how I looked at it.
I needed to find my words.
Somehow.
While writer’s block was normal at times for every author, it didn’t normally last for two years.
Reading fiction had always helped spur my creativity in the past, but I stopped reading books when I stopped writing. And the only time I had listened to audiobooks was during the long drive from Long Island, New York to Sullivan County, Pennsylvania.
Maybe it would help if I held an actual paperback in my hands. Smelled the print and the paper. Heard the flip of pages. Got lost in the words…
And, of course, dug out my reading glasses since I now struggled to read the print.
Another sign of being over forty. I grimaced.
Over forty-five.
Hell, creeping up on fifty.
Maybe today I’d crack open my Mac and if the words didn’t come, I’d head into town tomorrow and grab a few books at the local bookstore I spotted off Main Street.
I scratched at the back of my neck as I tried to remember the name. I’d only gotten a quick glance at it on my way back from Mountainside Market, the only place in town for groceries.
What was the damn name of it?
Did it matter? Probably not since I remembered where it was located.
Not only was my eyesight turning to shit, so was my memory.
However, there were some memories I’d never forget. My fear was the good ones I wanted to hold onto would fade away, the bad ones I didn’t want to remember would stick with me forever.
I sighed.
Maybe the bookstore had the rest of the series I started listening to in audio on my trip. The books had managed to catch my interest—not a small feat—because they were very well-written and had intricate plots.
