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After a day like today, a couple shots wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Wanna go to The Tavern? They are having happy hour tonight from seven to nine?”
My sister has never turned down going to a bar, especially if I’m the one footing the bill. “I’ll meet you there at seven.”
I slip on my jeans and rock-n-roll t-shirt. I can’t go to the bar smelling like smoke. I’ve got about thirty-minutes to spare, so out the door I go to take a quick shower and change.
I never know what to expect when my sister is around. She is the prettier one, and usually has guys hitting on her all night while I’m in the corner just enjoying a beer. Sometimes, I wonder why I still agree to go with her, but then it’s entertainment.
All I want to do is get today out of my head and then curl up and read an enjoyable book. Is that too much to ask for?
2
NOAH
The wedding pictures on my wall bring up the very thing I’m trying to forget. My beautiful wife, Janet, passed away some time ago and I’ve tried my hand at these new dating apps everyone is using, but it only leads to some very horrible dates. The women are just not as intelligent as I need them to be, and I want to find someone who shares the love of literature as much as I do. Some people might think that wouldn’t be hard, but the people nowadays are more enthralled with how many likes and follows they can get on social media rather than curling up on the couch with a good book.
Honestly, I think I’m just going to give up on this whole dating thing because at this point in my life I’m working towards tenure and that is going to secure my retirement. Everyone dreams of the day that they don’t have to work anymore. Where they can go out and do whatever they want at whatever time of day without having to answer to somebody else. My late wife told me before she took her final breath to make sure that I enjoy life and live it to the fullest. She didn’t want me to sit in a room and be depressed. No, she wanted me to get out there and enjoy my life and do the things I want to do. And that all leads to this very point. I have to give up just a little now so I have what I want in the future. Dating isn’t something that I need to do, but she wanted me to be happy. But right now it just seems like that’s not in the cards for me. It seems hard to find someone mid-thirties or older that isn’t focused on having a family right now or that doesn’t already have multiple kids.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that having kids in your mid-thirties is wrong because honestly most people have kids by now, but I’m not looking to start a relationship with somebody who will not want kids in the future. My dream with Janet was to have a huge family and be happy but her cancer took that away from us. And now I have to find someone to fall in love with again and start all over. It’s almost too much because do I really want to start all over? I mean, here I am at thirty-six-years-old and a widow, and right now all I want to do is secure my future.
On Sunday nights, I usually go into my den to work on projects and sip on a glass of cognac, but tonight I’ve decided that I should get out of the house. There’s nothing good about sitting around in your own home alone. I need to get out and enjoy life, talk with other people, and socialize instead of sitting in my den all by myself all of the time.
The last time I went to the pub a couple of months ago, there were a few women who approached me and asked me if I would buy them a drink, and honestly, I said no. If I wanted to buy somebody a drink I would offer, yet women think that it’s okay to just come up and ask for us to buy them a drink even though nobody offers to buy me a drink. Why are the men always responsible for buying the women drinks? And I’m not saying that women should have to put out because we buy them drinks, but at the same time, we should not be expected to buy you a drink just so you can have a good time.
Honestly, I’m just looking for somebody who has some intelligence about her. I’m not saying she has to be a genius, or that she has to have an IQ of 130, but I want to have a conversation about things that have meaning. On the dates that I’ve gone on through the dating apps have all been meaningless conversation filled and how hard is it to find someone who can carry a good conversation? This is what happened when I found my wife. We sat and we talked for hours; they physically had to kick us out of the bar when it closed because we didn’t want to leave.
I touch my hands to my lips and then press it on the picture like I do every day before leaving my house. Sure my wife might be gone, but I am still going to love her for the rest of my life. She was my soulmate. She was the person that I could talk to about anything; when having bad days or when going through something awful and she always had my back with no hesitation. I need someone like that again and it’s become harder and harder to find someone that can match my expectations.
I walk into my den and secure my laptop into the bag, then grab my wireless mouse and keyboard just in case and a set of headphones. I figure why not work on some things while enjoying some cognac and pretending to socialize. I mean, maybe I’ll find somebody to strike up a conversation with and maybe I can find someone who enjoys literature, but most likely not. They seem to be hard to find.
My right leg eases into the car first, my left following as my ass hits the seat. The car rumbles when the engine starts and I head to the way of the pub. I’ve always dreamed of writing a book and hitting a list, or even just having someone downright love my work, but it’s become harder now that she’s gone. The drafting stage has been awful and I’m one of those people that have the feeling that they just aren’t good enough. Why would anyone want to read what I write? What makes me so special? These are the questions that go on inside my head every single time I sit down to finish my book. Yet, when my late wife passed, she told me not to let anything stand in the way of what I want to accomplish. She knew how important it was for me to finish this manuscript and turn it in, and yet, since the day that she passed, I have written maybe a couple thousand words on it. I need to get this complex out of my head so that I can move forward. The only person that has read this manuscript was her, and she loved it, but none of that matters unless I can complete it. I’m about four chapters away from finally writing the end on this manuscript and maybe some liquor will provide me the courage to turn my brain off and write the fucking thing. The thing that perplexes me the most is the fact that people think that writing a book is easy and in fact it is so freaking hard. There’s so many moving elements within a story that you have to work with, and perfect. This is difficult.
I’ve been sitting on this idea for about a decade, so when you think about it took me a decade to write 80% as a book and that’s all conclusive on the fact that I have imposter syndrome. I just don’t feel like I’m good enough for people to want to read or pay to read my work. But I’m sure that every novelist has come across this and has found a way to overcome diss doubt in their head. I just need to focus on getting it done, and then I can worry about making the result of the product better. It’s all about getting words on the page and flushing out your idea to where you can focus on making it better. The first draft of anything; whether it’s a short story, a résumé is never going to be the end result that you would give to an employer or a paying customer. Do you have to go back and revise it multiple times to tell if it’s good enough? Hell, it’s not almost perfect? But then I read online on the forums they say that nobody will ever be perfect. There will always be flaws, missed typos, and things that you overlook, but that’s what an editor is for, to find all the things that the writer missed.
I pull into the gravel parking lot, the rocks crunching beneath my tires as I come to a stop and turn the ignition off. I grab my laptop bag and walk around to the side entrance of the pub. Inside, it’s packed with patrons gathered around little tables and the bar back. I think that this might be just what I need to get rid of the imposter syndrome for one night. If I can finish even a chapter tonight, that would be a huge step in the right direction. I go straight to the bar and order my Cognac and wait for the bartender to bring me my glass. When he does, I’ll leave the bar back and try to find a table for myself away from the jukebox and the front door. Even though I brought headphones, the distraction of the door opening and closing and a new song coming on every three minutes is going to make it harder to focus. Tonight is about focusing on this manuscript and nothing else. I want to keep my word to my late wife and get this project done so I can move forward with the process and make her proud.
I take a sip from my glass and set it down next to my laptop, waiting for it to boot up so I can open up the Word document and begin writing. I pull my headphones out of the laptop bag, and press the on button to connect the Bluetooth to my cell phone. I’m not one of those people that can listen to actual music while they write. For the writers that use that and say that it helps them focus, that’s awesome, because I’m the complete opposite. The only thing I can have in the background as far as music goes are instrumentals. Usually, I go on a streaming site and look for something pertaining to the scene that I’m working on, whether that be romantic, suspenseful, thriller, or horror music. Instrumentals can help you set the scene and write the details for you. We all know in horror movies the intense doom of the loud suspenseful music that leads up to the killer being revealed or the person getting murdered. Music like that helps me get into whatever I’m writing and know what mood I need or how I need to set the precedence for the readers. No matter what anybody says, readers can be super picky and they want things done a certain way. There are industry standards for each genre of writing and if you don’t stick to those industry standards, then the readers are going to revolt. Just going to have a devastating effect on someone’s book release and can tarnish their career from the very beginning. So, I use little things like this to help me make sure I’m setting the correct scene and mood for the reader every time I sit down to write a chapter.
Being in the pub actually makes it easier because I’m in the very thing that I’m writing. The easiest way to write believable dialogue is to go out and sit somewhere and watch other people have conversations. I’ll admit I’ve had some pretty funny things happen while people watching, and they might have made it into my book. It’s always fun to come up with a new idea based on something you have actually witnessed.
The computer finally starts up and I take a sip of Cognac before putting my fingers on the keyboard. I put my headphones on and my fingers start clacking. The more of this that goes into my system, the easier it is to turn off my self doubt and before I know it, a couple hours have passed and I have written almost 3,000 words. One chapter down and three more to go before my novel's first draft is complete.
I go back up to the bar, lean, and wait for the bartender to come and take my order, but I see a woman coming over towards me with some of the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. My mind doesn’t go to asking her out or anything because bars are typically the best place to pick up a woman, especially if you’re wanting something long term. So, I just wait for her to come next to me and ask her what her favorite book is.
And her answer surprises me…
3
LESLIE
Angela might forget the instances of today, but it’s still in the back of my mind. That little girl is now going to be all alone and her parents can never tell her they love her and that to me, it’s just devastating. Weirdly enough, I want to embrace her and tell her that everything is going to be OK, but I can’t promise her that. If she ends up in foster care, everything she has known in her life it’s going to be fucked up. Sure, there are some good foster homes, but for the most part, the system is not great. People taking kids just for the checks show them no love and treat them with no respect. Some kids even enter into a home that is abusive and after everything that she has gone through, she shouldn’t have to go through something like that.
My car comes to a stop outside of the pub and Angela is waiting right outside the door for me in a red miniskirt and a white tank top. Why does she have to dress like we’re going to the club? Does she plan on taking somebody home tonight? Here’s the thing about my sister: she can be a little provocative. She is a grown ass woman and if she wants to take someone home and sleep with them every night that’s her prerogative, but I don’t know if that’s something that has ever crossed my mind.
Yes, I know I’m probably one of the 10% that has never had a one-night stand, but honestly, the opportunity has never presented itself and maybe it’s just not for me. Especially at a bar. Most of the men that frequent this place are brooding and have an inflated ego who needs to be knocked down a peg, and normally, that’s what my sister Angela does. She finds the most arrogant man in the room and makes it her mission to knock him down. She wants him to know that he has to work to get her to go home with him and usually that means ten or more shots and the bill paid for by him. Me, on the other hand, I don’t need anyone to buy my drinks. I can buy my own and worry about everything myself. There’s too much stigma around a man buying drinks for women in a bar because sometimes it makes them think that youare going home with them at the end of the night. But that’s not the case with me. I never want a man to think just because he bought me a drink, that he may somehow get in my pants. Because I could be nothing but far from the truth.
I turn my engine off and get out of the car and Angela walks over to me.
“What the hell are you wearing? Do you expect anybody to buy you a drink wearing that?”
