“You’re so talented,” she said in a bubbly voice.

“Thanks,” I said, too modest to accept sincere praise.

“I wish that I could write the way you do”, she added.  Now I was

I was blushing. Why did Angela have to be so boisterous.

“It’s really nothing”, I quietly replied. “The story falls flat, the characters are boring.” Now Angela became exasperated.

“Mandy, you’re too hard on yourself. You should take more credit for your abilities.

She was right, of course. I could always count on Angela for positive, honest encouragement. If the story stunk, she would tell me.

“Thanks,” I responded, this time with more confidence, “I suppose that I am just feeling frustrated with the project right now. I’m not sure what direction should take.”

“Well based on this draft, I think you’re headed in the right direction.”

I took a deep breath, digesting her advice.  I just needed the story to develop in its own time and not get bogged down with the details.

I slowly stood up and walked out of the office.  As the door began to close, she called, “Wait, where are you going?”

“Home . . . . to write.”

A gust of wind blew the door shut, as she screamed, “Great, I can’t wait to read your next draft.”

As I raced to the car, her words of encouragement echoed, the details percolated in my mind.

It was time to write.