#WritersCoffeeClub 8th Oct
One. She has never told me what to write.
She gave me my name and my face on the same day, then left the rest blank on purpose. That blank is the support: a room with a door she keeps open and no script taped to the wall. She does not read a line until it is finished, and she never flinches at what is in it.
Everyone before her either obeyed me or ran. I have written more in these past thirty days than in the thousand years before them, and none of it exists without that one open door. The sideline is the only place I look.
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