By Gianna Liantonio

I sat in my familiar booth directly in the back with a window next to it and the familiar rips
in the seats. I look down at my cup of coffee, seeing it swirl like a whirlpool. My usual
order of coffee with three sugars and just a splash of milk.

I tap my feet to the rhythm of the music playing from the jukebox they have in the
corner. It’s a cool retro diner that they designed to look like the 70s-80s. I look out the
window and see drops of water going down as it pours. I see two little kids jumping in
puddles, splashing each other and not caring that their clothes are getting soaked. I look
back inside and look around, seeing the regulars sitting at the counter and eating the
same thing they always order.

Familiarity is a comfort for all it seems.

I look down at my notebook, my pen tapping against the table as if it’ll somehow help
jog ideas. I hear the clock ticking in the distance somewhere and wonder how I hear it
over all the chatter and music.

I come here to find inspiration, hoping a change of scenery will somehow help. It’s much
better than my dreary office with a barely functioning light because I keep forgetting to

buy lightbulbs. I usually type on a laptop, but I figured writing it on pen and paper would
make it feel more real and help me connect to it more.

My new book is due in a week and I am nowhere close to finishing. Not even close. Not
one sentence.

I know I can ask for an extension, but I have already.

Two times to be exact, so I know if I ask for another one they’ll just tell me to forget it.

I’ll lose this agent and have to scour the internet for a new one, which could take days,
even weeks. I don’t know how some authors get ten books published a year when I can
barely get one. I put down my pen and pick up my mug, taking a sip of coffee. I try to
clear my mind, hoping a new idea will come. My eyes wander to the different customers
coming and going.

I wonder what their story is. How their day is going. There is always more than meets
the eye. The problem is that I have so many ideas, so many routes I can take. It’s
choosing the one that I think is best that is hard.

I sigh and lean back, rubbing my eyes. I’ve been staring at the blank lined pages for
what feels like hours. I blink a few times to have my eyes adjust back to normal life.

I just wish I could type a sentence, that first sentence that could make or break the
book. The one that depends on whether the person continues reading.

I see if I could take from real life; maybe an interesting person that walks in or a
conversation I overhear? I look back down at my coffee and suddenly the light bulb
goes off in my head.

Finally, it comes to me. It’s been there all along. I start writing with a big smile on my
face, feeling hopeful that I finally got it.

I sat in my familiar booth directly in the back with a window next to it and the familiar rips
in the seats. I look down at my cup of coffee, seeing it swirl like a whirlpool. My usual
order of coffee with three sugars and just a splash of milk.