The Fifth Avenue Apartment by Pamela M. Kelley

Author:Pamela M. Kelley [Kelley, Pamela M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Piping Plover Press
Published: 2023-11-27T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sophie brought half of the leftover cookies with her to Max’s apartment, along with a bottled water she’d just opened. She smelled the pizza when Max opened the door and smiled. They seemed to have a routine now of pizza and an episode of Only Murders in the Building on Sunday nights. She looked forward to these nights, and she never got tired of pizza.

“What kind did you get this time?” She set the box of cookies on the kitchen counter.

“Half pepperoni and half sausage, onion and pepper. I hope that’s okay?”

“That’s great. I love both.”

Max got paper plates for both of them and they each grabbed a few slices and settled on his living room sofa.

The pizza was delicious, as usual, and they both enjoyed the latest episode. When it ended, Max got up and returned a moment later with the box of cookies. They both took one.

“How’d the writing go today?” Sophie asked him.

Max made a face. “I said I was going to go home and write, didn’t I? I thought about it. But then I did laundry, ran some errands, and read a book for inspiration. I finally opened the story I’m working on, reread the last scene I wrote and then stared at the blank screen for too long. I don’t usually write on Sundays, and I guess my muse wanted a day off.”

Sophie was fascinated by how Max’s writing process worked. “So, you can’t force it. You have to wait for inspiration to come?”

“Sort of. But not always. When I get closer to deadline, I can’t be that precious about it. I have to sit my butt in the chair and make the words happen. And they do. I don’t understand it.”

“Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?” Sophie asked.

Max thought for a moment. “I think on some level, I did always know. I was always a big reader and I used to dream about writing books someday. I knew it wasn’t a practical job, though. I mean most people don’t make a living at it. I am grateful and feel very lucky that I am able to do that.”

“It’s more than luck though. You’re incredibly talented,” Sophie said. “How did you get started?”

Max took another cookie then leaned back and put his feet up.

“Thank you. I always wrote. I scribbled horribly bad stories in beat-up notebooks when I was younger. I had some great teachers in high school and college that encouraged me. But I still knew I needed a degree in something that could pay the bills. That led to the mutual fund job, which was a disaster.”

Sophie laughed. “I would have died if I’d made a mistake like that.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun. I deserved to be fired. My mother was not thrilled when I went to bartending, though. She thought I was wasting my degree. But I liked it and the hours were great and freed up my days to write. Still, it was a few years before I got serious about it and really buckled down and tried to learn how to structure a decent story.

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