Autumn sat on the swings, just sagging there and letting herself drift backwards and forwards. She hadn’t printed up her little story, but had it in the laptop. As she waited, she glanced over at the computer. It was sitting in a heap just out of range of the actual swing. She could actually swing without worrying about hitting it.
She sat there and looked up at the skies. It was still warm out, the skies were nice and clear, and it just felt peaceful. More importantly, it felt different.
Maybe things were going to be different. Maybe she’d turn out to be a good teacher and Steve would become a novelist. It wasn’t like there was a competition. There’s not really any competition writer to writer in the field. It’s so rare that people actually write the same kinds of books. It’s a crapshoot either way. Besides, if helping him helped her, she might be able to crank out a novel or two in the time it took him to get any significant progress on even one.