The Write and Tell series #2

on the novel: the slow burn (part 1)

This time, let’s start with the telling.

For a while now, I’ve wondered how to start sharing my novel-in-progress. This story has lived inside my head for two years. I know these characters. Their hopes, their fears, what makes them laugh and what makes them tick. At the heart of it, they want what we all want: to belong, to find purpose, to love and to be loved.

The novel follows Lizzie - a neurodivergent literature professor - and Nick - a Hollywood A-list star. Thanks to a small twist of fate (and Lizzie’s hyperfocus abilities), they meet and end up spending several unexpected hours together. Their lives could not be more different, but deep down they are just two people trying to be seen and understood for who they trully are. No masks, no performances.

Inspired by the beautiful article Mechanics Monday: the art of slow burn (go read it if you haven’t yet!), I decided to start sharing a few scenes from their slow-burn romance. Those scences also bring you inside Nick’s poetic mind and Lizzie’s wonderfully overthinking brain.

Disclaimer: what you are about to read is a glimpse inside my first draft. It feels absolutely terrifying to put this out there, but I’m excited (and nervous!) to hear your feedback, comments, and constructive criticism. Please be kind - my writer heart will thank you :)

The writing

“Sometimes, the deepest connection begins with a pen on paper and a broken heart”.

---

Lizzie

I am waiting for him while he gets ready.

Too restless to sit, I wonder through the living room, taking in the space. It has a minimalistic decor - warm wood, soft greys, and off-whites. It’s a little melancholic, but peaceful. Nick through and through. The thought makes me smile.

In the far corner of the room, a lamp catches my eye. The bulb is wrapped in a cage of threads, woven like a bird’s nest, suspended from what looks like a piece of driftwood. It’s beautiful. I wonder where he found it.

My eyes drift to the sea of papers across the table full of scribbles, crossed-out words, like the aftermath of a beautiful storm. It’s messy in a way I recognize. He writes.

My gaze lands on a page. Just a few lines.

“A piece of my heart will always stay with her,

Memories of her shinning eyes met mine on stage…”

No, no, no. I shouldn’t read this. I close my eyes, already feeling guilty, and turn toward the sofa.

That is when I see him.

Nick is standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the door frame. Eyes locked on mine. I open my mouth, then close it again. I don’t know what to say.

“I guess you found my secret,” he says, a small smile growing at the corners of his mouth.

I don’t seem to process fast enough the ease in his face, because all I feel is that I intruded, stepping into his mind without permission. Uninvited.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop” - I rush out. “I was looking at the lamp and got closer...”

“Lizzie.” My name in his voice stops me mid-sentence.

“If I wanted to hide it, I would have”. His eyes steady on mine.

“You write?” I meant as a question but it feels more like as the realization finally sinking in.

“I do.”

“You were always so curious about my classes and my writing. I had no idea… Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, giving me a small side-smile as he walks toward me. His hair still damp from the shower.

“I started journaling when I was a teen. Eventually it turned into verse and I couldn’t stop. Every feeling poured onto the page. It helps me process and it helps me cope. Specially with the madness that my life turned into. It keeps me sane”.

He steps closer and I catch the scent of his shampoo, citrus with a hint of lavanda. He reaches past me to pick up the page I had almost read.

He holds it out to me.

“I wrote this a while ago, but I can never seem to finish it. I keep trying…” - his gaze drifts from the page to my eyes - “trying to make it worthy of her. Of my feelings for her”.

I take the page from his hand, conscious of the way our fingers almost touch.

“Are you sure you want me to read this?”

“If there is one person I want reading my thoughts, Lizzie, it’s you”.

His eyes stay on me as I read.

A piece of my heart will always stay with her,

memories of her shinning eyes met mine on stage,

through tears, happiness turning sadness.

Take my hand, I plead, and don’t let it go.

When I close my eyes and think of home,

she is all I see.

As waves in the sea,

crushing into me.

If I only could trace her aging lines,

feel the years written in her gentle signs,

I would suspend time.

Hold her close, if only for a moment longer in life.

In an early winter morning she was gone,

taking with her a piece of my heart,

Leaving only silence behind.

I feel every word and my eyes sting. I blink back the tears, and look up at him.

We just stare at each other. I want to reach for him, to pull those heavy words out of his chest.

“Nick, this is…this is heartbreaking. It’s beautifully written, but…”. I trail off, feeling each word but finding none in return.

Even though I don’t know who is this for, I can feel his pain is still raw. It’s in every word. It’s in his eyes.

He gives me a small, sad smile. “I felt heartbroken when I wrote it, so I guess it shows.”

I stay silent, giving him space to put into words what he is feeling. And then, he continues. “I wrote it trying to make peace with losing my mom. Cassie isn’t my biological mother - she married my dad when I was 5. My mom died in a car accident and all I have are flashes of her…and I hold onto them like a lifeline. But over time, I feel they are slipping through my fingers, like water. So I write, to keep her memory alive”.

I reach for him as his last words barely left his mouth. I can tell I’ve surprised him - it’s the very first time I’ve hugged him.

“I am so sorry, Nick”. It’s all I manage to say.

He hugs me back. His face buries into the crook of my neck, and we stay like that. My mind gets lost in the feeling of his arms around me. Only when we part I realize I did not feel the common anxiety that hits me when people touch me.

His eyes burn into mine and he smiles.

“If I knew a hug from you would feel like that, I would’ve asked for one on the first day we met”.

I laugh, shaking my head. He touches my chin and I freeze.

“Thank you” he says softly. “Trully”.

“Thank you for trusting me. I know what this means”.

“I know you know”.

Time seems to slow down. My heart races and I can see the storm in his eyes, torn between the feeling growing between us and the space he promised to give me.

He steps back, running a hand through his hair. The moment shatters at our feet.

“So, are you ready? Should we go explore today’s London discovery? Even though we are not going to be technically in London this time”. He teases, trying to bring some lightness into the room.

“I am intrigued”, I say, following him to the door.

“Then let me surprise you”.