CAROLINE MORALES
I kept staring at my laptop screen as the minutes dragged by.
Jo was in the house, just not in this room. I could still hear him moving around, going about his tasks while I sat here, doing nothing but staring.
The screen was initially white, and it was an empty page on my document.
I ran a feminine-centered blog with weekly editions. Alongside that, I was working under contract with two media houses, one of which I served as the chief in-house editor.
And then there was my anonymous author profile, where I wrote romance-fantasy books—or romantasy, as most people would call it.
I was on my third book, with around five thousand subscribers following my profile and three thousand views on my latest story. Still, I hadn’t updated a single chapter in almost a week.
With
