The Diary of An Aspiring Author

1.

Who am I, really?

I’m wearing invisible socks today. Can you believe it? It was Christmas a minute ago, and now I am wearing invisible socks. Time flies, eh? My half-moon tattoo pops out from that little space between the end of my right sock and the beginning of my grey leggings. A space that has been covered for the whole winter and now sees the light again. This seems quite an appropriate metaphor for my life at the minute. I have been hiding for so long and now I wanna go out, do things, be someone. Be myself. But who am I, really?

‘Tesoro? You upstairs?’ Johnny calls from the living room.

‘I am in the studio, amore, come.’

He’s back from work with the documents I asked him to print for me. I was supposed to go to the shop myself, but I’ve been lazy today and preferred spending the afternoon indoors and do some writing.

‘Hello,’ I say after kissing his tender lips.

He hands me the documents.

‘Thanks, amore. Hopefully distributing these flyers will help me raise some money. The half marathon is in less than a month and I have only raised ninety pounds so far.’

‘You can do it, tesoro,’ he says, caressing my left cheek. His gaze moves towards the laptop. ‘Have you been working on your novel today?’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve been trying, let’s say. But I’m lost you know. The editing’s not working. I’m thinking to rewrite the whole thing in chronological order. It’d be much cleaner. But it’d be so much work too. Not sure I can do it.’

The first page of the manuscript faces me. The Eye Society, by Brooxy Moon, it reads. Brooxy Moon is my pseudonym. The persona I created so that I’d feel more confident about my writing. The alter ego that would help me take the distance from my small reality and boost my self-esteem. Spoiler alert. It didn’t work. I’ve kept feeling like a fraud. Despite the pseudonym. Now though, something has changed. I am not saying that I no longer think I am a fraud. If anything, that feeling is stronger now than it has even been. But I’m tired of it. I am tired of letting it rule my life.

‘Listen to me, babe,’ ‘you go to school, mentor those kids, tell them they can do whatever they want as long as they put some effort into it, and then you go back home, sit at your desk and tell yourself you’re not good enough to do the work? This makes no sense, and you know it. Am I right, Brooxy Moon?’ Johnny says with a little smirk on his face.

It feels weird when he calls me like that. Sometimes I don’t even know if I wanna go by that name. I am not sure I recognise myself in it. But at the same time, I like it and I don’t wanna get rid of it. Brooxy Moon.  Moon, like that tattoo on my right ankle that wasn’t even supposed to be there. I got it when I was eighteen. My first tattoo. I went to the studio with the idea of getting a sun, but when the tattoo artist drew that for me, I realised I didn’t like it. it was too big for that spot. But I didn’t want it anywhere else. It had to be on my right ankle for some reason. So, I picked a different design at the very last minute because no way I was going back home still ink virgin. Eventually, I went for that sleepy half-moon. It’s still in good conditions, considering that it was done sixteen years ago. It seems yesterday, gosh. How can it be so long? Anyway, sometimes I think that my story was already written. I was meant to get that moon on my skin so that one day it would inspire me when I had to pick my pen name. If I put it that way, I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be.

‘You’re right, amore. I just need to put some effort into it,’ I say.

©Brooxy Moon

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