LOST IN THE STORY

I sat at my desk, speechless. My coffee had gone cold in the hours I spent staring at my computer, the email highlighting best seller. I couldn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the laptop as the glow from the screen radiated throughout the room. My chest coiled as I repeatedly re-read the email.

As a New York Times best-selling author, one would think that I had my life together and figured out by now. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. My debut novel, The Twelve Faces of the Zodiac, became a bestseller in a two-month period. Having a book on the bestseller’s list would be any sane author’s dream. I find it exceptionally overwhelming on several different fronts.

The scrutiny, the cavernous stares of the public eye, the agony of building a brand – everything about it is exhausting. I have no experience in marketing, promotion, or praising my work. It’s quite difficult for me to promote myself. It’s grueling for me to speak eloquently about my work; to try to be a positive light in this dark world. I wasn’t ready for this. I’m not ready for this. This is my first best-selling novel – my debut, nonetheless.

I had everything I’d ever dreamed of which precisely was the problem. Every ounce of achievement added another layer of responsibility, another voice asking for more, until the joy of writing felt buried beneath the noise of being seen. The room closed in, not from fear, but from the weight of a life that no longer belonged entirely to me.

As a young girl, I longed for the craft; to be able to create my own world and live vicariously through my main characters; to be able to create my own tale with its own twists and turns. My father saw my potential. He saw the determined effort I made. I remember sitting at his bedside in his final days of battling pancreatic cancer, he pleaded “Aria,” he wheezed weakly, “please pursue becoming a published author. You can be a bestselling author. I know it.” He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. I would do anything for the man.

Damn, how I wish I could go back in time. I wish one day to get away from the critics and the constant fear that I was going to let someone down. I wish one day; to transport to a world where none of this even mattered. I want to go somewhere where I could be whatever I wanted; whoever I wanted. I don’t want the worries or strife of being a successful author.

At this moment in time, I wanted more than anything to be anyone other than Aria Stone.

Without warning, my head started to whirl with the room around me following; papers from my most recent script flying perilously around my office, pens were gliding in the air. Where was my laptop? With a crash, the room went dark.

Hours went by as I awoke in someplace where I couldn’t comprehend my surroundings. This isn’t… my office. Then where the hell am I?

I was laying in an emerald field, a towering mountainside to my right, a sparkling river to my left, having no knowledge of what just happened. I was no longer in my office. No papers flying about, no pens gliding in the air, no laptop. Nevertheless, something told me I knew this place. There was a sense of familiarity.

I knew this meadow… I knew the depths of the green that were carried throughout the mountainside. The peaks themselves were larger than any I had ever seen. There was an eminence to this mountain face, a sort of awe and admiration that it brought to all who looked upon it. I knew the crystal clear river, the one that mirrored any reflected who gazed in its transparency. The endless emerald meadow, the snow-capped mountain peaks scraping against the bluest of skies. I knew this sapphire river. It was peaceful and quiet. Nahlara. I am literally in Nahlara. I was in my book.

My auburn hair traced the back of my neck as I shook my head back and forth unable to articulate a coherent thought. I slowly stood up, wobbling at the knees. Unaware of how I got here, I glanced down at my legs. Rogues. I was wearing ethereal, flowing, deep brown rogues. My top was different than before, too. With runes on the sleeves, lacing up the bodice, my shirt was intricately stitched with some sort of cord. This brown blouse was otherworldly. I also had bovver boots covering just under the knee tracing down.

Still unable to speak, I began to hear rustling in the meadow nearby. A massive, golden skinned man with black attire came up to me with two silver swords sheathed at his back.

“You took your time. Are you ready?”

Ready for what exactly? I couldn’t even begin to accentuate the gorgeousness of this man. But something inside, my intuition maybe, told me I should follow him.

So, I did.

“You’re… you’re… Theo. Aren’t you?” I couldn’t help but stutter.

With a chuckle, he replied “in the flesh.” He walked broadly, with this renown about him that spoke warrior.

“How’d I get here? I mean, one second, I was in at home, the next I am here! In Nahlara. I just can’t believe it!” Panic set in. My heart hammered so loudly it felt audible. My thoughts were scattered, refusing to make any sense of what was going on.

“What matters most is you’re here now. It’s time for you to decide. Do you stay or do you go back to the undesirable life you’ve been living?” Theo spoke with effortless eloquence, drawing me in with every word. His voice was a canyon echo, wide and profound.

Something told me to stay. My life, for me, was disagreeable. I didn’t want fame or notoriety. I wanted a life where I could be anything I dreamt of. Not a life where I would be everything everyone else wanted me to be.

I drew in a deep, steady breath, letting it expand in my chest like a rising tide. I held it for a few heartbeats, savoring the surge of strength it brought. Then, with a firm push, I turned to Theo, chin lifted. The world seemed to bend slightly toward me, every sound sharper, every fear retreating. Standing there, I felt a spark of victory, small but undeniable, as if simply turning had shifted something deep inside me. This was proof that I needed to face whatever came next.

“I’m ready,” I declared.

“Finally, he said. “I began to wonder if this day would ever come. You’ll need this,” he said as he handed me the smaller sword.

Since then, I have never looked back.

A.N. Morrison is a novelist of fantasy, contemporary romance, and stories highlighting interpersonal struggles. She found her love of storytelling through reading The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Witcher series, as well as The Boys of Tommen. She is earning her Bachelor of Science in creative writing at Full Sail University. She is a military wife of an airman in the USAF residing in Valdosta, Georgia. She avidly watches Shark Week – mainly because she wants to be prepared should she ever come face-to-face with a shark.