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“I wish Owen would stop babbling so that I could actually talk to you for five minutes,” Liam
muttered. “You’re such an interesting person.”
“Me?” I ask in confusion. “I’m just your average hermit writer.”
“Exactly,” he says. I hear a smile in his voice. “I don’t know too many of those. You’re part of a
very rare species.”
I look down to hide my embarrassment. I can feel him staring at me; the tension is beginning
to grow thick in our small quarters. He is sitting very close to me, even if we are separated by the back
of his seat. When Owen was in the car with us, the atmosphere was light and funny. But now, it’s dark
and intense; it’s laced with something I don’t understand and don’t want to discover. I try to think of
something to say to take his focus away from me and my life. “It’s just a job,” I say dumbly.
He scoffs. “Just a job? Helen, I work with other doctors every day. We heal people, and it should
be glamorous; we should feel like heroes. But in truth, it gets… mechanical. At some point, you start
to question how important your work really is. I mean, you can heal a person’s body… but that doesn’t
really heal the person. We aren’t just bodies, you know? That’s where your books come into play.” He
pauses, and I can feel him giving me an earnest look. “Books are medicine for the soul. They heal the
eternal parts of a person.”
“Liam,” I say in surprise.
“You are a doctor of sorts, too,” he tells me, “except for the fact that your work persists. If a
person reads a good book—they become permanently changed. They can’t even help it. They can’t
unlearn what they’ve learned. It will always be with them. Our bodies all crumble and fade, and we’ll
all eventually lose our eyesight near the end, along with many other basic bodily functions. But I like to
think that even when we’re gone, the soul retains some of that wisdom—some of that feeling. What I do
is simple science, but what you do is… magic.”
“Stop talking,” I whisper. “Seriously, stop talking right now.”
“Why?” he says, somewhat hurt at the interruption.
“Because I’m pretty sure that if you keep talking like this… I’ll have to marry you, or something,”
I explain nervously. “So just zip it.”
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Just out of curiosity,
i know authors write because they enjoy it and it is their passion, but also they have to do something for a living, so out of curiosity how many copies in average does a book sell at the amazon store, or anywhere else?? i’m sure it is allot of hard work and probably it would take a year or so to complete writing a book not to mention it is very expensive to publish it after that, so is it worth it ?? money wise ?
i’m sure doing what you love is completely worth it on the Happiness and achieving life goals.
thanks for the insights and Best wishes for you and for Loretta.