Hollow Smiles
Hollow smiles. Nervous, hollow smiles.
"Oh, that's nice dear. So, when are you going to get a job?"
She puts in seventy hours each week...easy. Time spent thinking, bending and molding words until they reach the pitch of perfection. Time spent reading, conversing and networking. Time spent on contests, querying and pitching. Time spent on revising, revising and revising. Time spent on obtaining an agent. Time spent on trying to succeed.
Hollow smiles come from the well intentioned. They think it's nice that she has a hobby. It's nice to be dedicated, though they're not really sure to what. It's nice to keep busy since she got laid off from her job.
The hollow smiles hurt her. Why can't they understand she asks. And then she wonders, am I doing the right thing? Can I really make a living writing? Should I just get a job like everyone wants me to do? Maybe my stuff is not good enough.
He says no. No, with conviction. He believes in her. After a round of hollow smiles, he comforts her. He tells her she has what it takes. He tells her that her stories are strong, her dialog flows and her descriptive language is refreshingly :-) adverb-free. He has never doubted. Not once. He sees the two of them one day sitting on the porch of their cabin in Maine. He sees her smile. He sees peace in her heart.
Not all radiate hollow smiles. Some effuse spirit-filled smiles of belief. He hopes that those who matter most to her will one day be filled with the spirit of belief. He hopes it comes before she breaks out, because it would mean that much more to her. Until then he will hold her hand, hold her heart and hold open that cabin door.

