killer queen | joe mazzello

79. inspiration

it was nearing the end of may: the weather was sticky in new york city, and the breeze from the ocean barely upended the heat of the sun. the air conditioning in the house was pleasant, but it gave me a headache after a few hours of sitting in it.

i shut my book, huffing as i tossed it onto the coffee table. the dogs perked up from their positions around the living room: bianca on her bed and dunkin on the couch beside me. i glanced at the both of them, eyebrows quirked.

"you wanna go outside?"

chaos ensued.

before letting the three of us into the fenced backyard, i changed out of my pajamas and into a yellow sundress. i collected a reusable water bottle and my notebook and pen. then, i opened the back door and released the wild animals.

i scolded bianca as she tried to pee on the tree joe and i had planted when we first moved in ("something to pass through the coming generations of mazzellos!"). dunkin had chased after a squirrel and nearly jumped the fence.

all of this took place before i even had the chance to sit down.

it wasn't like my married life was that difficult, mostly lonely. i hadn't realized when i left the main part of my life behind that i'd be alone so much of the time. it was nice, being able to spend spring in my favorite city, with my two favorite animals, and my husband- when he was home. i was able to go to the beach whenever i wanted, and see as many broadway shows as i wanted, and get lunch with my brother on multiple occasions. i felt like i was living in some hazy, beautiful rom-com.

except i already had the man of my dreams.

i knew that after today, it would get better. joe had been gone so much this past spring shooting some television show he'd been offered a chance to act in. after it was finished, i'd have him all to myself.

i had many chances to work on the book i'd been talking about writing my entire life: but inspiration was rare. i was blinded by my own insecurities that i struggled to get more than three pages of words down in the past three months.

why was i insecure? imagine you had an entire fan base- 6 million, according to my instagram and twitter average- and you quit the one thing that they supported you for doing. then, switch your careers in your early 30's and attempt to make money off of the new job.

of course i wanted my books to me popular- if they ever came out. i wanted to share my creativity and talent with the world, because i knew i had it in me.

but i was so scared that people would hate what i produce or that they'd buy it just because of my name.

i'd thought about using a fake name for the entire publication of my book, but i figured i wasn't famous enough to do such a thing. perhaps if i were j.k. rowling, it would be easier.

i lounged on the swing joe had installed on the branch of a tree already standing in the corner of our massive backyard. the fence wrapped around it's backside (on the other side was many houses, but we didn't know who lived in them).

it was bare for now, except for a few patches of flowers and the few feet wide garden i had insisted on planting. in it, peppers and tomatoes were growing. until we had children and spoiled them with playsets and toy cars, this is all it would hold.

the bottoms of my feet tickled as the stretching blades of grass brushed under them. i pulled my legs up and stretched them out in front of me, propping my notebook up against my knees.

bianca came to lay on the ground beside me and i reached down to brush my fingers through her fur. i tapped my pen against my chin in thought before glancing at my watch.

12:30.

joe was in new york, of course, but in the dead center of the city. he usually got off from filming at around 6:30 and would come home at nearly 7:45.

i had too much time in my hands.

i missed him so much, i felt pathetic. i knew i was married to him and that automatically validates my missing him. but when did my life become waiting around for my husband to come home?

and that's when i began to write.