How to Write a Novel in 7 Days [PREVIEW]

Lesson 2 - How to Make the Worst Deal of Your Life

 A new day soon begins. I get up from my bed, not at all feeling well after a sleepless night. I drag my feet and enter the bathroom. The mirror reflects my horrible appearance—tired eyes, messy hair, traces of make-up from last night's party. All these, plus my growing listless feeling, are the perfect signs of a bad day. Sigh. As if there could be anything worse than receiving your seventh rejection.

I go along my usual morning rituals. I put on a simple white blouse and a pair of jeans, ready to head out. Aya's picking me up at around 9 to hang out. She always has to drive us, what with me being unable and unwilling to take up driving lessons. I just have to wait for her to arrive. Though I woke up late, I figure I still have enough time to eat, so I head downstairs for a quick breakfast. Dad and Mom are still seated, both enjoying their coffee. I take my own seat and help myself to the jam and toast on the table. The silence surrounding us is too good to be true. I know that it won't last long. After just a while more, Mom proves me right.

"Did you get the reply from Liberia, dear?" she asks.

I take a bite of toast and sigh. "Opo."

"And what did they say?"

Momentary silence takes over as both my parents turn to me, waiting for an answer. I'm aware that it's kind of useless trying to stall. One way or another, they're going to get me to speak.

"They said no," I say as calmly as I can.

I hear something that sounds like a snort from Dad. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And if I recall correctly, this is the sixth time you've received a rejection?"

"The seventh, Dad."

"Hmm?"

"It's the seventh time I've received a rejection, Dad."

"Ah. I see." Dad takes a sip of coffee and places his cup down on the table.

I don't know if Dad's aware of what he's doing. But whether he means to do it or not, he's certainly succeeding in provoking me. Anger begins swelling up inside me. It is a detestable feeling. I hate myself for being so easily swayed. I bite my lip to keep myself from bursting into shouts. No matter what, I can't talk back to my dad. That won't do me any good. Rather, it'll further diminish my chances of ever having my dream of being a writer come true.

Mom surprises me with what she says next. "Don't you think you should consider your other options, dear?"

"Huh? What do you mean, Mom?" I ask, looking up at her. What she meant is clear enough, but I can't get myself to believe it. She is not saying this. She is not.

"Wouldn't it be better if you just went after a new goal?"

"Mom, it took some of the best authors I know months and even years before they scored publishing deals. We agreed on only a year, but that's fine. I'm trying to make do with it. I still have plenty of time left..."

"That's true, but maybe writing isn't for you, dear. Maybe you should..."

"Writing isn't for me? How can you say that, Mom? How can you, when you haven't even tried to read any of my work?" My voice shakes as I speak. I am desperately trying to keep it down, but I know that I'm failing. The anger in me is slowly turning into rage, and rage can be very uncontrollable.

"Anak..."

"I know you want me to take up Law. That can't be any clearer than it already is. But is it really too much for you to consider what I want? What I want to be? What I want to do with my life?"