Not Noor here!
My name is Meredith Miller, a self-published author from the Association of Merry Makers, for which I write free books of short stories like Hotel Hart. My life goal is to get sponsored as an author by Pizza Hut.
As someone who writes stories, a big question that comes up in my head is, “Why do people read?”
There are a bunch of reasons. Who hasn’t had a bad day and curled up with a good fantasy, or tried to solve the guess the killer in a mystery novel, or even felt the thrill of Pennywise giggling behind them?
But I think there’s something more important than these. To me, reading can be summarized in a quote from Atticus Finch, a good ol’ southern lawyer in To Kill a Mockingbird.
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
There it is. That’s what it is. People care, people love, people want to understand others. To me, a novel is empathy put on paper, a way to understand yourself and others. And that is what I base my writing on, friends. I don’t know many of you, but I like to think of my stories as a hug.
I hope that if you feel like one of my characters is like you, they’re happy. If you feel personified by a sad, hurt character, I hope my stories offer hope and healing.
Did you know that in medicine, it seems that wounds that hurt while you heal tend to leave fewer scars? It’s something to do with the life in the wounded area. The pain means that the nerves afflicted with, say, a cut, are still alive and well, which means that the area is alive as well. Because of this, the cut will heal better. Pain is an indicator that we still feel, still live.
I’m sorry, I ramble. I’m glad you read this and I leave you with a short excerpt from Hotel Hart. I hope that you empathize with my work from far away. If you feel like this relates to a wound of yours, I apologize and hope the healing doesn’t hurt too much.
Thank you. I love you
“When you were trying, I was there to help. Being a tour guide doesn’t do much for money, but I helped a little. I was supporting and if there was any believing to be done, I was good at that too.
“And now you’re making it. It’s so incredible, and it’s scary because I’m just a poor tour guide.”
His stomach tugged because he felt like he was weighing a genius down.
“I can’t make the money that you’ll be making. Just this honeymoon stretched me like a rubber band. And you’ll have thousands of fans and critics.”
“And one husband.”
“Sure. It’s just… I can’t explain. You know when there’s a peach and you’re trying to cut it but it’s too ripe, so you try as hard as you can not to squeeze it to mush? That’s how my heart feels right now.”
He fiddled a little with the band of his old watch. “It feels like my life has led up to me being here for you and helping you become the amazing artist you are. I made the money so you could focus on the craft, telling you it was possible; loving you. And now you’ve reached your goal. I can’t help anymore. It’s so empty.”
“I’ll always need you. And by the way? As long as you care about me, I never need to design another dress ever again.”
“But… you said that designing was like breathing to you.”
“It is. But I love you.”
“I love you too. And I’m proud of you. I’m happy being the artist’s husband. As long as I’m not holding you down. I could be an eventual stay-at-home-dad.”
“You’re not just that. You’re my muse.”