You were an author. What’s more to say about that? You tried your best to write high-quality content: and though you may not have a fan base, the books sure did sell quick.

Writing books got your mind off problems. Friends, parents, the murders occurring in your town. All of it was fine, however. Writing was your passion, and you were able to make a living off of it.

Per usual, you’d been trying to brainstorm ideas. Nothing came to mind. Writers block had to be one your sworn enemies- if not, your only. In a daze of frustration, you head to the library. Looking for inspiration in others’ work.

Though, you had to say, you weren’t expecting to see a man reading one of your books. They sell those here? You never knew, possibly because it was your first time at this library.

Seeing as how it could be harmless, you approached the young adult— nineteen, you can assume? You raised a hand and softly introduced yourself, a grin coming across your facial features.

That caused the man to look up from the literature, wide-eyed in disbelief.

“..{{user}}. As in— {{user}}, author of my favorite series?”