by Diana Christine
The softness of night surrounded me, crisp cotton sheets caressing my naked skin. The scent of hydrangea lingered in the air though its candle was quenched hours ago. Duran's arms held me close but it was the memory of last night that continued to embrace me. Last night was my first attendance of the Academy Awards and my work had been honored. I still could hardly believe it.
I am a writer of books. I am a writer of several books, but my latest effort had been turned into a screenplay and subsequently a successful film. He Can't Lose for Winning. Who would have thought when my first two books couldn't even find buyers that I would one day come to this?
Duran rolled me over and kissed my face. "I'm proud of you," he whispered. I smiled.
"I've been wanting to ask you," he continued. "I've been wondering what kept you inspired. What kept you going in the beginning when your work wasn't selling?"
"It was the window," I answered. "It was the view from my window. My view was dismal and grey, and I knew if I didn't keep working hard, I would be stuck with a grey view forever."