The Author looked down at the pretty book, feeling desperate. 

The cover showed such promise – a smattering of blush-pink rosebuds, blooming like the new ideas contained within the pages, and the words A Novel in the middle. There was no space for a title yet, but that would usually right itself as the Story grew.

But it wasn’t a novel, because half of the pages were empty. The story – a tale of childhood adventure and family – was moving along very nicely until one day, there was a plot twist that no one (including The Author) saw coming.

Four words, (not written by the author), were all it took for the story to stop mid-sentence. 

The Author, who had put so much of herself into the creation of the story, was devastated. She felt betrayed by the one who had insisted she write it, and she swore never to write again.

Then she was given a new book. It’s cover, like the first, was a smattering of blush-pink rosebuds, blooming like the promise of fresh ideas, but on this cover, there was plenty of space for a title, and the words A Novel were set in bold print.

So The Author began writing a new story of childhood adventure and family, and as the story grew, she put even more of herself into it than she had with the first.

When the story was finished, it had filled out the inside of the book and given weight to it. Only then did The Author pick up The Novel and give her a title. 

Rose.