There were just too many things not on his mind at the moment. Mentally he was strained, physically he was ready to take on the world. So why was it that nothing came to mind? Was it always this difficult to write something? His last novel took him a year of planning before he wrote everything, sent out the draft for editing then fixed what was needed. The entire process made his days fly by and now, he was staring at the night sky through a window in his study.

Usually, calm nights like these helped him out, but tonight was not such a night. Feeling tired of trying to come up with a new concept for his next saga, he opened his email. People always sent him messages, and a lot of them were from his editor asking about his next project. No rush his editor said, but every week he got the same message. Spam and ads were a constant, he wished they would stop. 'Oh, what is this?' 

It was a link to a pdf file which was not strange. No, the odd part was the sender and title of the email. 'Who? Did I meet anyone with that name? No, I think I'd recall if I did.' He rubbed his chin as he thought it over. The name was interesting and although it went against his better judgment he downloaded the file. 'Might as well check it out.' 

'Holy shit, 236 pages? I mean, I guess I can read the first chapter.' Whoever sent him this was someone he didn't know. It couldn't have been a fan, they never sent him emails. The only mail he got from his fans was fan mail that went to his PO box. He wasn't even that famous and the genre he invested so heavily into did not have as many readers as the more popular fantasy genre. He could only sigh at that reminder.

It was unusual for him to even check out another person's story, especially one that was sent to him by a stranger. More than that, he rarely read anything from people that weren't published. Amateur works had a lot of good ideas and concepts, but the delivery was bad. It takes a lot of time to learn the dos and donts of storytelling. Most of the new writers failed because they never grasped the concept of keeping their stories interesting. Always having something up their sleeve to keep the story from feeling dry. With them, it was either too much go go go, and not enough stop and explore. Meaning they had too much pointless action that did nothing for the story at all.

How was a story supposed to be interesting when every two chapters the main character got into a fight? It's why he stopped reading the majority of foreign books, such as Chinese and Korean. Entertaining, yes. However, a person could only digest so much of the same content before they get bored. Even many of their established authors used 'filler' characters to drive the main character forward. A person in the tale that's only meant to be humiliated, defeated, or jealous of the main character. This leads to a whole scene where the characters get into it, and more filler characters appear. The conflicts are resolved in a moderate time, but it takes away from the main plot.

As for the older authors that are still amateurs, they were a lost cause. Many of them gave up a long time ago on trying to create something that has quality. Instead, they picked up a lot of bad habits from their early days and never improved. Some, not all are better at keeping their work entertaining, but only at the beginning to the midpoint. Then it drops off and fails to pick back up, or goes on a steady decline.

That's why he rarely read anyone's work that has not published at least one novel in their lifetime. The only time he did read them was to get new ideas going in his head, but he felt that he was not at that point yet. Yes, he was stuck, but not desperate. There were many established authors that just released the next part in their series. He hasn't picked up the new edition yet, but he will. After that, if he still doesn't have any inspiration then he would go find something to read.

Unless you count now. His eyes never left the screen for a moment. 'This is pretty good. Lot of setup within the introduction chapter, wonder how they will expand on it.' The intro to anything had to catch a person's eye in order for them to want to read it. Any aspiring author or writer knew this. Everyone could create a captivating first sentence, but it was another thing entirely to have the very first chapter keep you engaged wondering what's going to happen next.

'It's good to know they established a goal before the chapter ended. The world-building seems solid so far from the way they showcased how the young boy was being treated. A lesser species, nothing revolutionary in this genre but still good to see more show, less tell. I guess this will take, ten chapters before they escape this dilemma. After that, they should come up with some crazy plan to save Earth. That's how I'd do it.' There were just so many good things to say about the opening. It was better than some of the works he wrote so he had to give the creator props. He was interested to see what would happen next, but he felt that like all other amateurs, he'd be disappointed.

"Bullocks! What the-" He quickly shook his head and shut up. The story needed some polishing, sure. However, it was good, very good. This was not the work of an amateur, he could tell that after the first five chapters. Whoever wrote this knew what they were doing and kept him on the edge of his seat. Literally. He had to adjust himself accordingly once he realized just how far he moved closer to his screen.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" His wife asked him from his study. She rarely disturbed him when he was working, but she must have heard him shout and come to check on him. Who knew how long she's been standing there for. He didn't really care at the moment because he was focused on finding out which one of these characters murdered the doctor. It wasn't even the main focus right now, but he had a gut feeling it would come back to bite them in the ass later if they didn't find the culprit. Everyone was in full panic mode once news got to them about their situation. Only one or two would survive while the rest would be killed. That by itself got the captives riled up and instantly everyone had a motive to kill the person next to them.

Who in gods name would want to be a prisoner to some alien on a world who knows how many light hours, days, or even years away from the planet you called home? No one! But, it was either that or die. The thing was no one wanted to die. It was better to stay a prisoner here and be treated as a slave than killed because your life meant nothing.

With a small but detailed cast of characters each coming from a different walk of life, it was hard to say who was playing the long game, and who was truly invested in trying to escape. Except escape seemed hopeless when they were underfed, under gunned, and had only a small layout of where they were currently. Truly an impossible situation, and he wanted to see how they would find a way out, or if they would. It was still fifty-fifty either way at this point.

"Huh? Oh, what time is it?" He shouldn't have checked the time. 'It's already past twelve? Damn, have I really been reading for two hours?' 

His wife nodded her head as she spotted him checking the time. "Yeah, it's that late. Are you caught up writing? I didn't hear you typing, and when I stood here for two minutes you were just staring at the screen. I thought you were asleep with your eyes open until you said something."

"Oh, ugh," He paused as he tried to find something to say. Was she actually there for two minutes? She had to be pulling his leg. "I was actually reading."

"On your computer?"

"Yeah, I know. Not a hardcover so it's not a true novel. I said it, so no need to repeat it back to me." He already knew what his wife was going to say so he got ahead of the curve. "I only planned to read the first chapter or two, but guess it got the better of me."

"It?"

Pointing towards the computer he nodded. "The novel. It sucked me in and wouldn't let go."

"Something one of your peers sent?"

He shook his head at that. He wished it was from someone he was in contact with. He'd buy them a beer and drill them for answers on where they came up with this crazy idea. The main character was so plain that he got overshadowed by a lot of the other characters at times. It was only when he said something unique due to his specialization that made him stand in the spotlight. However, with the way, the character talked that was not a lot. He was an observer, a silent one at that. The story was told from his perspective recounting events as best he could from the tone portrayed in the novel. Slowly they were getting more backstory about him, but with their main source coming from his prime suspect he truly wondered how it would play out.

"No, this is something else. I have so many new ideas rushing through my head at this moment that I haven't written any of them down. With every chapter something happens that makes me go what the fuck, because I never thought of doing that. However..." He gazed at the computer again.

His wife didn't say anything, she just looked at him waiting for him to continue.

"I don't understand. The content and page count do not add up. I'm almost finished, but either they all die or more of the story is missing."

"Well, you can figure that out tomorrow, or tonight. Whatever you decide, I guess I'll find out in the morning."

He smiled but said nothing. It would be such a pain to leave off right here, but he also knew he had to get some rest tonight. Hopefully, his worries would be solved tomorrow.

Conan looked up at his father who was putting on his best smile while doing a one-over on his outfit to make sure it was nice and tidy. He had to look sharp because his mother was stunning. Her belly wasn't poking out yet, it was too early for that and she was taking full advantage too. The white sundress she wore was elegant and allowed her shoulders to show. With her sun hat, she looked ready for a hot day. Except, it was cool tonight.

"Must I be here?" He asked.

"Yes, unless you'd rather spend the night over at your aunt's house," his mother replied to him.

"Besides, this will be a good experience for you." His father said before he seemed to think of something as he muttered, "Hopefully." Then he shook his head slightly as he remembered who he was talking to. This was Conan after all. "You stay inside too much, it's time for you to make friends outside of the family."

"I'd rather not. Do you honestly think anyone my age will understand me?" Conan asked his father. Both of them knew the answer to that question. However, since Conan refused to take tests to enter an advanced program he would be stuck with people his own age or close to it. Meaning eventually he'd have to deal with more children that were 'normal' whatever that was considered.

"That's not the point. Being couped up is bad for your health, the least you can do is go outside everyone once in a while to play. Besides, don't forget you owe me for sending over your draft to that author whose work you liked." James wished he could tell his son how hard it was to find his email. Then find the time to rewrite his son's work on his computer into a file that could be sent. He was already busy with work, so it took him a lot of time. And if truth be told, he never fully copied his son's work. Only a partial amount, because it was too goddamn long. He was too old for all that typing, and after one hour his fingers started to cramp up.

Conan wanted to groan so bad right now. It felt as if he was trading away part of his soul to get a small amount of praise from someone he didn't even know. The very thought of an established author that had many fans reading his work and enjoying it so much he would ask for his autograph. Yeah, Conan couldn't wait for that day to come. Especially when Peter realized the novel was written by a five-year-old kid. The look on his face would be worth it all in Conan's book.

While that was the primary reason he was attending this get-together with their new neighbors, it was not his only reason. His top priority should be to do this for his parents to ease their worries for him, but it wasn't. It was number two. Number three should be his forever one because it was a constant reminder of how bad he was at communicating with other people that weren't related to him. Or had years of interactions with him. That reason was to increase his social skills. And although these neighbors of theirs had twin daughters, he doubted some children his age would ever be able to hold a conversation with him.

A good example would be Melissa. She gets bored talking to him and wonders off to bug his parents to play with her sometimes.