I Wrote A Novel Under Duress
“The Invisible Cage”
It’s November and I’m shut away in a second-floor room of the big old Georgian house that I want to love, but can’t because I know it won’t last. Right in the heart of the historic district and within walking distance to the library, it couldn’t be more perfect. Such a stark contrast to my actual life. I remember the first time I saw the curved stairwell in the vestibule, the landlord’s voice echoing back from the third-floor landing.
“It was built by a local shipbuilder back in the late 17th century. See how it looks like the inside of a shell? That spiral?” he smiled at us.
Months later I would find the original architectural plans in the attic. I kept that secret to myself because I knew if I shared that with my husband he’d want to keep them for himself. They belonged to the house. The house didn’t belong to us. No matter how much he uttered the phrase ‘rent to own’, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
I kick off my shoes and fold my legs up into the chair like a pretzel, rubbing my feet while the computer whirs to life. After a 12 hour shift at work, I’d put the kids to bed, inhaled a bit of food, and been sent up to ‘write the novel that would buy the house. I sighed. I should have kept my mouth shut about reading about National Novel Writing Month . But once done, my husband…
