I stared at the blank page before me, tapping my quill against the inkwell in frustration. The characters in my head refused to settle on names, shifting and changing with each scene I imagined. My protagonist needed something strong yet sensitive—perhaps Elowen? No, too fanciful. Marianne? Too common.
With a sigh, I dipped my quill and wrote "Cordelia" at the top of the page, then immediately crossed it out. This was my third attempt today.
"What about Victoria?" I murmured to myself, testing the sound. "Victoria Blackwood."
I smiled and began to write, the scratch of my quill against parchment filling the quiet of my bedroom sanctuary. The words flowed easily now that the character had a name, and I lost myself in creating her world—a world far more exciting than my own.
"Evangeline! Are you in there, child?"
