I Am Much · Writers Block

I Am Much

This is chapter 1 of the novel I’m writing. I’d love feedback.

Chapter 1 – The Hollow

Mark Callahan pulled into his driveway at exactly 5:32 p.m. Not around 5:32. Not close to it.

Exactly 5:32.

Every Monday through Friday, depending on the lights three blocks back, he pulled in somewhere between 5:30 and 5:32. Today, it was 5:32.

Perfect.

The house sat quiet in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, a picture of everything he had ever imagined for himself. Three bedrooms. Three baths. Clean lines. Soft lighting. The kind of place that looked like it had never known chaos.

Vision to reality.

There was a time that phrase meant something else.

Back when he was twenty-two. Back when The Hollow still existed.

They’d caught their break at the Whisky a Go Go, filling in for a band that fell apart hours before showtime. One night. One chance. A room filled with just enough of the right people.

Mark had stepped onto that stage with a guitar slung low and a voice that sounded like it had been dragged across gravel and set on fire.

By the end of the set, they weren’t unknown anymore.

By the end of the week, Sony Music had them under contract. Four albums. Seven years. Hit after hit.

Until the night everything stopped. Shaggy died in a car wreck that should have killed all of them. Teddy never touched a guitar again. Ryan disappeared into silence.

And Mark? He survived.

He always did.

He stepped out of the car, grabbed his bag, and walked to the front door. Right on cue, like every day before it.

5:33 p.m.

“Hi, honey,” he called as he stepped inside. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

Sarah met him at the door, wrapping her arms around him like she had a thousand times before. She breathed him in. Cigarettes, worn leather, and the metallic scent of guitar strings still clung to him like a memory that refused to go away.

“Surprise,” she said, smiling up at him. “Salmon. Your favorite.” He kissed her, easy and automatic. Perfect. Upstairs, a voice broke the moment. “Hi, Daddy! I can’t wait to hear your song!”

Lilah appeared at the top of the stairs, already halfway down before the sentence finished leaving her mouth.

Mark froze. Not visibly. Not fully. But something inside him missed a beat.

He looked up at her, his brow tightening just enough to go unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know him. Sarah knew him. AA

“How’d you know about that?” he asked. “I don’t remember saying anything about a song.”

Lilah ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist, clutching her stuffed monkey in one hand.

“Oh, Daddy.” She smiled.

“The monkey told me.”

Mark smiled.

A reflex. Not a reaction.

“Silly monkeys,” he said.

She laughed and skipped away, already humming something under her breath. Something soft. Something familiar.

Too familiar.

Sarah watched him watch her go.

After twenty years, she knew his expressions the way Mark knew songs.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said.

“What thing?”

“The overthinking thing.”

Mark exhaled, his eyes still fixed on the staircase where Lilah had disappeared.

“She’s too perfect,” he said quietly. Sarah smiled, shaking her head.

“Mark…”

“I’m serious,” he continued. “She never messes up. Never pushes back. Never even tries to step out of line. It’s not normal.”

“She’s ten.”

“She’s you,” Sarah said gently. “Just without all the dramatics.” Mark almost laughed.

Almost.

Because he knew the difference.

He had spent his whole life proving he wasn’t perfect.

Lilah didn’t seem to need to.

And that…

That scared him. Footsteps echoed again as Lilah reappeared, posture straight, smile bright. “Can I hear the song, Daddy?” Mark’s stomach tightened.

The song.

He hadn’t touched it in years. Hadn’t shown it to anyone. Had barely even thought about it until he stumbled across it buried in old files.

It was unfinished. Or maybe forgotten. The last line sat there, alone.

I am Much.

He had never said those words out loud. Never shared them. Never explained them. And yet…

“Of course,” he said, forcing a lightness into his voice. “I’ll send it to your phone.”

Lilah clapped, a perfect little burst of excitement. “What’s it called?” she asked. Mark hesitated. “It doesn’t have a name,” he said. “Just labeled it ‘F.’ For fail.” Lilah tilted her head, holding her phone carefully in both hands as the file came through. “That’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ll give it one.” She smiled up at him. Then turned and skipped out of the kitchen, disappearing up the stairs again, the faint sound of humming trailing behind her.

Mark stood still. Listening. He was sure.

He had heard that melody before. He had never finished writing it.

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I Am Much