The Art Of Showing Up Novels & Stories

It's about showing up. For people who matter. For people who chose me back. Even when it costs everything. Especially then. I close my eyes. Four hours until my alarm. Four hours to be someone who chose love over strategy. Who chose presence over preparation. Who chose, for once, to be exactly where she needed to be. Even if it means tomorrow is harder. Even if it means I'm not ready. I was there. And that's enough.

“You’ve been fully in it since you arrived. I’ve watched you. You don’t hold back. That’s rare.” Renata was very still. “I can’t afford to hold back,” she said. “No,” Anya said. “But a lot of people in your position try to hold back anyway. Because it hurts less to be partially present than fully present. You’re fully present. That matters.” A long silence. The art space held them both with its particular quality of creative permission — the smell of paint and paper, the evidence of other people’s making on every surface. “She had a drawing in her pocket,” Renata said again.

Instead, his life had become even more chaotic. On another occasion, Shelby walked into Tucker's office holding a stack of exhibition materials. She smiled brightly as she said in a sweet, almost syrupy tone, "Tucker, my new art show is coming up. This time, the venue and promotion need a serious upgrade, or it'll come across as cheap." She tossed the paperwork onto his desk. Her eyes were brimming with entitlement.

“I’m worried and you should be too.” I shook my head of the thought and continued to practice with the rest of the students. … The day of the art show arrived quickly. I wore a button-down shirt and a pair of nice work pants. I didn’t often like dressing up, but I figured this was an event I needed to dress up for. “Admit that you want to impress Sheryl you buffoon,” my wolf laughed. I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. The art gallery was packed with different people by the time I arrived. I could smell Sheryl’s scent from

“I came to be part of it—if there’s room.” She studied his face. No pressure. No entitlement. “There is room,” she said. “But not for old patterns.” “I left those behind,” he replied. “And if they ever try to come back, I expect you to call me out.” That honesty made her exhale. He reached for her hand, pausing just before touching her skin. “Is this okay?” he asked. She nodded. The contact was gentle. Grounded. No urgency. Just presence. “I’ve never been good at showing up,” he admitted. “I was taught to disappear when things felt heavy.”

She could feel the shape of it from the inside even if she could not find the words for it yet. Something like: show me the ordinary weeks and not just the significant moments. The Tuesday evenings when nothing is prompting you to pay attention. The Monday mornings when the deal is closing and the phone is going and there is no gallery and no charity event and no particular reason to look up. Show me that the man who asked what I was thinking when I made that design choice is not something you perform for the significant occasions but the thing you actually are now, in the weeks that are not significant, in the room with nobody watching.

1 WEEK LATER Ava ~~~ “Up next, please put your hands together for our incredible sponsor, CEO Ava Allard!” I startle at the roaring applause. Why am I never ready for the announcer to call my name? I’m just glad it's a woman this time, not freaking Riggs. Despite my nerves, I crack a smile. It’s been half a year since the art show that changed my life, and this moment makes me feel like nothing has changed.

“It’s always a pleasure darling, since you thought to call, I’ll share with you something that would help” “Oh miss Rachel, you’re the best, I’m all ears” I said excitedly. Rachel nodded. “First, be present. Engage with the guests, talk about your art, and let them see the passion behind your work. Second, don’t be afraid to own your space. This is your moment. Lastly, have fun. People can feel energy, and if you’re confident and excited, they will be too.” I took a deep breath, nodding. “Thank you so much miss Rachel. Now I’m certain I can do this.”

"And in circles like ours, hesitation looks like weakness. It doesn't matter what you meant to do. It matters what they saw." I stood. Moved to the side of the desk. "Then I'll be more decisive at the next one. Is that what you came here to tell me?" "I came here to tell you that you need to start showing up." She walked back toward the desk. "The Pemberton gala's next week. You need to be there. Not hiding. Not avoiding. Actually present." "I've already confirmed my attendance. Victor has it on the calendar." "Alone?" I didn't answer.

“Good morning.” She gave me a nod back, though it carried the kind of weight that meant she had something else to say. She came closer, her tablet tucked against her arm and a coffee cup in her hand. “I’ve been thinking about the upcoming showcase. We’ll need a new piece from you. Something fresh, something that speaks.” My stomach tightened. “From me?” “Yes.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in a way that was both encouraging and firm. “You’ve been here a few weeks. You’ve shown me enough sketches to know you have something inside. I want to see it. The audience wants to see it.”