My mouse hovered over the publish button. I had checked and edited this chapter about a hundred times and I was still nervous. Is it really finished? Am I really done? After clicking "publish", I went to my story details and marked it as complete. Now it really felt official. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had just completed another fanfiction trilogy.

I leaned back in my chair and relaxed. No more writing, no more updates, no more deadlines, no more staying up past two in the morning editing. I could take a well deserved vacation from Wattpad and move on to my other hobbies. 

Only, I didn't do that.

The gears in my brain started turning. Words and thoughts and ideas floated right to the front of my brain and danced around, waiting to come to life. I groaned and lay my head on my desk. Another fanfiction was about to be written. 

And what else could I possibly write about other than my favorite band AC/DC?

I know, writing about real people seems a little odd. That's what I thought when I first started and I still think that now. But as long as lines are drawn and I stick to being as respectful as possible, I don't lose sleep over it. 

I scrolled down my list of stories and winced at the growing pile of unfinished works. Plots I had dreamed up and wrote down but never finished, probably disappointing loyal readers. A good amount of them were finished and even more so were not. Just an endless list of broken promises and wasted potential. But if I hadn't snagged that plot, someone else might have! I scrolled back up to the top and clicked "New Story". 

What kind of bandfic trope was popular among the classic rock fandom?

Time travel. Of course. 

What better fantasy than to go back in time and meet your favorite band when they were all young and available? But of course this had to be realistic. Chances are they wouldn't all trip over themselves to accommodate you, but rather be polite and treat you like a respected fan. 

But I didn't consider myself just a fan.

I was a groupie. 

A lousy groupie.

I didn't do much for bands on social media as I didn't have any social media. I couldn't follow bands on the road due to my motion sickness and financial situation. The only thing I could do was buy their records and talk positive about them through word of mouth. Maybe that was enough?

Oh, and write so-so fanfictions. 

After selecting a photo from my camera roll and setting it as my cover, I began to write. Only...what could I write? 

I wasn't new to writing self inserts. Most of my catalog consisted of those kinds of stories. They started off my worst examples of writing and I slowly got better over the years of writing in first person. Third person was always easier for me, but those stories ended up being extra challenging to maintain. 

But what could I do to make this one more interesting? 

My other stories had some basis in real life one way or another. Minor experiences found their way in my writing, that way I always had something to write about. I thrived on accuracy. Resting my head in my hand, I sighed.

You know what you need, Hannah Ruth? Real life experience.

Of course that was wishful thinking. Time travel wasn't possible and why on earth would God or the Universe or whatever send me to the 1970's to see my favorite band? There was just no point. So I could scrap that idea.

But...I adored time travel stories...and the only one in my works was...in the nicest way possible....a shit stain on my history. I wanted to fix that. I wanted to write a much better one that showed just how much I had improved over the years as a writer and storyteller. There wasn't anyone to prove myself to and yet...I wanted to prove it to myself. 

Then....how do I start?

I played around with a few opening lines such as..."Where am I?" and..."Who are you?" But none of those seemed good enough. What were the chances of the band being the first people I met on my travels? Anything I did in my first trilogy I wanted to improve upon. So that meant a new beginning. 

How does one travel through time? 

Waking up somewhere was a good idea. But I already used that one. A time machine? A device? Good ideas, but I was the worst at writing science fiction stories. A DeLorean was promising....but it had been done before. And much better. Eugh, why was this so complicated? I almost slammed my hands down on my keyboard and used whatever gibberish came out of it. Surely anything would be better than my brain fog. 

I needed a break. I had just finished a long self insert story three books long. I could stand to walk away from the computer and come back later. 

I decided to do exactly that.

**********

I threw my leather jacket off my shoulders and watched it land on the deck. I was sweating bullets under it as I worked outside, hoping the physical labor would spark an idea within me. Nothing came to mind except maybe a glass of ice cold water. My necklace reflected the sun and hurt my eyes. It was just a simple necklace engraved with the words,

If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible for you. 

Then why was writing a simple fanfic so damn hard? I hadn't even written anything and I was already plagued by writer's block. Using the hose to wash off my muddy hands I hauled my jacket over my shoulder and went back inside to stand in front of the fan. One glass of lemon water later and I returned to my desk. 

What if she fell and hit her head? Waking up in the seventies? Or the eighties? Or even the nineties? Not enough stories about this band take place in the nineties. Imagine the possibilities with The Razor's Edge...or Ballbreaker...

I didn't want my character to sustain an injury like that. Not a bad idea, but not what I wanted for my story. Theoretically, it was possible to travel in time if one were to move faster than the speed of light, but they could only move forward in time, not backward. 

I got a bit chilly sitting there without my jacket and I slipped it back over my shoulders. The white screen stared back at me, taunting me. Pursing my lips I started writing down bullet points for my ideas. There were plenty of those for the middle of my story and I wanted to write them down before I forgot. 

A cold breeze blew my hair around and I stood up to turn the fan off. And I froze where I stood when I realized I didn't have a fan anywhere near me. The window wasn't open either. Deciding the heat must have gotten to my head along with this writing thing, I shrugged it off and kept pouring my ideas out onto the page. 

"She'll obviously meet the band somewhere along the line, but where? In the street? At a bus stop?" I tapped my fingers on my desk in thought. 

What was the ultimate dream? Meeting your favorite band backstage. Of course! That's where the groupies like me congregate. But how would she get there?

Right then the door slammed open and a wild breeze came in, rustling every piece of paper in a five foot radius of me. "Fuck!" I swore, attempting to clean everything up. My already wild brown hair blew in my face and I could hardly see what I was doing. Everything around me was tossed about and thrown around. My dream catcher swung viciously from its place on my corkboard and threatened to fly away. Books toppled off my shelves and I hurried to save each one. Whatever tornado this was that appeared in my home was ruining everything I loved. My stuffed animal shelf broke off the wall and I ran to catch my beloved plushies. On the way over I stepped on something sharp and hissed. "Now fucking what?" Brushing some hair away I could see I stepped on my ace pride pin that had fallen from my dresser to the floor. I scooped it up and threw it in a drawer before catching my stuffed panda. The wind was too much and I dropped to my knees in a panic. 

So this is how I die, I thought. A mysterious wind rips my house apart before killing me. 

I crouched on the floor and kept my head under my arms. We didn't have tornado drills in school but I wondered if they were similar to our earthquake drills. With no time to think I held in place and waited for the winds to stop. 

**********

Calm.

Nothing but calm. 

I opened my eyes expecting to see Jesus Christ Himself. Thinking I had died I felt around my body for any physical damage. There appeared to be none so I pinched myself.

And it really hurt. 

Okay, so I wasn't dead. I blinked as I took in my surroundings. It was dark and a bit chilly. I was in denim shorts and a white crop top with only my leather jacket to warm me up. I was glad I didn't take my sneakers off from being outside so I at least had protective footwear. An awful smell put me in a choke hold and I covered my nose when I saw the huge dumpster next to me. God only knew what was in that thing. 

There seemed to be a street leading me out of the alleyway I was in and I hurried to see what was out there. The only thing that came to mind upon seeing what I did was,

"Where am I?"