Chapter 10: What I plan to write
I made my way back to my trailer. It wasn't anything extravagant—definitely not the kind of luxury space you'd see featured in some behind-the-scenes celebrity tour.
This was 2010, after all, and I was still early in my acting career. The trailer reflected that. It was functional, modest, and just comfortable enough to get through long days.
The inside was about the size of a small bedroom. There was a basic pull-out couch on one end, a narrow desk under a small window, and a set of built-in drawers beside a compact wardrobe.
The lighting was warm but dim, casting a yellowish hue over everything. A coffee maker sat next to a stack of scripts and a few unopened water bottles on the counter space. A small television was bolted to the wall, though I rarely used it.
The air conditioner hummed faintly, doing just enough to make the space breathable.
My laptop was sitting on the desk. Still open, but dark. It had shut off sometime earlier. I reached for the power button and pressed it, then leaned back as the machine took its time waking up. It reminded me just how slow technology felt in this timeline.
It wasn't even a bad model for 2012 standards, but compared to what I was used to, it might as well have been a fossil.
I couldn't help but chuckle a little. This must have been what the Reverse Flash felt like—trapped in a time period far behind the one he came from. But unlike him, I didn't have a burning desire to return to the future.
Sure, I missed my family and friends. That much was unavoidable. I often wondered what they were doing, how they were coping, and if they ever questioned where I had gone. But in truth, I had lost connection with them well before I ever arrived here.
In the few weeks I had spent in this world, I had built stronger bonds with the people around me than I had maintained in the years leading up to my disappearance.
Sam had quickly become a constant. A quiet sort of anchor. And the cast? Despite only knowing them for a handful of days, I felt more seen, more grounded among them than I had in boardrooms and legal chambers.
Or maybe just my acting scenes doing the talking.
The only people I missed with real weight were my parents. I hoped the savings I left behind had helped them find some peace, maybe even some comfort in my absence.
But I knew there was nothing more I could do now. Dwelling on it would only pull me into that familiar spiral of regret and helplessness.
I had learned, through the constant grind of corporate life, that adversity wasn't an exception. It was a constant. And the only way forward was through.
So I stayed busy. And lately, that meant writing.
The advanced writing skill I had unlocked through the system had reshaped the way I approached storytelling.
I had always been capable with words. As a lawyer, writing clearly and convincingly had been a core part of the job.
But this was different. This wasn't about clarity or persuasion. It was about rhythm.
It was about building something people wanted to return to.
I knew I wasn't writing at the level of the greats—not J.K. Rowling, not Tolkien, not even the bestselling authors of this era. But I was confident that my work was clean, engaging, and publishable.
Solid mid-tier fiction. Good enough to sell books, to build a name, maybe even enough to catch attention if it found the right audience.
Still, I didn't feel drawn to write traditional novels. I didn't want to chase agents, printing costs, or shelf space.
What drew me in was something faster, more organic.
Web novels.
For the past few days, I had been drafting chapters in between shoots, slowly carving out the world of a new series I wanted to share online.
Web novels had always fascinated me—the way they built community, the feedback loops with readers, the serialized nature that kept people coming back.
And in thinking about the kind of story I wanted to tell, one title kept resurfacing in my mind.
Lord of the Mysteries.
One of the most famous web novels of all times, and I was going to bring it into the world way earlier.
Sorry cuttlefish, I am about to steal your baby.
Sure, there wasn't any immediate way for me to upload my web novel now, not without the right setup or platform access, but that didn't mean I couldn't prepare. There was nothing stopping me from stockpiling chapters ahead of time.
And honestly, I enjoyed the process. Writing came easily now. I remembered more than I expected—the entire structure and progression of Lord of the Mysteries had returned to me with remarkable clarity.
It almost felt like the system's writing enhancement had done more than improve my sentence flow or pacing. It might have improved my recall too.
Memories that I thought had faded after years spent neck-deep in legal briefs and boardroom meetings were now coming back with detail.
Of course, there was also the chance that being in a younger body, with a fresher, faster brain, was helping too. Either way, it felt like unlocking a long-forgotten part of myself.
And I wasn't stopping with Lord of the Mysteries. Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint and Shadow Slave were both on my mind.
Shadow Slave, especially, was one I held close.
Still, that one needed time. A higher writing level. I wasn't going to do it a disservice by rushing it. It deserved more from me, and I planned to give it just that.
So for now, I focused on what I could manage. I spent the next hour, maybe two, typing and planning.
It wasn't all actual writing—a lot of it was outlining ideas, mapping character arcs, and structuring the heavy foreshadowing that Lord of the Mysteries was known for. I didn't want to mess up something so intricate.
Not when I had the chance to get it right from the start.
Eventually, I leaned back, taking a breath. I had calmed down. The noise from the earlier shoot had faded in my mind, and I felt more like myself again—Jace, not Scott.
That mattered, especially with tonight's scene looming. The wolf bite scene. It was going to be intense.
Running through dark woods, being hunted, terrified—that sort of scene took a lot out of you, even when you knew it was just pretend.
And I was going to be actually going through it.
Just as I was shutting the laptop lid, I heard a knock at the trailer door.
"Who is it?" I asked.
No reply. But I already knew.
I opened the door.
"What do you want, Dylan?"
Dylan O'Brien stood there, grinning. He walked in casually, without waiting for an invite.
"What you doing?" he asked, his tone full of energy.
"Finished your shoots?" I asked, glancing back toward my laptop.
"Done with the ones without you in them for the day, just one left."
We'd gotten close over the last few days. Dylan had a way of pulling people in—his outgoing personality and easy sense of humor made it hard not to like him.
He pointed at my screen. "What are you writing?"
I didn't see a reason to keep it private. "Figured I'd do something with my free time. I'm writing a book."
"A book, huh? Like Harry Potter?"
I looked at him, a bit amused. "You read?"
He smirked. "Just because I look like an idiot doesn't mean I am one."
I chuckled. "It's not like Harry Potter. Not really a series in volumes. It's something called a web novel—kind of like a book, but published chapter by chapter online."
He seemed genuinely interested. "Send me some chapters when you're done. I want to read it."
"Sure," I replied.
There was a short pause before he added, "By the way… do you like Crystal?"
I blinked, caught slightly off guard. "No. I mean… why? Does it seem like it?"
He shrugged. "Not really. You've just been acting kind of weird around her. I was just curious."
He wasn't prying. Just asking in the way guys do sometimes.
I decided to be honest.
"Nah. I just think she's really hot," I said. Easiest way to play it off...and technically I was not lying.
My goat Sunless would be proud.
He grinned. "True that."
He turned toward the door. "Anyway, the director's calling you for your shot. I guess we both gotta head out."
I nodded. "Alright, let's go."
And with that, we stepped out of the trailer together.
It was nightfall by the time we arrived at the forest set. A blanket of soft darkness covered the trees, and the air had the kind of stillness that only came after the sun had properly dipped below the horizon.
The production crew had been working for hours already, setting up the lighting rigs, positioning reflectors, marking camera tracks, and adjusting sound equipment.
The set had a glow about it, thanks to the portable floodlights placed strategically around the clearing. Cables snaked across the dirt and pine needles, and crew members with clipboards moved with quiet urgency, checking things off before the next shot.
Dylan and I approached slowly, both of us in costume but not quite ready to shoot. He glanced around at the activity before leaning toward me.
"Hey," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "You know what the production crew's been calling you lately?"
I looked over at him. "No. What is it?"
He grinned. "They've been calling you the One-Shot Wonder."
I paused for a second, raising an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," he said, trying not to laugh. "Not sure it's the most flattering nickname when you really think about it."
I smirked, catching the innuendo immediately.
"So, Mr. One-Shot Wonder," he began, but before he could finish the thought, I nudged him in the arm.
"Shut up," I said, half-laughing.
We kept walking, navigating between parked equipment trucks and scattered extras waiting for their cues. Just as we reached the base of the set path, the director walked toward us.
"Jace," he called out. "I need you to change into your next outfit. Costume trailer is just over there on the right. Make it quick, please."
"Got it," I said.
He turned to Dylan. "You stay here for a minute. I just need to give you a few direction notes."
As I started to walk off, the director added, "Be ready for some serious running, Jace. This scene's going to push you. We're aiming for one good shot, but don't worry if we have to go again."
Behind me, I could hear Dylan stifling a chuckle at the mention of "one shot."
I didn't give him the satisfaction of turning around. I just kept walking toward the costume and makeup setup, focusing on the task ahead.
The truth was, I had spent a lot of time away from the group lately. Not because I didn't want to connect, but because writing had given me a place to center myself. When I was alone with my laptop, plotting out character arcs and web novel chapters, I felt like I was rebuilding my sense of identity. It helped pull me out of Scott McCall when the scenes were done.
Still, I did want to bond more. Once I got a better handle on managing the emotions that came with my acting, I knew I'd have more energy for it.
I reached the makeup tent, where a stylist was already prepping the outfit and tools needed for the next transformation. They handed me the torn hoodie Scott would wear during the chase and a set of muddy, forest-worn sneakers. I nodded a silent thanks and stepped behind the curtain to change, already running the scene through my mind.
Tonight was going to be a long one. But I was ready for it.
(Authors note: Hi guys, what would you guys like to see more off in the future?)
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Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator