When You Looked Away - Monday, 16 September - LAURA

Jul 31, 2026

A young author in an isolated attic struggles to finish a manuscript as external sounds—from a fox in the garden to rain on the roof—pull her between fiction and memory. While she forces herself to stay fully immersed in the story, private reflections reveal how her relationship with Rich shaped her confidence, language, and willingness to write darker themes. Her wedding preparations with Ted add urgency and emotional strain, contrasting love, restraint, and unresolved darkness.

LanguageEnglish

CategoryStory & Novel

FormatPDF

Pages318

Reading Time8 h 10 min

AccessFree to download

Narrative opening

Laura at the lake and the eyes

Writing process and creative discipline

Past marriage with Rich

Split, divorce, and creative control

Wedding preparation with Ted

[OceanofPDF.com](OceanofPDF.com) About the Author S.M. Govett read Law at Trinity College, Oxford, before qualifying as a solicitor in the City. After realizing that didn’t suit her, she started tutoring before turning her hand to writing, which she discovered was her true calling. She has since authored several bestselling YA novels, including The Territory trilogy and We Go On Forever. She also co-wrote the screenplay for the feature film, T.I.M., which was the number one film on Netflix upon release. Believe was the acclaimed first novel in the DI Stratton series. When You Looked Away is the highly anticipated follow-up. She currently lives in London with her husband and three children. [OceanofPDF.com](OceanofPDF.com) S. M. Govett WHEN YOU LOOKED AWAY [OceanofPDF.com](OceanofPDF.com) For Earl [OceanofPDF.com](OceanofPDF.com) Monday, 16 September [OceanofPDF.com](OceanofPDF.com) LAURA A solitary figure stands on the soft bank, their features smudged by the dusk. Faint ripples scratch the surface of the water, while, beneath, a fine cloud of silt hangs suspended, partially obscuring the bottom of the lake. But it’s not enough to conceal what it holds. From the depths, they stare back up at the darkening sky: a pair of heavily fringed, lifeless eyes – bright green, flecked with amber, and open wide in accusati— The bark of a fox pulls me out of the story, and I sit, staring out of the small attic window, disorientated, eyes blinking while they adjust from near to long distance as I search the garden for the source of the sound. There it is – a flash of russet and a bushy tail disappearing into the left-hand flowerbed. It’ll have dug a hole under the fence behind and found a way in. Ted will be annoyed – the garden is his pride and joy; he coaxed it from the weed patch it used to be just nine months ago, into the almost cloyingly perfect sanctuary it is today – but still, it makes me smile. Nature uncaged. Free. No timetable or responsibilities to bow to. I envy it. I glance back at my laptop, reread the last couple of sentences and, with aspark of annoyance at myself, tweak the description of the eyes. Replace‘bright green’with ‘hazel’. Remove the flecks of amber. I’d promised myself I would never do that again. Write in people that I cared about. Not even as placeholders. Then I stretch back in the chair, reacclimatizing further. When I write, my senses shut down. I block out my surroundings and fall into the story. It becomes more real than anything else. Even before the characters start speaking to me. How else could I write it if it didn’t? If I wasn’t there? Fully immersed. If I can’t see it, hear it, reach out and taste it? Ted teases me about it. He knows to stay out of the attic when I’m working. Any offers of tea or conversation will be made quietly. Respectfully. From the bottom of the attic stairs. It probably helps that he’s tall. Whenever he does come up, he has to contort his six-foot-three frame to navigate the steeply pitched ceiling. But Rich used to hate it. Not me being a writer per se. He initially liked that. Claimed he found it attractive. Right up to the first few years of our marriage. To the birth of Benjy. He’d parade me around at drinks parties.‘My little writer,’he’d call me, one arm draped possessively around my shoulders. Like it wasn’t enough that he’d claimed my body. Replaced my name. He had to try and own what I did, too. I tolerated it at first, liked it even. I thought of it as a shared joke. Confused patronization with pride. Thinking back, it was probably just that I was young and swept up in the headiness of infatuation. I met him when I was twenty-four. You know nothing at that age. And Rich was attractive, remarkably so. Striking blue eyes offset by longish dark curls. He was clever. A successful architect. Isn’t that the dream? Someone passionate and artistic yet with sufficient logic and practicality to actually pay the bills. And the sex was phe

FAQs

What helps Laura stay focused while writing?

Laura mentally shuts down her senses and blocks out her surroundings so the story becomes fully immersive before the characters even speak.

Why does Laura amend details about the eyes in her manuscript?

She rereads and tweaks the description with frustration, then recognizes she promised herself never to make those kinds of changes again.

How does Rich’s attitude affect Laura’s writing and confidence?

Rich initially praised her writing, then grew undermining and belittling, tried to prevent her from sharing it with their son, and disliked her reputation and darker themes.

Jul 31, 2026

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