30 Day Challenge Writing Novels & Stories

My wolf cries inside me, a mournful sound that echoes through my chest. But I force myself to brighten. Force myself to sink into this moment instead of mourning the one that hasn't happened yet. We have thirty days. That's more than I had yesterday. More than I thought I'd ever get. Maybe it's enough. Maybe it has to be. "Can we at least pretend?" I whisper. "For tonight. For thirty days—pretend to be the most nauseatingly in-love pair in the world." Knox chuckles, and the sound rumbles through his chest into mine.

The intense pain has me biting hard on my tongue to stifle the groans threatening to spill over my lips. Damn it. It's a lot worse than the last. I roll on my back, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Hah....it hurts. It hurts too much. Lying on the bare snow, the cold drilled into my bones, numbing some part of the pain. Hah—exactly how long will I have to bear this? Will I even be able to last the thirty days like this?

Alpha Alexander suspected that Seraphina's father had murdered his own father, so he married her for revenge and used Suppressants to fake their mate bond. For three years, Alexander prioritized prioritized another woman over his own mate, kept Seraphina confined to the Luna’s Wing, and allowed his mistress to live comfortably in the Main Alpha’s House. When Seraphina finally gathered the courage to confront him, she found a prenatal checkup report on his desk and discovered that his own mate— Alexander had gotten another woman pregnant. With this, Seraphina made up her mind. "I am done being the second option. Once 30 Days is over, I will leave this marriage and never come back!"

I can write them down. I held my pen over the paper, poised to write. It was four-fifteen, and I still hadn’t written a single word. When did I become such a coward? Or is the problem that I couldn’t narrow my list down to three? I giggled. Gee, Jake, I could picture myself saying, I hope you don’t mind that I gave you thirty-five different pieces of paper. I hope you have that many friends. Just write something, I said to myself. Anything. The first thing that comes to your mind.

“Maybe. But if you think you’ll survive thirty days in my house, in my world, hating me without hating yourself a little more... we’ll see.” I opened my mouth to fire back. He shut it with a single move, sliding the second envelope across the table. “Sign this if you’re done whining.” Inside: Contract Terms: Subject may report to breakfast in sweats, no face, no prep. Confession permitted. Feelings not. I stared at it. “You see?” he said, voice silk. “I give you a little. You give me a lot.” He pulled a pen from his pocket. Clicked it once. Slid it across the table. “Just like old times.”

"I looked these up online. Things people want to do before they... Well, before they go. "Just for reference, okay? You have to write down at least three things you want to do. Every day, three things. "You're not allowed to leave it blank. If you do, I'll start working through my list with you, one by one, whether you like it or not." He wanted to refuse, but she cut him off before he could speak. The forced sternness on her face made him smile. "Fine. I'll write them down. But let me finish breakfast first. It's going to get cold."

he echoed before heading down the hallway to his own room. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment while processing everything that had happened tonight. Then I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and pulled up my text conversation with Danika before typing out a message. "Might not be going through with the 30 day plan anymore." I hit send and watched the message turn blue as it delivered. My phone started ringing almost immediately and Danika's name flashed across the screen, so I answered with a neutral tone. "Chelley! What do you mean you're not going through with the plan?" Danika demanded without even saying hello. "We need to talk about this right now, you can'

I say. He is quiet again. "Okay," he says. "Be accurate and be strategic. Don't say anything that isn't true." "Everything I'm saying is true," I say. "I know," he says. "That's what will make it hurt." The piece takes three days to write, which is three days of sitting at my laptop in Silver Lake with my coffee and my recovering ribs and the Forbes pull quote as wallpaper on my phone screen, which the new phone has, because I replaced the pool phone within twenty-four hours.

Thirty days. One month. A single, heartbeat-stopping wager. Benjamin Parker was the sun. A golden-haired scholarship recruit with flour on his hands and a heart that he wore—vulnerable and beating—on his sleeve. He spent weeks chasing the school’s "Ice Prince," offering handmade tarts and a smile that could melt the coldest winter. He thought his persistence finally paid off when Jonathan Hayes—the obsidian-eyed, terrifyingly beautiful heir to a tech empire—pinned him against the school gates and claimed him in front of everyone. But the "Golden Romance" was a lie from the very first kiss. Jonathan didn't choose Benjamin because of his heart; he chose him because he was a convenient t

“Thirty days to find a husband. That's insane, right? Tell me that's insane.” “It's certainly unconventional,” he allows, gently enough that I almost believe it's a kindness and not just a fact. “There is no approved list, no shortcut. It has to be real — filed, witnessed, provable if it's ever challenged, and given what's at stake, it will be challenged.” “Great,” I say. “On top of finding a husband in a month, I have to convince a courtroom it's real.” “I'm sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it, which is the only reason I don't cry right there in the chair that's too big for me.