A Writers Blog Novels & Stories

I understand you (the reader) have come here to read a book, but some of you must understand, we writers have lives and sometimes life is just more important. So, long story short, Writing is now just my hobby NOT my job. My uploads will drop to probably once or twice a week (more if I have time) and simply, if that's not good enough for you, please stop reading my work OR wait until my work is marked as completed. I am not vanishing from the platform and im not abandoning my work, infact, i have a lot of work in the works and planned. I know there will be some spiteful people who will be annoyed and impatient and will feel the need to leave negative comments or low stars because uploads are

Proserpina Around the same time as Lucien began to grow distant, the strange messages started to come. I had begun to write a blog. It had begun as a hobby. Egged on by my children and friends, especially James Schwartz, who kept praising my culinary skills, I began to write a blog on social media about cooking. It had become a runaway hit to my astonishment and I updated it every day, diligently, astonished by the number of followers I had! So I was mildly astonished at first when I came across the first comment that seemed strangely off.

Most of you already know that I've gone through surgery, which unfortunately didn't go right and to went to another one so I had to stop writing as I was admitted this whole time, however, I'm recovering from all this because of your blessings so thanks a lot. Now, the thing is I don't want to hide behind excuses and make you guys wait for the chapters which I know you guys wait so patiently. (It's another thing I'm grateful for) I want to be as transparent as I can with you guys, cause without your guys support all of this is nothing and right now I'm having writer block (“Writer's block is a temporary or lasting failure to put words on paper. It can hit every writer, if only for a few minu

She pointed. “That–” I followed her finger. “Oh that's my journal.” “You write?” She eyed me. “I like to write. But lately, I've ran out of inspiring topics.” “Hmm, you did say you were a fan of my blog, right?” “Yes.” “So what do you say I pay you a thousand dollars weekly to write a piece for my blog? Of course it'll pass as mine. You'll just be like a–” “Ghostwriter?” I questioned feeling that cloud of disappointment again.

It is through this dedication and perseverance that I hope to continue honing my craft, pushing the boundaries of my storytelling abilities. Writing is not without its challenges. Doubt and self-criticism often loom large, threatening to derail the creative process. The blank page can be intimidating, the fear of inadequacy paralyzing. Yet, it is precisely during these moments of vulnerability that growth occurs. Embracing the discomfort, facing the inner critic head-on, allows for personal and artistic evolution. I have come to understand that writing is not about attaining perfection, but rather about the journey of continuous improvement, of becoming a better writer with each word, each s

But I shocked her and a host of others when I bought D'Writers. D'Writers was a popular online social platform for writers and readers. I'd long thought of acquiring it in memory of my father. My dad was an avid reader and lover of classic novels. He'd told me one day that he would've loved to author a book if he wasn't tied down by the burdensome responsibilities of Donovan Group.

This is just writer’s block, right? I mean, surely there was something about last night’s date with Gabe that went terribly. There must be something for me to write about... I sat in my office chair, staring at the blank screen of the word processing program in front of me. I had been gazing at it for half an hour, trying to brainstorm what to write for the upcoming blog post. The problem, though, was that I ran a website that people visited to hear about my bad dates, not the good ones. There wasn’t anything interesting about a good date, or at least anything that my current readers would want to hear. They wanted the ridiculous details. They wanted the men who didn’t pay for dinner and the