Awkward Writing Novels & Stories

He dropped a stack of journals onto the table and sighed dramatically. "If I read one more article about cognitive development, I might start forgetting my own name. " I laughed as I opened my notebook. "I thought you liked this topic." "I do. I just don't like researchers who take three pages to say one sentence." "That's called academic writing." "It's called showing off." I smiled and shook my head before pulling out the outline I'd spent most of the previous night organising. Aiden leant over to look at it. "You colour-coded everything." "It helps." "It also makes me feel like I've done absolutely nothing." "You've done plenty." "I highlighted two paragraphs." "You highlighted them in th

It requires me to be precise about things I did, which means being precise about who I was when I did them, which is uncomfortable in the specific way of holding your own past at arm's length and describing it accurately. I find myself writing sentences that begin with "The subject then proceeded to" and "It was determined that" and other constructions designed to distance the writer from the action. I deleted them. I rewrote it. I force myself to say "I did this" and "I chose that" and "I was wrong when." The discomfort of it is the point. If it doesn't hurt to write, I'm not writing the truth.

My words made everyone in the hospital ward look at Edwin, and they were all watching to see what he would do next. He hated being embarrassed, and he was so mad he looked like he was about to burst into flames. However, he could not say anything mean to his mom in front of everyone, so he just went to the bathroom. Mandy was still acting all sweet and innocent. She knocked on the bathroom door, lecturing Edwin, "You're being too cruel. Mom's been working herself to the bone for your family, and now, she's in the hospital. How could you blame her? That's not how a son should act!"

There is one word to describe how Audrey was feeling right at that exact moment--- AWKWARD! "Errrr... Hehe... Oh... I--I--I was just... Ahmmm....the fall... hehe..." Audrey can't find a word to say. Her eyebrows can't help but twitch as she tried to explain her action [ We better not explain ourselves and risk being labeled as a weirdo more we already were. In any case, it's all a thing of the past now. It's okay, don't think about it little lass. You'll get through it.]

“You’re serious. Fine. Then here’s a workaround. You tell me in the words you can. Preface them with how the words cannot explain your meaning. I understand your meaning. I frequently struggle to describe scumbag activities with tact in my reports, and not call someone an asshole. Or lead the reader toward a single course of action. Or lead the read to assume there’s one course of action alone. Yes, I understand what you mean.” Jeff didn’t think they would ever find a similarity in their careers. Yet here they sat at his piano and Ana described a very similar conflict over writing. “Wow. Here I believed you would never understand the situation I find myself in.” “I’m the first person to admi

The slightest shift made the dead nerves shriek in protest, and he stirred with a soft, sleepy murmur. My heart sank. This was the part I hated. The Awkward Morning After. The mandatory performance where we’d both pretend to be fully formed, interested human beings. We’d fumble through a conversation, exchange numbers we had no intention of ever using, and chirp empty promises about catching up soon. “I’ll call you,” I’d lie, already mentally composing the text I’d never send.

I can’t find any words to break this awkward silence. We are sitting face to face together inside the carriage, the sound of the creaking of the woods, the wheels on the roads when it hits a rock, and the shaking inside made it hard for me to concentrate on writing in my small journal I kept with me. The carriage shook violently and my pen slipped, making a huge ugly line across the paper of my small booklet which made me so frustrated.

I explain awkwardly. “You know, a little bit of awkwardness is normal right? I’m not saying this to be pushy and you can obviously do whatever you want to do. But sometimes if you delay things too long it makes it harder. I do that, I avoid doing something because I’m scared of it and then it builds up into this big thing until the thought of it makes me freak out. Then when I eventually have no choice, it usually turns out to be not nearly as scary as I expected.” I consider for a moment. “Something uncomfortable, like watching a rom com?” I question, gesturing at the waiting TV. Megan shrugs.

And he has been crushing on me for almost a decade… Super fan-freaking-tastic! It’s not weird at all! This is completely and utterly normal. After all, normal is relative, right? Gah! Who the hell am I even trying to fool?! This is super, to the power of a million, weird! It’s like broccoli in jelly bean flavour… That’s… I really am weird… “This is… awkward.” I thought out loud. Damn! I really am an awkwardness magnet! Out of all the talents that I could have had, why do I have that particular one?!

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.