Awkward Writing Novels & Stories

“Yeah, awkward is the word for it. I guess I didn’t expect this to feel so… complicated.” “Well,” Karina said, standing up slowly, the cool silk of her nightgown brushing her skin. She took a tentative step toward him, closing the distance that had felt so overwhelming just moments ago. “We don’t have to rush, Caden. We can take it slow. We don’t have to pretend we know what we’re doing.”

Amelia asked absentmindedly, he had managed to drift away from the main topic just like that. “Like all the scenes, they are always too perfect, makes you feel like it could ever be like that one day, but it can’t, what happens when the he’s going all sexy and she farts, what happens when he carries her to the bath tub- aiming for a romantic scene and he slips on a tiles and falls with her. Ouch. There are many awkward things, omitted because all those things- to the readers and writers disrupt the flow of the story. Everything shouldn’t be perfect. These little things are what makes it looks and sound real.

If only I wasn't too ambitious to get noticed by him. "Uh huh..." he smirks and dangles the said note in front of me. Yup, it's also in my handwriting. The ugly scribbly kind that he knows for the twelve months and twelve days as mine. Not because it has some kind of importance, but just because no one can match my one-of-a-kind wonky-writing result. "I'm...yeah, that's...I'm..." I stutter, struggling to jumpstart my brain to make an excuse, any kind of excuse, even a lame one...anything...oh, come on...

The blog post takes me forty minutes to write, which is the first sign that something is wrong because the filthiest posts I've written took much less. All the posts poured out of me at 2 AM like the words had been sitting in my chest with their bags packed, just waiting for my fingers to open the door, and I’ve never in my life spent forty minutes arranging sentences into a shape that says nothing while appearing to say everything. I read it back and the words on the screen sound like a press release dressed in a sundress.

It feels like the longer that I try to focus, the more I am getting a headache. I am not smart enough for this. One factor could be because I just recently learned how to read and write. “Those words are already as simple as they get when it comes to formal reports.” Ajax eyes me with judging eyes, which I greatly take offense. The way he speaks and stands clearly tells me that he would rather be somewhere else than here helping me.

The quiet returns, full of the hum of the fridge and the neighbor upstairs dragging a chair across the floor as if he’s trying to redraw his kitchen from scratch. Work. I need work. I open a fresh document and type a sentence I don’t hate: Some storms don’t pass; they just learn your name. I stare at it too long, then backspace it into nothing. Writing today feels like whistling into a stairwell—your breath comes back at you, altered, unhelpful. I stand instead. The chair legs scrape and my shoulders go up as if someone else made the noise behind me.

Aiden’s Pov I sat at the small wooden desk in my room. My hand was shaking so hard the pen kept skipping across the paper. I had already crumpled up five pages and thrown them at the wall. How do you write to someone who won’t even look at you? How do you say sorry for a whole year of pretending they were trash? “Elara,” I whispered.

Amazing. I sighed and wrote: Against the law. Fiancee? Ladies and gentlemen, I already had a title. I rubbed my hands together and started writing. Like all the other times, the words practically flowed on their own. The spaces were being filled in and the adjectives appeared almost alone. I just put the fingers and inspiration was responsible for the rest. I wrote very fast because when G returned to the world of the awakened living I was finishing page 25. I am usually slower writing. I am a lot to erase, to think again ... But this was coming out of my soul.