Bad Male Writing Novels & Stories

"Miss Whitfield, since you're asking for an interview with me, you must want something from me, right? As long as you give me a good night, as long as your request isn't excessive, I'll agree to it." Eleanor pretended not to hear and calmly continued with the interview questions. "Writer Vane, you write men's fiction — what's your opinion on the genre?" "Men's fiction is pretty good," Writer Vane said solemnly. "When I write, I always think it through. Uh, how should I put it — let me give you an example. When I write a passionate scene, my blood surges!" I will endure this! Eleanor continued, "Some say online men's fiction is too immoral — the male lead has more than a dozen women, all of t

It is high school after all, what else can anyone expect? The bonfire is lit, the music is blaring, and the drinks are flowing. People are making out, taking photos and acting like they are all friends. It isn’t my scene. To start, I don’t drink for personal reasons. When your father is an abusive alcoholic who takes all his anger out on you, it tends to put you off drinking. I have a deep fear that if I start drinking, I will end up acting like him. I don’t want that. That is not who I am. I could never imagine hurting anyone or anything. If anyone asks, though, my excuse for not drinking is that it doesn’t agree with me and makes me sick. They don’t need to know the truth.

The fact that she has low self esteem and is close to depression to begin with affects her behavior as well. The reason I have written this is because I wanted to write something horrible, wrong and disgusting. I would be very happy if you give me constructive critique and positive feedback. I consider a comment like ‘This is disgusting!’ to be positive feedback on this story, since that is the feeling I am after.

What was left wanted to burn. I started small. Skipped lab meetings. Ignored emails. Let dishes pile in the sink. But none was enough to quell the emptiness within me. Then I opened incognito mode on my laptop one rainy evening and typed the words I’d never allowed myself to speak aloud: I want to be bad. The internet answered. First it was confession threads, women admitting they’d cheated or stolen or screamed in public just to feel something. Then kink forums. Then darker places where people described wanting to be used, marked, ruined. That’s how I found the link buried in a comment thread.

“tell us.” The words came out pouring out. The feelings that I hadn’t even been aware of. “March Madness was, no, is the worst thing I have ever put down on paper in my whole life. All my manuscripts kept getting rejected and I guess, I got desperate. I just wanted a win, so I wrote what I knew the publishers would like. Not what I liked. It’s a shitty book, one of those quintessential thought provoking drivels that go on and on and make you want to bash your head into the nearest surface. I nearly did just that a million times while writing it. It's about this insufferable woman that should have never married this human turd of a man and now regrets it. I’d never even read something like th

“I saw all the bad things you wrote about me—including that I am only having sex with different girls to fulfill my big ego and the fact that I can't get it to stand up. Do you hate me that much to write this lie about me?” “Well, it's hard to not dislike you. You are arrogant and rude.” I rolled my eyes. “Hmmm. Earned. I'll give you your diary, but on one condition.” Nope. I don't like where this is going. “What condition?” I forced myself to say. “You will write a new story about me. Tell how much of a good person I am, including that I can very much get it to stand.” He said, looking at his lower region.

Villains sure loved to torment each other most of all! "But I'm sure Maddie will manage to turn him back into a simp in record time. That's what scheming bitches are best at—they play men like it's bloody psychological warfare. "They can throw all sorts of abuse at men and somehow manipulate them into drinking their bathwater with some of that sweet nothing," Jean, PhD in "How to Identify a Bad Bitch," stated. "Whatever. These two belong together forever. May death do them part," I replied sincerely.

“If you read the article maybe you would have half a clue. Nothing is as you assume it to be. I’m still me and you know nothing about me or him.” “You are a fool if you think a man like THAT truly loves someone like YOU! He’s having a midlife crisis and you are young, dumb and full of cum. That’s all the old man gives a fuck about!” Kai shouts, finally walking away. I look down at the newspaper article. I’ve already read it, even though Gabriel told me I don’t need to. I want to see what the press is writing about him. I have read all the articles online and in the papers. Many are not flattering and most are lies. This article is the truth, even if the reporter or editor tried to twist thin

And now one man, a bold, perceptive, dangerously attractive writer who was threatening to crack every wall he had built. The worst part? A dark, hungry part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

There was no love left in me for her, she only made my cock hard. “I’m so mad at you right now. You allowed this bullshit to ruin what we had. You could have confronted me but you took a bitchy route around this whole situation by ghosting me instead of confronting me like a real man. You believed the same bitch... the same bitch that participated in tricking me to come to this country and I was almost turned to a fucking prostitute because of her! You’re an asshole, Jason.”