Novel & Cerita Bad Writing Habits

He bit his trembling lip. “You almost gave us a heart attack.” Megan smiled. “I’m sorry. Did Dad—” He scanned around the room. “He’s an asshole,” Victoria spat out. “An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” “You and your father are nothing alike. You did not run away from your responsibility. You correct your mistake and face your issues. You value friendship even if it put your life in danger. Maybe you’re stupid for not asking our opinion, but you are better than him. Way better. Sorry but not sorry. I have to agree with Victoria. Your dad is a grade A a-hole.”

Diego scoffs and retreats to the back of my mind. He’s right though, I don’t do well with practicing patience, just like my wolf. When we want something, we want it right now and not later.

Emma walked up to Belinda and quietly watched her practice her calligraphy instead of greeting her right away. After a moment, she said, “Mom, your calligraphy looks very messy right now. Don’t force yourself to write in a bad mood. “Everyone has bad days.” Belinda finished her last word before putting her pen down. Appraising her calligraphy for a bit, she had to admit that she was in too bad a mood to write nicely. It was incomparable to her usual standard. She grabbed that piece of paper and crumpled it into a ball before trashing it.

W͟i͟n͟t͟e͟r͟ How am I so bad at this when I do this for a living?! I growl at my ineptness, completely frustrated. I can't get all my facts straight. Yeah, we planned out the day, personal family info, some other stuff. We got everything together. Didn't I? Didn't we? We did, right? From what I'm seeing, not to my satisfaction. There are boons to being overly detailed. Then sometimes it feels like a curse. I always feel like I'm missing something.

He shut it down and placed it on my study table. What was his problem? "Prof said it should be handwritten" I nagged and opposed. I hate writing things down using my hands, for one main reason. I have really bad penmanship. One time, I joined a feature writing competition. I was so confident because the topic was so easy and fun. I was the first one to finish writing and on the day of the winner announcement, I was not called. Meaning I lost. I asked one of the judges why I did not win, all he said was 'You have bad penmanship' and that was the start of my traumatic writing experience.

Dr. Sienna Blake hated Tuesday night shifts. Not because they were busy—they weren’t. That was the problem. Nothing but quiet corridors, half-lit trauma bays, and the soft, unsettling hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It left her alone with her thoughts, which were often worse than the blood and broken bones.

I sniffled, focusing my blurry eyes on the screen of my laptop. The best way to write is to just write. Just write. I exhaled, my fingers finding the keyboard. However, I barely wrote down two letters when the bulbs overhead flickered and went off. I gasped loudly without realizing it. Shit! No! I waited, tried not to panic. Maybe it was just a short circuit or wrong wiring or something. The other neighbors would step out and fix it. Don't panic yet. But what if it was only lightouts in my house?

“The managing. The moving first and explaining after.” He considered it honestly. “Probably not entirely. It’s a deeply ingrained habit.” “I know,” I said. “I have deeply ingrained habits too.” “Such as?” “Assuming the worst of people until they prove otherwise.” I held his gaze. “I’m working on it.” The corner of his mouth moved. “So am I.”