Beginning A Novel Novels & Stories

The next morning, Alessandro kissed me and left for work. I got up with a little difficulty, but I went to the work studio and focused so much on the novel that when Danna approached, I ignored her completely. At that point I was focused on the most important scenes at the beginning of the story, right at the point of no return, when the protagonists go from a state of calm to an unstoppable cyclone. I was smiling when I wrote the first kiss, and Danna came over and turned off my computer. I looked at her with my mouth open.

A face that, undeniably, belonged to Henry. Frustrated, I dropped the pencil and turned back to my laptop. My novel. That’s where my focus needed to be. I forced myself into the scene, a nurse guiding the protagonist as he took his first steps after an injury. A moment of vulnerability, of connection. I put on my playlist, let the music fill the space, and finally, the words began to flow. By the time my alarm went off, signaling it was time to get ready for karate class, I had nearly forgotten about Henry. Nearly.

waited. There was some slight irritation where the laser was hitting him but other than that, nothing. Suddenly, a strange feeling appeared. He felt like there was something new inside his head. The robotic voice came again and gave further instructions. "Please close your eyes and concentrate. Imagine a safe place, any place, you are standing inside it. No one else can get in here, this is your personal palace..." Somehow Sheng Chen could feel himself falling asleep. The robotic voice sounded a bit hypnotic and Sheng Chen couldn't help but follow its directions. He did as told but after several minutes nothing happened. He kept trying over and over again and finally after a full hour h

Sigh. Have you ever felt that you have to go but cannot make that first step? That is how I feel today. Cassy and Caleb’s story has ended, yet I feel sad at the thought of saying goodbye. I started this story December 2023, and since then, it has brought me so many firsts: * First book with more than 200 chapters, * First book with 200k+ words, * First book with a banner promotion, * First book with highest reads at 70.2k to date, and

“Gosh! You beat me then in the Isabelle Arcadia rankings, then you don’t use your brain now? Of course, when you tell a story, you start with the first, not the climax, not the ending, not the epilogue, not the prequel. If not at the beginning. At the very beginning, in chapter one, you start.” I touched Brena. I was shocked when she looked at me. Because meet his eyebrow when she looks at me. “What?” she asked irritably. “Do you have red days too?” “No. I just finished my red days last week.” “Are you mad?” “No.” “Why do you seem angry?” “I’m just bored,” she then looked at Isabelle. “Tell the story from the beginning so you know where to start.” I also looked at Isabelle. Isabelle took a d

The coffee hot. In February of the sixty-second year she writes the first sentence of the fourth book. Not the opening — the argument sentence. She has been working toward it since Noa's question at sixteen, since Clara's Christmas conversation, since Beatriz asked whether the fourth book would name it. The sentence arrived the way the right sentences always arrive: not as a decision but as a recognition, at six in the morning at the kitchen table, the coffee hot, the city outside still dark. She writes:

I bought a notebook on Thursday. Black. Unlined. The kind with no branding on the cover – forgettable, the kind of thing that could sit on a desk and look like nothing. It wasn't nothing. I started writing on the first page in the parking lot of the bookstore with the engine still running and my coffee going cold in the cupholder. Not prose. Not feelings. Dates. Times. Facts. February 14 – Bar. Rhys and I meet. Nobody knows yet. But within weeks of the deal going public, Caleb drops the expulsion half–truth like a grenade. The campaign starts.

"Thank you." "The line you added at the very end," Evelyn continued. "The line about the kitchen knowing what it is—that is your first sentence and your last sentence." Aurora gripped the edge of the desk. "You want to build the entire narrative around that?" "Yes," the editor stated firmly. "The book begins with a kitchen that does not know yet. It ends with a kitchen that finally does. Everything in between is the process of knowing." "The process of knowing," Aurora whispered.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO! AUTHOR HERE, HOPE YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE ARE ENJOYING THIS LITTLE NOVEL IM TRYING MY BEST TO PUT TOGETHER. THERE'S SOMETHING I NEED TO CLEAR UP THOUGH, IF YOU SEE THIS ༻☆✫☆༺AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER, ITS A FLASH BACK. BUT THIS ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅• IS PRESENT DAY.

Without your love, encouragement, and constant support, this story would never have been possible. When I first started this novel, I honestly doubted it. The idea came to me, and I remember asking myself: “What kind of crazy idea is this? Will people even read it? Will they understand what I want to say?” A part of me thought it would fail before it even began. But something in me whispered to try, and I did. And now, standing at the end of this journey, I can say with all my heart: I never regretted it. Not once.