Romans & histoires Book Narratives

You can check out the book on Web Novel. Take care... Love you all...

Ernest wrote in the journal that evening, after Don had gone to the kitchen garden for the late-afternoon walk that had become his habit in the thirteenth year: Don has begun the ground-knowledge book. The form is the narrative — the doing to the knowing, the inside account's form. The argument and the form are the same thing. He is writing in the study with a different rhythm than the essay writing. The narrative carries its own forward motion. The pauses are the catching-up rather than the finding. This is also what the journal is. The doing recorded, the understanding arriving in the recording. The form that has been here for thirteen years is the form the next book needs.

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

As it was the time of recess, the library was almost empty except for the receptionist. Greeting her with a smile, I made my way to my usual table and took the book out of my bag. The book that I had borrowed from the pack library. The title read 'Tales Of The Mates" and the the book itself contained the real stories of the fated as well as chosen mates of the past Alphas. I had already read more than half of the book and I must admit that it was getting on my nerves now. Out of all the entries I have read so far, most of the happy endings were of the fated mates.

The usual genres one would expect to find at a book fair, too: history, fiction, non-fiction, folklore, fantasy, fairytales… everything. I had wondered and hoped that I could find the fiction book about the female alpha, but there was nothing of the sort to be found. I would rummage through the boxes each day, hoping to find something, but nothing. Nothing at all. Picking up a large pile of books from a box, I strolled towards a table that was getting empty to fill it up again.

A grin settled on her lips. “Oh, don’t mind me; I read lots of those kinds of books, but tell me, is that the case?” She rests her elbow on the table and waits for her response. She looked like a little child who asked if Santa can come in June as she waits for a positive response. “You really read a lot of those books.” Joan chuckled and then thought about telling Stacy her predicament and what led her to working here. She hasn’t discussed what happened with anyone aside from Camila and Henry, who has been by her side all through the mess.

Now that I’d mostly learned how to translate his crappy handwriting, I was able to slowly pick my way through it. The first page described him… Writing a book? My gaze jerked back to the spare room and then dipped back to the journal to keep reading. The next few pages were about his pack buddies and his family. He seemed close to them. Then his book was mentioned again. Insurrection. I dropped the journal again, and crossed the hallway yet another time, stopping in front of the bookshelf. My eyes scanned the many, many books, until… Insurrection. Bingo. I grabbed the paperback off the shelf, and my eyes scanned the cover. It had a snake and a skull and looked kind of epic, definitely someth

I could feel him open up to me upon hearing my confession. “Believe me…” I murmured. “I know better than anyone how you must feel.” He gazed at me. “It’s no way to live, isn’t it?” I huffed a short, awkward laugh in response, focusing my full attention back on stacking the books. This time, the titles caught my attention, ranging from the history of our kingdom to the customs, cultures, and histories of our neighbors: the Vixens and the Bear-Shifters. And then there was one book in particular about something that I had never heard of before… nothing like anything Father ever discussed or that I’d read of in fairytales.

The title intrigued her, and she found herself drawn to the author's eloquent exploration of the human need for stories, for narratives that shape our understanding of the world and ourselves. The book spoke of the transformative power of stories, their ability to connect us across cultures, across time, across the vast spectrum of human experience. It spoke of the importance of sharing our stories, of weaving our individual narratives into the grand tapestry of human history. Hazel's heart resonated with the author's words. She realized that her own journey, her own struggles and triumphs, were stories waiting to be told. She had always been a quiet observer, a silent witness to the world a