Book Written In First Person Novels & Stories

It was still quite early, so I picked up notebook from under the couch. I was good. Really really good. I blushed as I read the previous chapters of my own book, heavily influenced by real life actions that had happened in this very house. This was so much better than any of the erotica I had read. This was so personal. I no longer had to try to fit myself into the main character’s point of view to enjoy the book because the main character was me. The pen glided smoothly across the paper as the actions got more and more intense. I could recall exactly how his hands had trailed down my neck to my nipples and then further down to my sensitive nub. It was so easy to write when I could actually

Thаt’ѕ ѕtауіng wіth mе. Aftеr rеѕtоrіng оrdеr tо the rооm, I hаndсuff myself to the bed аgаіn аnd ѕеttlе dоwn to read… *Day Onе: Tоdау I fоund thіѕ nоtеbооk and my heart ѕаng fоr thе fіrѕt time іn wееkѕ. I didn’t uѕеd to be a thіеf, but I ѕlірреd іt into my bag like a seasoned рrо.

He worked on the book through the winter and spring and summer and into the next winter. Not every day. Not even every week, sometimes. The book was patient. The book waited. The book was there when he came back to it, the pages accumulating, the shape of the thing becoming clearer with each addition. The introduction was the hardest part. He wrote it six times. The first draft was too professional. It read like a restaurant foreword, the explanation of a philosophy rather than the account of a person. He'd used words like culinary philosophy and approach to ingredients and all the language that belonged in a press kit, not in a personal document. He'd read it back and thought: this could be

While I was walking to my table, where I had left my bag, I used my hand to brush the dust off the book. The people around me glanced at me because of what had happened a while ago. I chose to ignore their stares and sat down in the chair, facing the wall next to the table. The moment I set the book down on the table, I felt an unexpected surge of interest well up inside of me. I opened the book and noticed that all of the pages were brown. This book seemed to have been written centuries ago. I gulped when I saw what was written on the first page of the book. I shivered when I read it in a low voice. "The Myth of Alpha's Rejection.”

A/N Hello guys, from now on, I will be writing in first person POV. That's what I'm comfortable with. I hope you guys would understand. Also thanks for staying this long in the story. I promise, it will get way better a long the way. Rachael's POV.

And that is by burning this book… I hope you can… Because this is unburnable… CHAPTER 1 I am one lucky fairy who has been allowed by the Queen to temporarily leave the fairyland to visit the land of the mortals. Because of the happiness it gives to me, I tried to imitate what a real human being does. This book will be my journal. Love, Gaymo. Part I: My First Day on Earth Dear Journal,

Unlike the others, this page was completely filled with elegant handwriting. At the top was a single title. Chapter One His heartbeat quickened. "This can't be..." He read the first sentence. "On a cold autumn evening, a young man named Adrian Vale opened a letter that would change history forever." Adrian's hands trembled. It was the opening of his own story. Word for word. Every sentence exactly as he had lived it. He turned the page. Chapter Two. Then Three. Then Four. Every journey. Every betrayal. Every sacrifice. Even conversations that had happened only moments ago were already written.

Hi readers! I just want to take the time to thank you. I hope you have been enjoying reading "Who's The Loser Now?" thus far. This is the first time I'm writing a novel. Honestly, I'm not a reading type of person. I didn't see myself writing an essay for the public to read, let alone a novel. So to be writing my first novel is really something new, yet exciting for me. Shout out to all the authors whose books I've been reading and in turn got inspired to write my own.

For the first time, Cathedra had someone who didn't cringe every time she opened her mouth to speak. So this is what having a friend feels like, huh? Cathedra thought to herself. One lunch break, while waiting for Diane underneath the tree, Cathedra was scribbling a draft of her first novel in her notebook. The novel contained the scenes she saw in the storybook, back in her kindergarten days. Since that day at kindergarten, she didn't tell anyone what she saw in the storybooks anymore. The thought of seeing things that other people couldn't still terrified her but she tried hard not to think about it by avoiding any book she can see other than school books and textbooks.

I hesitated as personal journals were boundaries but curiosity has always been my flaw. I told myself I was only looking at the cover as my fingers brushed over it. Then, without much resistance from my conscience, I opened it. The handwriting was unmistakably hers. Neat, precise and slightly slanted. I flipped past a few pages, expecting mundane entries, daily complaints and grocery lists but instead it was about me. The first entry was dated weeks ago, which was when she got the job. Met the most insufferable man alive today. – This was the first line that caught my eyes.