Calm Writer Novels & Stories

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Written and Self-Published by Sena B. Mangampo 4500 Albay Philippines Purok 5B Puro, Legazpi City s.mangampo@yahoo.com +63 938 890 0652 About the Author Sena Mangampo is currently Animator Instructor of Forbes College, Inc. and author of Your Stranger Series ( A Beautiful Encounter, Miss Lucky Charm) The Devilish CEO, Taming the Dangerous CEO, Billionaire’s Little Devil, and The Mythical Prince.

Calm. Satisfied.

⸻ 🌙 The Writer Understands The Writer slowly stepped forward. ✍️ ⸻ For once… He wasn’t an author. ⸻ Just a lonely person. ⸻ “You watched us leave.” ⸻ Silence nodded. ⸻ “Again.” ⸻ The Writer lowered his gaze. ⸻ Because he remembered. ⸻ Creating stories. Creating worlds. Creating characters. ⸻ Trying to fill emptiness. ⸻ Exactly as she once had. ⸻ 🌙 The Null’s Choice

Raquel's POV Where do writers get their inspiration? This is the most common question I have been asked for years. I am Raquel Peterson, one of the bestselling authors of romance novels. I am not in a relationship with anyone so people are puzzled where I get my inspirations. I had my first book published when I was twenty and since then I have twelve more books published. I may have found what the readers love and I was able to create a fantasy that they all fall for. My books weren’t merely on paper but were made into movies and TV series.

She presses her forehead to mine and she shutters a calming breath. ****Okay so it took me like a week to write this between the rise and fall of anxiety. I'm working on finding my calm of the storm and I think I found it. Please be understanding that I'm still battling with my anxiety and the updates will be slow. If you can't wait, then simply don't read.****

Genuine curiosity, the kind that comes from genuinely wanting to understand what is happening in the person beside you. He was quiet for a moment. "I am not calm," he said. The honesty of it was so unexpected, stated so plainly, that I looked at him. "I have not been calm since the atrium," he said. "What you are reading as calm is focus. They are different states. Calm is the absence of internal activity. Focus is the redirection of it." I thought about that. "What is the internal activity being redirected from," I said. He was quiet for a moment longer this time.

Remember that each small no protects the larger yes you are building. I wrote about Julian, too. Not in the way I might have if the letter were meant for him, but in the way you write about a constant—a presence that shapes the space without filling it with noise. I wrote about the way he reminded me to put the work down sometimes, and how often I ignored that advice until he found a way to make me listen without telling me to. By the time I reached the bottom of the page, I felt the same calm I had felt after walking home from the river. I signed it simply, without my full name, just the first. It felt right, as though it could belong to any version of me that might need it later.

About the Author Mamerto I. Relativo Jr. is an engineer in the Philippines, and writes for Hubpages in his free time. As of today, he authored almost 200 articles in Hubpages.

" I went back and read the last several lines of my prologue, revising them one last time, before a satisfied smile curled up on my lips. I suddenly stopped typing for a moment and elevated my arms up in the air, simply trying to flex the strained muscles on my shoulders. Correspondingly, I slid in and plunged my spine in my chair, closing my eyes as I was caught up in the moment. Writing has always been my safe haven. This was always my rooting crawl space whenever the skies turn black, indicating the imminent release of torrential downpours. That has always been my harbor, whenever the tides become too vast, and I have to cease cruising for quite a while. This is always my oasis, and if I

More cruelty. When the tears finally stopped, a new feeling replaced the sadness. I needed help. Real help. After hours of scrolling through forums and private coaching sites, I found him, Elias. A mysterious but highly recommended “private writing coach” who specialized in erotic fiction. His profile was minimal. No face picture, just a black and white shot of strong hands holding a pen. The testimonials, however, were glowing. One writer claimed he completely transformed her career. Another said his methods were “intense but life changing.”