Concession In Writing Novels & Stories

Until now. JESUS! I wrote.. Haha. I wrote rubbish. Description of the gate to inside Cathedral (that's the name for this venue since I can't think of another. Maybe you give me options) Anyways. Wordcount describing gate to Cathedral was like 300 words. Haha. I was surprised myself. I wrote it when I was tired and sleepy. Didn't know I didn't filter anything. Anyways, I hope this revision helps a bit. I had to drop something before going for my papers. Will upload more soon. Thank you. Rewriting, so open to the venue other names

It was a large piece of pale stone with writing carved into it, the names of those who had contributed to making this possible, and in the center the simple phrase that Adrian had argued for against three different drafts of more elaborate alternatives: Here we begin. Adrian spoke briefly. He had learned that brevity worked better than elaboration for moments like this, that the weight of what was happening was better trusted to carry itself than to be pointed at repeatedly. He said that this place was a proof rather than a promise, that the argument about whether people of different kinds could live alongside each other in peace had been conducted in words for long enough and would now be c

com CONSOLATION PRIZE Publishing History Linda Kage, November 2016 Credits Cover Artist: Kage Covers Editor: Stephanie Parent Proofreader: Judy and Shelley Created with Vellum

I could write freely about how Miles would make a great president, even as such a young man. Maybe it will help his campaign. Maybe it won’t matter. But it’s something I feel necessary to write, even deep down in my bones. When I’m writing it, my fingers fly over the keys, I’m so passionate. I swear I’ve never written anything so quickly in my life. As I finish though, I tuck it away for now, to reread and edit later. Thinking on it, I’m not sure I’ve conveyed my opinions well enough. It has to be concise to be convincing. I’ll have to think on it. I want this work to be my best yet.

I was so wet I could feel a trickle threatening to run down my inner thigh. Kane reached past me, his sleeve brushing my arm, sending sparks across my skin. He grabbed a blank sheet of paper and the pen I’d been playing with. His handwriting was sharp and precise as he wrote: *Confidential Agreement* He listed his terms — automatic passing grade, exclusive readings at times he designated, absolute discretion, me remaining seated and silent unless directed. Breach meant academic consequences. When he slid the paper to me, our fingers brushed. Electricity shot straight to my core. I added my own lines in looping, defiant script:

"To take the heat away." Looking over at him, my eyes now icy blue, I say while growling. "Personal... gain." He looked confused. I fought for dominance to explain it further. "Performing... a spell... to do something for me... is considered personal gain... Witches- good witches- can't perform personal gain spells." "But it's not-"

“You’ve been working on it all weekend.” “I’ve got plenty of sources willing to tell me their story?” I said. “And I’ve got data from the college’s records. I have to keep expanding the outline.” “I would keep the article shorter than the report,” Victor suggested. “More people will read a shorter article. When most people see a lot of words on a page, they tend to skim the text or stop reading.” I nuzzled his neck. “I’ll write the longer report to be released to some outlets and condense the story for the newspapers.”

“Writing an informal contract stating you will no longer hold those minimum wage jobs against me.” “The one at the country club and here were not paying minimum wage and since you are writing up an agreement between us, put in a cliff note stating that you cannot talk about what you learn . . . from me or the Spanish speaking informant.” She crossed her sexy legs. Bruce cleared his throat and forced his attention back to the contract. He made it cut and dry. No reason to make it longer than a page. He drew two lines for both of them to sign. Then he signed it. Bruce handed her the legal size notepad and the pen.

He slid a sl‌eek black‍ pen acros⁠s the desk⁠, It gleamed under the lights like a we‌apo‌n. Ethan stared at it,his hand tre⁠mbled slig⁠ht‌ly as he pic​ked it‌ up.​ The contrac‌t felt heavier than it​ should,Sig⁠ning this would chan⁠ge eve‌rything. He kn⁠ew it in his bones but the alternativ​e wa‌s the str⁠e‌et. ⁠He flipped to the last page​, the signatu‌re line waited like an op​en mou​th an‌d Adrian w‍atched him w​ith predatory pati‍ence. “Las‌t cha⁠nce to run, little writer⁠”

Only two people standing near a question that could injure both of them in different ways. Then Elaine spoke, returning them to paper because paper was easier than pain. “We need the title of the agreement.” Daniel nodded once. “Search public summaries. Hospital annual reports, donor acknowledgments, charitable-assistance policy statements, archived Northbridge material, Cole and Grant foundation filings. Use generic terms first.” Elaine was already typing. “Support agreement, continuity language, historical eligibility, educational participation, patient support, placement history.” “Do not use names yet.” “No.” Leah moved away from the map because standing over it made her feel as if the l