Concession In Writing Novels & Stories

Please know that your encouragement motivates me to strive for excellence in my writing. Warmest regards, [18th Studios.]

I asked. “Mostly editing. You might call it a little bit of censorship,” Mr. Conroy admitted, “but it’s more like cleaning up.” “Feel free to elaborate,” I said, feeling my stomach knot up a little bit. “Well, it’s not that you’re told exactly what you can or cannot write. But let’s say someone refers to the alpha king as a big fat, flying fuck. Obviously, we don’t want to change their feelings in the article, but we might soften the sentiment by simply saying that a particular source doesn’t approve of the king.

“You don’t need permission to be good. You just need to keep doing it.” He smiled against my skin and then, because we both still loved little rituals, he reached into the nightstand and unfolded another scrap of paper: a list of clauses he’d drafted that afternoon, written in that neat, stubborn hand of his. He read the first line aloud, and it sounded like a vow: The Willow Inn shall remain a community refuge by charter; funds accepted must be restricted to capital improvements and staff training; any branding must be explicitly non-commercial and solely for the purpose of fundraising to keep the sanctuary open.

Chapter one — Dear conrad Phoebe's POV My hand shook as the pen scratched across the paper. I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. But the words wouldn’t stop coming. “Conrad… I can’t stop thinking about you. The way your hands would feel on my waist during practice, rough and sure. How you’d push me against the lockers after everyone else has gone home, kissing me like you’ve been starving for me. I imagine you sliding your fingers under my skirt, whispering that I’m yours while the whole school walks by without knowing…”

He finished writing and slid the paper across the desk to me. “You present it like this,” he said. “A marriage contract. Terms. Conditions. Duration. A clear beginning and a clear end. You make it a deal. You make it about the company. You make it about winning. That’s the only language she’ll understand right now. That’s the only way she’ll ever agree.” I looked down at the paper. At the top he’d written: CONTRACT OF CONVENIENCE. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

Connor the con was already enough competition. *****************************************

"Uncle is not going to be pleased about this." Catherine's eyes widened, and the gravity of Theo's words weighed heavily upon her. Mr. Simpson, a formidable and exacting presence in their lives, was not one to be trifled with. The realization struck them both, a shared understanding of the consequences they might face for their impromptu late-night rendezvous. In the dimly lit kitchen, with their sandwiches reduced to crumbs, they reluctantly rose from their seats, preparing to return to their rooms.

"Nevertheless, it's their rule, remember the words the manager of this apartment said?" I looked down until my eyes fell on the wooden tiles, and then, the scenario earlier was once again played by my mind. The old man laughed as his eyes couldn't be seen anymore. He got something from his pocket and showed us what it was. "The rule given by the above was all written here," he said as his smile seemed to already be carved on his wrinkled face. He pointed to the words written on a white scroll. "And it said that this town was only for the restoration of the vampire clan. Therefore, you can't enter here nor sleep in a room with no mate with you as we gave importance to every chance we have to

I left the bathroom, pursing my lips in a bid to ensure the lipgloss touched all the presumed places. “You going somewhere?” Marlowe raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he kissed me briefly. “Yeah, the cafe. I need to write. The writers conference gave me the motivation I was lacking.” He grinned as he squeezed my hand. “Well, it's lunch hour for me. I'll take Fabian to the emperor's restaurant and I'll give him a tour around the city later on as well. Have fun.” A few minutes later, I left the house, sweating profusely.