Fiction Books On Civil War Novels & Stories

Taking a sip of my whiskey, I felt the familiar burn as it slid down my throat, praying to whatever deity would listen that it'd numb the pounding headache beginning to overwhelm all my other senses. “Fuck me,” I mumbled under my breath as I opened the book titled, ‘History of the Great War.’ It was the usual stuff, talking about the first days of humans discovering the supernatural world was real, the attacks within our governments and armies, and the billions who had died. God, it had been a cluster fuck, a well-planned cluster fuck that none of us had seen coming. The war had been going on for a little over seventy years by the time I was born, just in time for me to participate in the la

I like taking my time, that way, I can get used to the idea of living with Xander. Sitting behind the counter in the bookstore, I listen to Vincent talking to his cars while I place an order for new books. One of those books is The Art of War by Sun Tsu. I want to read it and see why Alexei loves it so much. My thoughts turn to the BBQ, and I must admit, I enjoyed it a lot. And Rosemarie was right. Everyone seemed pretty normal. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe guns and men smoking cigars while plotting the end of the world?

Some of them read multiple times judging by the cracking of the binding. History. Military strategy. Economics. Law. Psychology. Philosophy. One entire shelf of biographies of powerful men across different centuries and continents. And then something that surprised me. Fiction. A whole section of it tucked into the far corner like something private. Novels. Some of them old enough that the titles had faded. I pulled one out carefully. A Russian novel. Thick. Dense. The kind of book that required patience and silence and the willingness to sit inside discomfort for extended periods.

“Are you guys ready to finally do as we were formed to do?” My eyes glared at Callighan as he lifted his head up to the sky. Once that loud howl came from him, we all prepared ourselves as the wolves charged at us altogether. All we could do was fight to our hearts desire. One charged at me and right when I thought life was over for me, the gunshots came right after him. Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! However, those shots were not enough… -To Be Continued- The End of Book 2

“Let’s hope nobody heard you begging for it.” Elijah was... Everything. But we broke up a year later when I had to leave. Since I've told you all this gory, beautiful stories about myself and it is time to finally close the curtains. I'm sad to go. Trust me, I am, but it's been fun sharing my deepest, sexiest secrets with you. I guess we might just call this entire book "the diary of a slut"

He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.

"Have you decided what you'll write about, yet?" Arni's face lit up, excited Selby asked about his dream. "I want to write a Civil War story about two brothers fighting on opposite sides of the war and the girl they both fall in love with. I want it to take place in Mississippi, and I plan on visiting there for some research as well as vacation time." Selby nodded. "Sounds like a pretty good basis for a story. Have you written anything so far?"

I moved deeper into the room. The shelves curved inward near the back wall, the books older here, their spines faded and their titles worn to near illegibility. I had to lean close to read them, my finger tracing the letters carefully. “A History of the Southern Territories,” I whispered under my breath, squinting. “Wolf Genealogy: The Five Great Bloodlines.” “The Post-War Reconstruction—A Council Record.” I paused at that last one. Post-war. I pulled it free carefully and turned to the first page. Dense formal text, the kind written by people who wanted to sound important.

In Adam's hand was the leather case she was temporarily bound to, being admired in all corners. "Oh, hey, can't figure out how to open it." Within the speed of light, the leather case was out of Adam's hold. "That's not it," she buried it beneath her books and unzipped another pouch. "Here. Sorry, I should have been more precise." She wiped off an imaginary bead of sweat. "Okay, um, we're beginning with the outbreak of the civil war. What year was that again?" She nervously flipped through pages and even past the required page.

he adds quickly. “Why are they out?” I take off my coat and move to the couch, curiously picking up an old book. “You-know-who wore her mother’s wedding dress at our wedding.” He looks uncomfortable talking about it. “She wanted it back and I wasn’t sure what box it was in.” “Oh. This stuff is cool.” “You like Civil War history?” he asks, looking a little amused. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about it. But I love antiques. Wait, all this stuff is from the Civil War?”