First Draft Of A Novel Novels & Stories

It was grounded and familiar. "Should we mention the first marriage?" he asked, the pen hovering over the paper. "No," I said firmly. He looked up, his dark eyes searching mine. "No?" "We're not announcing a reconciliation, Roman. We’re announcing something new. This isn't Chapter Two of the old book. It’s the first page of a different one." He let out a long breath and nodded. "I like that. Four sentences, then?" "Four sentences." It took us exactly twenty minutes. We got stuck on a single word in the third sentence, resolved it in three exchanges, and finished the draft. It was a perfect preview of forever.

They sat in the mind with the specific stability of things that had found their correct form and were simply waiting to be written down. He wrote it at 6:47 AM, before coffee, before Dante was fully downstairs, in the specific pre-conscious window he'd always used for first material. He wrote the first sentence and then the second, which had been waiting behind the first, and then three more, and then he stopped and made coffee and looked at what he had. Five sentences. The beginning of the novel about staying.

“Because sometimes pride is too big for words.” Calla – POV That night, I placed both books side by side on my desk. River’s first novel. My second. And a third notebook beside them—blank. Waiting. Not for closure. But for whatever comes next. Because my story didn’t start with my birth. It started the moment I chose to tell it.

Without any form of passion for it in the past or thoughts of it, he picked up his pen for the first time in a very long time. He began to draft out the letters of the words and sceneries that could make sense, to scripting out the perfect plot for a story he was willing to write. Like never before, the right words flooded his head and lines that could occur in the book, that would make it mind blowing for whosever would read it someday. For the first time in his life, he think he found something that he really enjoyed doing. Something no one would force him to do. ****

Stay tuned to my profile please. This was my very first novel, I hope that you love it.

“Cooking up something?” “Jay,” I said quickly, “why are you here?” “Oh,” he said suddenly. “I almost forgot.” But instead of answering, he continued reading my manuscript. “Hey!” I quickly snatched the papers from his hands. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. That manuscript was different from my usual books. It was my first attempt at writing an erotic novel. And judging by the amused look on his face… he definitely read part of it. “Wild goose,” he muttered with a grin.

Allen attempted to snatch the notebook from me, but I slapped his hand before he could even reach my desk. “Don’t make me repeat it again, Allen. I am writing a novel, not a drawing. And if I am to draw someone, it must be another person, not Christoph.” Speaking of which, something came up in my mind. A brilliant one. Instead of drawing an image of him, which was pretty obvious, why not make a novel instead? A story of us. He and I against the world. All I have to do is change our names to make it more obscure.

"I did the same thing to my ex, but we broke up on good terms. I didn't hide that from you, did I? You accepted my imperfections then, but somehow, you decided that I wasn't good enough for you. Tell me, what was your purpose when you first got in touch with me?" Jake was stunned for a moment. "Nothing in particular, really. I just liked you, and I fell in love with you. I wanted to be with you forever, but my friends were talking about their first time, and I realized I didn't get to be your first. You're such a beautiful, adorable, and amazing woman, so the thought of that upset me. I was only venting to them. I didn't mean it, I swear!"

Jenna rushed over with jealousy burning in her eyes, clearly ready to hit me. I managed to dodge her, and the anger festering within me for two lifetimes immediately erupted. "You claim to have written this novel, but you have no proof!" That was when I opened my laptop. "I started writing this novel two years ago. I drafted an outline of the story arc and characters all in this laptop. The time stamp on the documents are clearly marked as well. This is—"

Can’t she see? “All right. I understand. Please give me space. It’s urgent and I need to finish it right away,” I uttered before typing again, trying to bring back my concentration to my imagination. ... “Finally! I finished my outline! I’m going to start this novel tomorrow and hopefully, I will execute it,” I whispered and closed the laptop. I stretched my neck because it was aching and I didn’t even realize how many hours had passed because I was so focused and the good thing was, the outcome was good.