Novel & Cerita Ghostwriter Memoir

"I understand, Perer. We are good friends. Aren't we?" "Yes, we are." "Good!" Henry acknowledged. "Now, tell me about this diary of yours you have been writing for almost a year now." “You want to hear all about it?” “Yeah! Tell me all about it.” "Well," I started, trying to bring my diary/book/memoir into a positive limelight, "the book I am writing is basically a diary. Inside it, are events of my life that I have recorded. Though, there are times I would like to see it as my memoir but I can't due to the nature of it. My book is not something you will see on every regular bookstore in the market. It is unique and addresses the reader in a way you have never seen before. I know you know it

But if there’s any truth in my assumptions, I would kill that therapist in a heartbeat. It tried to imagine what the eleven-year-old Benny might have gone through. I can’t imagine it. The torture she had experienced so she could expel her entire childhood out of her head and forced to remember bits and pieces like it was a fucking mastery exam? She was a child! “Want me to drive?” Ghost asked calmly, pulling me out of my trance.

They have unfinished business. She just can’t remember what it is. Camille Vanderbilt is headed back home to Wyoming with one goal: find her old best friend and give him a piece of her mind for ghosting her six years ago. She won’t let anyone stand in her way… until a deer runs into the road and causes her to wreck and forget almost everything.

The man who smiled while explaining how to erase a person’s memories like deleting a file. “Copy,” Rhett said flatly. He crouched by a tree, eyes on the trail. Muddy footprints, still fresh. He brushed his gloved fingers through one, then looked toward the dark ridge ahead. He could smell the iron in the rain the metallic tang that always came before blood. A second Ghost moved up beside him. “You think Ward remembers?” Rhett shook his head. “If he did, he’d never run with her. He’d have put a bullet in her already.”

So this was the "true love" he always spoke of. The man in front of me wasn't just the Conrad who had killed me five years later in my past life. Back then, when he killed me, his face was pale. Now, he didn't even flinch when he cut the rope. I clenched my fists. "Does that feel satisfying?" I turned my gaze away. "Shirley, I know I was wrong. All these years, I've regretted every day. I've done so much for you—"

Evangeline’s father was strapped to a reinforced chair, a metal table stretched out before him. It was impossible to know if this was his real form without any alterations without us using silver on him. Our magic had yet to evolve to withstand our one weakness. With cold, calm efficiency Ghost began doling out questions. Everything from his past with Anastasia’s mother to his connection to the missing wolves and the small anti-human establishments popping up across the country. “What do you know about wolves with the ability to manipulate memory?” He would give out fragments of information meant to entice. “We know Anastasia’s mother had one fuck with her head. Not very nice of them.”

and I'm not a man who might make you feel uncomfortable because I force you. And this time I can do all that as I please, I can force you to marry me now or I can even mark you. Then, did I do it for you? No, because I really respect you as a woman and I respect your feelings for me more. I want to see your feelings for me so naturally, so that you want and also agree with whatever I want according to your conscience without me having to force and ask you to do something that is completely useless." I fell silent again with a completely unreadable expression on my face, my eyes felt so hot now. I don't know what this means, it's just that I think that someday I will definitely have some thi

GUTEMBERG I ran my finger down the page of the book one last time, memorizing the final sentence and reflecting on it for a second before saying goodbye to the story. If anyone asks me, I don't like books. A lie I've invented and reinvented several times to erase the memory of an altruistic and loving mother who no longer exists. For the gossip sites, I'm the stripped-down and adventurous heir. For the members and brothers of the faction I'm part of, I'm the shadow, the blade, the Ghost. Most of them don't know where I came from or what my real role is, but they all look for me.

I liked how the color wrapped around me like armor. That’s where I kept my journals. Stacks of them—dating back to the first time I suspected Daniel of cheating. The first time I silenced my instincts. The first time I told myself, Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Looking back now, I didn’t hate that woman. I pitied her. She was surviving the only way she knew how—with denial as her sanctuary. Now, I wrote different things. Dreams. Plans. Snippets of dialogue between clients and myself. Ideas for a memoir I hadn’t admitted I was writing.

The cursor blinked rhythmically against the white screen. Suddenly, the cold armor of the legal terminology fractured. A sudden, suffocating weight pressed down on my chest as the truth caught up with me. My fingers hovered over the plastic keys, trembling slightly. I wasn’t just writing an academic paper. I was writing a autopsy report of my own life. I was writing about myself. I was writing about Shawn.