Guy Writing Novels & Stories

Theo stated seriously. "Yeah. He really is interested." Claudette added. "Should I be worried or excited?" I looked at Rustin and he just winked at me. "I should get back to work." "What do you do?" Jean asks. "I'm a writer." I replied as I opened my laptop. "Really? What kind of stuff do you work on? Maybe I've seen some of your work." Kim stated excitedly. "Romantic stories." I replied. "I'm working on something new. I'm trying to write a story from a male perspective."

"****** Thank you for taking the time to read my stories. Thank you for being the inspiration... Thank you for your encouragement and kind words. Thank you for sharing your points of view, especially when you don’t agree. Thank you for trusting me. You are The Best Guys… I pray you Continue to support me and inspire me to write more. I Love you all Guys, see you in the next Journey*****""""""""**

"My boss, Dawn-she has a friend who needed a ghostwriter. Dawn thinks I'll be perfect for it." "A ghostwriter?" Apparently I'd been reduced to simply repeating words now. "Yeah." Quinn tilted her head. "You know ...this guy wants to write a book, but he needs help. He has the story, but he needs someone to make it happen. Organize it, polish it ...make sure it flows. That's what I'm going to do." "Oh." I braced a hand against the wall, surprised to see I was still holding the crumpled chip bags. "He's a football player, actually." Quinn glanced up at me through her lashes, as though she wasn't sure how I was going to take this news.

“According to Gavin, getting good reviews and selling well. He’s happy. Seems more at peace these days. I think that’s all he cares about, really.” And that’s the truest thing you can say. Gavin’s full-time writing career ended badly. Too much drinking, too much hype, a near-fatal car accident, and he called it quits seven years ago. He returned to Clifton Heights and for the next five years drifted through a teaching career at the public school, barely getting by and still drinking too much. Two years ago his student was involved in that shooting. Afterward he quit drinking and began writing again . . . Though not necessarily because he wanted to. Not at first, anyway. Like those iron filin

I kind of do some writing for work, too. Rosie: No way! I write articles, what kind of stuff do you write about? Gabe: Wow that’s really cool. I’m not actually that much of a writer I guess. I just write code- ha. I own my own business. Yeah, writing code isn’t quite the same, buddy, I thought and chuckled to myself. Rosie replied with a joke about writing code that I figured had probably come from Thomas. He then jabbed back by asking whether I wrote articles for The Wall Street Journal or for Playboy Magazine. I laughed again. Not bad dude. But if only you knew, I thought. Luckily Rosie hadn’t disclosed any specifics about my blog.

The guy with grey eyes was slightly taller than the other one. They stood in front of the class and one of them said, “ Hello, I’m Peter West.” The guy with beautiful blue eyes spoke, “ Heath West.” The grey eyed boy spoke, his tone held a touch of menace, his voice was alluring and deep, anyone would be attracted to his voice the moment they hear it, “ Alright, does anyone have questions for them?” The professor said, “ Yeah, are you two related?” A girl asked, “ We are brothers.” Peter replied and the girl nodded,

For some reason Helwi immediately closed his eyes. The girl was shocked! "Helwi, try to hold it and feel it." Helwi just shook his head slowly. The woman's hand jerked when Geri suddenly brought her hand to touch the young man's sixpack stomach. "Geri," Helwi whispered. She never thought it would end like this. "Yes dear." After saying that Geri immediately put her lips together again. This time he also added a touch more. Geri's free hand goes straight to his most sensitive area.

Carlton told the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked away. "So, Grace," Martin started and I looked at him, "huge fan." I smiled, "You've read my work?" "I have." He smiled too. "You're a really talented writer." "Thank you." I told him. "I like literature appreciative men." He chuckled at that. "So, uh, what is it that you do?" I asked him, immediately overthinking whether or not I constructed the sentence properly. "I'm into tech." He answered.

[Maddox] Most people on this campus have a thing they're known for. Tyler in 204 does backflips at parties. The Nguyen twins run the fastest two miles in the state. Even weird Greg from the third floor is famous for eating an entire pizza in four minutes. Me? I write p**n. Not that anyone knows. Because when the lights go out and everyone else is chasing parties or hookups, I’m in my tiny dorm room, fingers flying across the keyboard, writing the kind of stories that make people blush behind their phones.

Elian wrote in the rain. He wrote with the specific momentum of someone who had been negotiating with a third act for six weeks and had finally, in the first week of February, found the way in. The finding had not been dramatic — it had been a Tuesday morning when he'd come downstairs slightly earlier than usual, made coffee without talking, gone back upstairs, and Dante had heard the writing-voice start immediately and not stop for four hours. By the end of that week he had twelve thousand new words. By the end of the following week, seventeen thousand more.