How To Script Your Desired Reality Novels & Stories

“I don’t deal in fantasies, Josie. I deal with reality. And maybe your fantasy is my reality and that’s okay as long as you realize at the end of the day the fantasy becomes reality. What we do is real. It’s here. Solid. It’s not going away tomorrow or the next day. You need to be sure you can deal with that because yeah, I’ll give you the fantasy but it’s going to be real. No made-up shit you only dream about in your head. Are you prepared for that? Can you deal with this being real and permanent?” “But how? I mean I understand where you’re coming from about the line between fantasy and reality. I get that Michael obviously wanted a game. It wasn’t real with him, and I realized I didn’t wan

‘I’m happy we’re together now. The swell in his throat bobbed nervously again. ‘Fuck….’ Those eyes narrowed with alert again. ‘No… I’m not listening to it—.’ Panic seized me and I blurted the first thing that came to my mind. ‘But it doesn’t feel real!’ Damn. That wasn’t how it was supposed to sound. I meant to say that I wanted to be more than just a pretty vase—I want myself to become part of his reality… his life. Of course, he had to take it the most obvious way. ‘Not real?’ His head tilted in a taunting manner. ‘How real do you want this to be?’

I whispered to the ashes as they danced away: “You don’t own this chapter anymore.” And I meant it. Fully. I went inside and opened the Still Her dashboard. No script this time. No draft. Just raw voice. I hit record. / Still Her — Episode 10: We Never Owed Them Silence You don’t have to be perfect to be believed. You don’t have to cry at the right moment or use the right words or sound soft enough to be palatable. You just have to tell the truth. And keep telling it. Until it echoes.

In this newfound realization, I will take a stand: I am getting an image in my mind of how I want my plan to play out. The sight of the dilapidated chair conjured images of my weary body sinking into its sweat-stained cushion as I seized my phone with painstaking resolve. My fingers moved with purpose, darting across the screen as I set my plan into motion and prepared to send that video out into the world, share the truth, and cue justice.

His eyes were warm and promise-filled. I sipped, allowing the bubbles to tickle my throat as I clinked my glass against his. I repeated, "To us," but my thoughts were still elsewhere. Donald sat back and looked at me. "You are too quiet, babe!." His words drew back my attention, and in my mind, I pondered, "Do you want to destroy everything you've built? Today is a reality because I worked towards it." "No, it can't happen.

"And serve they shall. Forever. As the foundation we build our crossing upon. As the anchors we use to enter your reality. As the proof that your love makes excellent bait." Reality began to crack around them.

“Tell me how you do it. How do you write desire that feels real? Do you research every scene or do you imagine it?” Marcus was already checking his phone under the table. He did not hear the way Victor’s question curled around the words. I swallowed. “I imagine most of it. The characters come to me and I just follow where they want to go.” Victor smiled slowly. “And your heroines always start so pure saving themselves for the right man but turn bad when the older man comes along.” “Do you ever wonder what that would feel like in real life? To want someone you know you should not want?”

"I AM THE DESIGNER. THE CREATOR OF REALITIES. THE ONE WHO SHAPES EXISTENCE FROM VOID AND RETURNS IT TO VOID WHEN EXPERIMENTS CONCLUDE." The Architect's form shifted, showing us visions. Not memories but fundamental truth made visible. I saw it. Saw The Architect before anything existed. Saw it creating the first reality from nothing, watching it develop, then ending it to recycle the material into new experiments. Reality after reality, universe after universe, each designed, each observed, each terminated. "You created everything?" Xavier said, horror and awe mixing in his voice. "I CREATE. I OBSERVE. I LEARN. I RECYCLE. THIS IS MY PURPOSE. YOUR SEVEN REALITIES ARE EXPERIMENT SEVEN-SIGMA. O

The memory of her attic climax throbbed between her legs, a pleasant, spent ache. “And so, I begin a new fantasy. One where I am not the passive recipient, but the architect. I see a man. He is elegant and intelligent. He thinks he is seducing me. He will invite me for a drink. He will talk. And I will listen, all the while knowing the script. Knowing that later, when he pushes me against his door, fumbling with his keys, it will be because I orchestrated every step. Knowing that when he enters me, believing himself the conqueror, he will simply be a player in my theater. I will look over his shoulder, meet my own eyes in the mirror, and smile. For I have already written this scene. I have a

It was so deep that I felt it, both hands slammed against the wooden platform before I forced myself up, my eyes glossed over the crowd who weren't staring, they weren't looking at me and I didn't know if it had to do with a part of the inauguration until my eyes met his. I flipped my eyes, trying to be sure that I hadn't made him up . " Think about what you want the most, the people you see here, about how special you are to them, and you will be shown what you desire the most. Say it, keep it locked in, but don't say it out until you desperately want it, when you wish it, it would come to you, when you want it, you will get it, but for now, keep it locked in"