Kobo Writing Life Novels & Stories

It’s Fabiano’s whisper. It’s Don. It’s debt. It’s dangerous. Or worse… Ethan’s mess spilling into my life again. My fingers tremble. Suddenly, the only way to not unravel… Is to write. To trap this chaos in ink before it devours me whole. I pull my notebook from my bag, click my pen, and begin scribbling furiously, everything, every fear, every knock, every whisper. If I don’t turn this life into words… It might destroy me.

I closed my eyes, trembling as tears escaped and fell into the food. "Happy birthday, Eleanor Shaw," I whispered to myself. "Keep moving forward—onward forever. Even if no one loves you, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. As Jeffrey said, you have enjoyed over 20 wonderful years of wealth and privilege. You've had it good." Just like that, I repeated words of comfort to myself as I wiped away my tears. I moved all my belongings that I had sorted out over the past two weeks in the living room.

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.

"And work? How's the transition to remote consulting?" "Good. The work itself is engaging. My manager is supportive." I pause. "And I've started writing." Her eyebrows lift. "Writing?" "A novel. Fiction, but autobiographical. About a woman going through a divorce, then being targeted because of her ex-husband's enemies." "Tell me more about that." I explained the project. The scenes I've written. The emotions that pour onto the page. The crying and the catharsis. Dr. Katherine listens without interrupting, her expression thoughtful.

I paused, my contemplative eye searching back through memories of when I first wrote my first entry. "It has been a long fairly self-sufficient journey, Henry, and I wasn't sure I was going to last with this book considering my level of education, knowledge of words and sentence construction. To be honest, I have thought of throwing this book away and not completing it but I can't because it is my life's work. I find myself telling stories on days when I have nothing to write about and I am not sure if the stories I tell are amazing stories or just a piece of shit that people are going to struggle to read. But, my entire life's work lies in what I am writing. I know it doesn't sound decent f

, I'd found solace in the quiet corners, and Liv had been my steadfast companion through it all. Thankfully, Liv had also gotten into the same college as Ashton and me. It was a stroke of incredible luck. Though we hadn't been coursemates, sharing the same campus had cemented our bond. We spent countless hours together, studying, laughing, and sharing dreams. It was during those late-night study sessions that my love for writing blossomed into my decision to take the first step and put my thoughts on paper. Liv was always my biggest cheerleader, encouraging me to pursue my passion. So, when I finally decided to take the leap and start writing seriously, it felt only natural to turn to her fo

Caroline just needed to find a hobby. In the past two days, she no longer felt aimless. Instead, she found a direction in her life. She wanted to try writing a book. Although she thought it was a ridiculous idea, she wanted to give it a shot anyway. Caroline thought that she wouldn't be able to write anything since it was her first time. But unexpectedly, her mind overflowed with ideas after she turned on the laptop. Just like that, she wrote ten thousand words in just half a day. When Caroline saw what she had written, she felt a sense of familiarity once more. It was as if she had seen them somewhere. However, this was the first time she had written this.

But in the writing it had become something more immediate and more personal, which was what books did when they were working properly: they found the true question underneath the one you thought you were asking. The true question was: how do you live in the life you have survived into? How do you inhabit it fully, with your whole self, when you were so long in the business of surviving it that inhabiting felt like a skill you had never been taught? She had lived this question for four years and was still living it, in the specific way of someone who had arrived somewhere unexpected and found it was home and was still, regularly, surprised by the fact of being here, which was not a problem bu

She would never go back to that, but they were grown now and she had the right to go out for a picnic and enjoy herself! “What is your problem, Sean! I didn’t intentionally upset any of you. I just got back from a life-altering event! Jack understands what I’ve been through. Have you ever been on the brink of death like that. On the side of a mountain, clinging to life? This can’t be equated to drug addiction!” Though she herself had thought them similar when she was trying to survive.

"Real writers don't run from the mess. They write it down." I stared at him, completely stunned. "You don't understand. They're calling me horrible names. They're making things up about my life." "Then change the narrative," Keller challenged, his voice firm and completely uncompromising. "Did you forget what I told you yesterday during our introductory prompt? I told you your prose was flawless but that you write like someone who has been holding her breath for years. You've been hiding behind compliance and perfect grammar because you're terrified of conflict. Well, guess what? The conflict has arrived at your doorstep. The mess is here."