Narnia Writing Novels & Stories

“I thought you would’ve liked Lion-Witch-Wardrobe.” “I didn’t like it, I loved it. Have you read the last book of the series?” I shook my head. “The children all die in a train crash and go to heaven, except for Susan. She stopped believing in Narnia so she gets to end up as a mangled corpse in twisted wreckage while the others are all, ‘Hurray! Off to the promised land!’ Ruined my childhood.” Claire turned away from consoling Flossie. “Can you two stop complaining about dead Christians for one second and do something about Dudley?”

* * * * * "... while he was still chewing away, the first dwarf came back and announced that the sledge was ready. The White Witch rose and went out, ordering Edmund to go with her. The snow was again falling as they came into the courtyard, but she took no notice of that and made Edmund sit beside her on the sledge ..." Lucas had been sitting in his chair for over an hour while Bobby read to his grandmother from his favorite childhood books. It was a ritual by now. Every day, for half a day, they would sit by her side, and Bobby would read her the stories she had once read to him. This was a special one. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

He clarified closing the book in hand, rising to his feet he placed the book on top of the wooden table. “I don’t like this” I announced my feelings to the entire room. I wasn’t even going to attempt to hide it. I just wanted to spend time with my mate, get to know one another but its proving that the universe was messing with me. “Which part?” The twins chuckled at Levi’s remark. “You don’t have to like it son, but you do have to be cautious. If this scripture is right and it somehow correlates with Nina, then you and your wolf have a hard time ahead of you, my boy.” He patted my shoulder twice as he walked past me.

A father as terrifying as Baba, a mother as cowardly as Mama, and a sister as sweet as Cara. A tear slipped from the corner of her eyes as she wrote down the characters’ goals. She only wanted one thing, maybe two. Taking a deep breath, she tapped a key on her keyboard. This was her story, and she would write herself a happy ending. Hana wrote until her fingers went numb. But somehow, she couldn’t get herself to stop. It was so easy to picture every scene and change the settings from contemporary to fantasy. To watch Kyle, a dragon rider in her story, burn down the men who tried to harm her with his dragon. She named it K.

“Today our teacher asked us to write about something which does not exist in real life but can be found only in books.” “And what did you write about? Prince Noah?” “No. Princes do exist in real life.” She pointed out. “I was never fond of becoming a queen or princess.” “Then what did you choose to write?” “Ok. Promise me you won’t make fun.” “I won’t. Now spill.” He said a little sternly. “I wrote about werewolves.” He almost choked on his water. “You wrote what? …” Without realizing he had intense emotions on his face she kept telling him, “Werewolves. I love their books. After reading werewolves’ stories I used to imagine myself as a Luna.” She giggled.

Luna's writing reflected not only the events but also the emotions embedded in each word, creating a profound narrative that resonated with the mystical energies of Nampa. As Luna composed the chapter, she delved into the intricacies of the elders' sacred gathering, the revelation of the prophecy, and the acknowledgment of her place within the cosmic design. The quill paused at times, as if capturing the weight of the revelations in the ink, the gravity of a young wolf ascending to the revered position of an elder. In the margins, Luna sketched symbols that held personal significance—a crescent moon, a celestial bridge, and the intertwined roots of the sacred tree. These illustrations served

They chewed their lips, thinking hard, tongue poking out. After a moment, they carefully crossed out the E with a shaky line and wrote, in big letters above it: CURSED (BUT COOL). Naomi lost it. “That’s going on your hypothetical future book cover,” she declared. “Right under your epic author photo.” “I look terrible in photos,” I said. “Legendary,” she corrected. Later, in bed, after the pups had been herded away and the elders had grumbled themselves out of the den, I lay with the comic on my chest, Ronan’s arm draped over my waist.

She flipped her laptop open again and decided she’d continue with her children’s books, the Sacred Sword series, urban fantasy stories about a brother and sister who found themselves in the Himmapan world where the heaven and earth were at war, gods and demons fought for power, and amongst them were creatures like the naga, garuda, and hanuman who aided the two children in their journey to save this world. Once she had the Word document open, however, she found she couldn’t concentrate. She sat there, staring at the screen, staring at the last few sentences which were waiting for her to continue the tales. The words didn’t come. Her mind was blank. No, that was a lie. Her mind wasn’t blank.

They are my heart poured out in ink, my dreams stitched together through words. I’ve been writing for years now, ever since Noah encouraged me to pick up the pen again, but this time it feels different. I’m not just writing for me anymore. I’m writing for our children, for Luca and Emilia, for the family we’ve built and the life we’ve lived. The stories that have been taking shape in my mind are inspired by the small moments that have defined our journey: bedtime giggles, shared tears, quiet evenings full of love and chaos. They’re not directly about us, but each character carries pieces of who we are.

That just earned me a chuckle as I got my phone to pair up with his Bluetooth in the car, within seconds the reading started. ‘Akarnae by Lynette Noni’ Starts up. “Wow this sounds like a Harry Potter story,” He told me, I smiled at him, “It sounds like it but it’s more a mixture of Lord of the rings and The Chronicles of Narda. Do you not like Harry Potter?” I asked, “No, but it’s kind of like that.” He starts laughing, “Kiddo it’s ok I know it’s not Harry Potter, but I do like your taste in stories.” He said, sounding happy, I smiled out the window making sure he doesn’t see that we could get along well if we like the same things.