Novel Manuscript Example Novels & Stories

Olivia could barely breathe as she sat at her desk, staring at the half finished manuscript that had started to look more like a confession than a novel. The pages smelled of ink, sweat, and fear. Every sentence she wrote about Ethan and Jessica felt like a razor cutting closer to bone. The danger wasn’t only outside anymore, it was inside her own words.

With that, he waved his hand, turning on his feet and walking away. **** Stepping inside, I noticed that it was relatively empty, except for Helene, who made a face at me. I didn't pay her any attention, skipping to my office. Once I sat down, my eyes began raking over the desk in search of the manuscript. I let out a exhale, finding it wedged between several files, a grin curving around my lips. Slumping in my chair, I started reading over the draft, taking in the delicate cursive at the top, followed by the contrast cutive mono font at the bottom.

Deep down, I couldn’t wait to be done so I wouldn’t have to keep scanning through the bed scenes in the novel and thinking about crazy things. I wanted a new piece—one that would make me understand the state of her mind since three days ago. Would she write another book where the couple doesn’t work out and she ends up settling with his best friend? Or even his brother? Since our lives seemed to be her inspiration. I sat with the manuscript for about three hours, and when I was done, I sent it back to her email with the note: “This is beautiful—way better than the first draft. It’s always like that. I have highlighted a few parts that need some finishing touches, and you’re good to go.”

The Arcane Archives felt heavier tonight, the floating candle orbs burning a deep, sultry crimson. I arrived wearing nothing but a thin silk robe that Elias had left for me at the entrance — the fabric so sheer it barely qualified as clothing. My skin already tingled with anticipation and nerves. Elias stood waiting beside the large reading table, holding a slim, black-bound manuscript with silver edges. The title shimmered faintly: The Voyeur’s Manuscript — Confessions of Hidden Desire.

The time of traffic jams, this is also the rush hour of traffic jams, her choice is to take the bus without having to choose but that the poor girl does not have money to buy a car to go. As she walked to the train, she reflected on the words the manager said earlier, what he said made sense. Ever since she was a wet-footed fourth-year student writing novels online and luckily so many people noticed that the company contacted her to cooperate. Her debut work is not very famous but also well received by a part of the reader, her knack is to write urban love genres. But it's always a subject that turns around and turns so that her later works aren't as well received as they were at first. Part

Elle sat at her table and stared at the laptop, “A romance novel, eh?” She heaved a sigh shaking her head, “What the point it was all cliche, he ate my ears complaining how bad it was.” She pouted sulkily. She opened the laptop regardless and placed her fingers on the keyboard, she closed her eyes and took a deep sigh, “Fine, let’s give it a go,” She nodded determinedly. With the start of the novel, her fingers moved in a flow, the words went in a flow, she spent her day and night in front of the laptop, 3 weeks later, her book was done, she wiped her tears as she stared at her completed manuscript.

Dear Reader Thank you for reading the first chapter of the book called, Sins Of My Body. Sins Of My Body was originally written as an Interactive Story Game. I am in the process of adapting it into a novel form. The original version contains a great deal of dialogue to fit the platform for which it was intended. Though you can enjoy the story in its interactive format too as currently published. (eg when Veronica speaks, the format will be as this: Veronica ~ “Let me go, creep.”)

Something wasn't right, and I would be glad if someone could give me a lead. After she conveyed her message, she left, and then I tried to concentrate on the work on my desk. I had a lot to review, ranging from novels to articles, and documentaries. I worked fucking hard to be ridiculed. I picked up the first novel manuscript from the cart full of papers then I opened the first chapter. It was a werewolf contemporary novel, and it got me drowned for a while until Mr. Bernard barged in with a pile of files. I raised my head to see him, shutting the door with his feet.

For the first time, Cathedra had someone who didn't cringe every time she opened her mouth to speak. So this is what having a friend feels like, huh? Cathedra thought to herself. One lunch break, while waiting for Diane underneath the tree, Cathedra was scribbling a draft of her first novel in her notebook. The novel contained the scenes she saw in the storybook, back in her kindergarten days. Since that day at kindergarten, she didn't tell anyone what she saw in the storybooks anymore. The thought of seeing things that other people couldn't still terrified her but she tried hard not to think about it by avoiding any book she can see other than school books and textbooks.

But none of them interests me. I have already found the perfect manuscript. It is on my desk—the diary. The only problem is that it doesn’t have an end. The last few pages are either missing or it just ended abruptly. Ever since I’ve read it, all my mental energies have been diverted to its content. It’s nothing phenomenal, but the sheer circumstance around it is so powerful. What lies on my desk are a dead man’s words. Could a story be more perfect? There were some books that I had written before I started my own publishing house and they did well, but I don’t write much now.