Novel & Cerita Novel Written In First-person

It was warm. Not the sharp urgent warmth of the tower flame or the pulsing heat of my wrist mark in moments of high feeling. Something older and quieter than that. The warmth of something that had been waiting in a dark place for a very long time and was simply relieved, in a way that had no urgency left in it, to finally be found. I opened it. --- The first page had no chapter heading. No introduction. No author named. Just a single line, written in ink so dark it was nearly black, in handwriting that was small and careful and had the particular quality of someone who wrote as though every word cost something and was therefore worth spending precisely:

She turned the page, her fingers tracing the edges of the paper. The next entry was dated, and the ink was a deep, vivid red. It was a story, told in the first person, of an encounter that took place in a dimly lit alley behind a bar. The atmosphere was thick with tension, a charged current that seemed to vibrate in the air. Pinky leaned in closer, her heart skipping a beat as she read the words.

I wrote the first chapter in November. Not the beginning of the story. That was where I had started with the speeches, the Vegas chapel, the blue dress. But for the book I started somewhere different. I started with the first morning in the hospital, the shaking in the car, the way the ceiling of our bedroom had been the wrong ceiling for four seconds that had been the worst seconds of my life. I started with after. It was harder than the speeches.

But it is not an unhelpful dissent. The call ends. I set the phone down. Four to one, with the one wanting more than I asked for. I look at the blank page. I will write the first line. It begins: My name is Lena Crest and I am going to tell you what actually happened, starting with a staircase and a signed piece of paper and a morning I have been describing to myself in the wrong order ever since.

The first few pages are more of observations and little snippets, like descriptions of football practice, the twins arguing over cereal, his dad slowly becoming a different person, and then there’s a random page about how writing feels like “trying to catch smoke with your hands.” My smile grows even bigger. “These are really good, Ty.” “It gets better,” he says. “Keep going.” I glance up expecting to see an arrogant smirk. Instead, he looks really nervous. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I keep turning the pages. I stop at the one that has a simple heading called “Her.” Instantly, I know it’s about me. My breath catches as I begin reading. There are people who walk into your life quietly

There are so few views, now that Goodnovel provided me a platform, but I am more than happy to continue this story and perhaps, make it my first completed novel. So now allow me to talk about the novel itself. I have talked to my editor about it and I came to know that my first few chapters are quite odd. The beginning chapter itself barely had any conversation. Well… To be honest, it can’t be helped since I wrote it on my first attempt in writing. I have no background. No experience. I read. I read. I read a ton. I was very smug about my memory since I could remember all sorts of details from hundreds of chapters back.

I am trembling with fear and from the cold. I’ve never felt so helpless like this. I don’t know what will happen to me here. My throat hurts, and my stomach just grumbles. A lot of horrible scenarios pop in my head, and at that thought, my body starts to shake from frustrations, anger, hunger, and hopelessness. Please, God. Please, don’t let me die like this. *** The high-pitched sounds irritate my ears. Beep Beep Beep. *** A/N: This is the first novel I've ever written.

I'm going to start dropping my author's notes here. I think I’m starting to really enjoy writing from Noah’s POV. He’s so messy, spontaneous, and just full of vibes. I usually avoid male POVs because they can be tricky, but Noah is slowly helping me get more comfortable with it. I hope I was able to make it feel real for you. Also—we’re already at 90 views! That’s so sweet. 90 of you took the time to read my book, and I’m truly grateful. Thank you so much. 🥺💗

Eloise – First Person POV The smell of smoke still clung to my clothes. It had seeped into the fibers, into my hair, my skin. Even though the fire department had left hours ago, the scent was a constant, nauseating reminder of how close I had come to losing everything.

I said referring to the novel in his hand. "Yeah i'm almost done with it,it's also great" Mig said and continued reading. I don't want to rush this novel,i want to savor every bit of it. I'm a fast reader,i could finish reading a novel in an hour but not like this novel..It seems unique. Did i just say i'm a fast reader? How did i know that?...cause this novel seems my first..Or; Have i read any novel before this? Am i a lover of novels? I asked myself trying hard to remember but i felt a sharp pain tore through my head...I cried out.