Person Writing Novels & Stories

Ninety-nine point seven percent. Half-sibling. I look at the result for a long time. Then I open a new document and I begin typing, not for the piece, not for publication, just for myself, the way I have been writing since I was ten years old, using the act of putting words in order as a way of putting thoughts in order.

"I—" "This is weak." Adrian pointed at the screen. "This reads like a press release written by someone who's never spoken to an actual human being." Peter's face had gone pale. "I can revise it. I didn't realize" "You didn't realize because you don't think." Adrian’s voice was quiet. "You sit at your desk, you type whatever comes into your head, and you assume that's good enough." People were silently watching but trying not to make it obvious. "That's not…I work hard, Mr. Rossi. I stay late. I,"

Sigh ! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Third Person POV

"Personal branding is about highlighting the good parts." After forty-five minutes debating photos, we moved on to the profile text. That part was even worse. "'Verdanian in London looking for…'" Gwen stopped typing and looked at me. "Looking for what?" "I don't know. That's why I'm using the app. If I knew what I was looking for, I would've found it already." "Annabelle, you need at least a vague idea. Adventure? Serious relationship? Someone to split a streaming bill with?" "Serious relationship," I said immediately. "Definitely serious relationship. I want someone who takes me seriously from the first date."

This poor author is just trying to earn something. ---------------------------

From the park, he could see the whole façade of the city hall and it would be fantastic if he got this marvelous photo to go with his informative article. He pressed the button when he was satisfied with his setting. Then, he liked to sit down for a while and so, he looked for a nice spot and found a place on the ladder of the pillar. He readily sat down on it, visualizing the article he was going to write. He knew that it was quite enjoyable to be a freelance writer but he felt a little bit worried that what if he was running out of ideas one day.

And then we both went back to our own cubicles. Instead of stressing myself over something that I have no control of, I started writing again. Continuing the first draft that I made yesterday. I just hope that the company will consider publishing what I'm currently writing about. It's one of the many social issues that I want people to be knowledgeable enough or be aware of. Might be sensitive for others, but I'm going for it. There's one person that inspired me to write it. And it's the man Heide Delcour is still clinging to right now.

‘‘Slow down, it’s just a question, why are you so nervous,’’ he asked. ‘‘I am not nervous; I am trying to….’’ ‘‘Okay,’’ ‘‘ I like sleeping, its my first hobby and the only thing I do on my free time, I would also like to write poems and novels, with a pseudo name because I am sure no one will read if it is written by Perez, and I want just that, I try to write poems when I’m free and sometime back, I used to draw too,’’ I explained. No one had ever given me a platform to express my views and opinions so candidly, no one listens to what I say, or reads between the lines and beyond the lines of my words.

The specific sound of someone writing with the particular focus of a person who has found something they did not know they had this much to say about and is saying it while the saying is available. At some point I went to bed. I lay in the dark and I thought about the kitchen table and the pen and the paper and the man who had once told me he was not built for words and had spent the past year proving that was not entirely true. Who had written vows he did not rehearse. Who had written eleven words that forty thousand people had shared. Who was currently writing a letter to a baby who would not be able to read it for years. He came in later.