Quiet Book Novels & Stories

So on top of my normal duties I'm doing the work of three more people which has led to mistakes being made and has caused some small, silent break downs. With all of this going on and issues I'm having with this app and my "editor" still I have decided to not continue writing at all. It truly is with a heavy heart that I say this to you because writing used to bring me so much joy but now it just feels like another chore that I'm being bogged down with. I know there are authors who go through things like this and just abandon the stories they are currently writing which isn't fair to the readers. That is why I'm writing all of this to explain so you hopefully understand why I have decided to

Greta and Gabby made their way to Page Turner’s Bookstore just down the street from the Blue Moon Inn. Once inside the warmth of the large shop, Greta was surprised to see a bright modern shop, which included not only a metaphysical section, but my children’s section, too. With soft upbeat music playing in the background, it didn’t take long to find the shopkeeper chatting away to a rather wild looking dog by a fireplace.

"It's the hormones. Not me." He smirks. "Sure. And it's just my dick that wants to be buried in your pussy. Not me." I gasp, my thighs clenching as forbidden heat pulses through me. He winces the second it leaves his mouth, then pivots fast. "Umm, right. So... what was that last book you read to Zuri?" "Uh...Quakers the Duckling Has Feelings?" What the hell does that have to do with anything? "That googly-eyed bastard looked like he's seen some shit."

It was a space designed purely for quiet study, and reverence. “These two shelves here are all about the mate bond,” Thefros said, gesturing toward a pair of bookcases halfway down the room. “Lore, case studies, theory. Everything we’ve managed to preserve.” I nodded, pulling down five books at random and settling at the table under the nearest lamp. Thefros took a seat opposite, already flipping through his own selection with practiced ease. The pages felt heavy in my hands, textured like something handmade. These books hadn’t touched a printer, some were written in fading ink, others illuminated with strange symbols or brutal sketches. One book was nothing but badly rhymed poetry pretendin

“I hope I’m not bothering you.” “You never bother me,” he said, closing the book completely. “Are you okay? Is everything alright? What’s on your mind?” I tried to smile. “I just… wanted to spend some time with you.” His eyes softened. “Well, okay. That’s a good reason.” I walked over and sat across from him, the firelight warming my knees. “You always seem so peaceful in here.” He smiled faintly. “Books are quieter than people.” “Is that why you prefer them?” I asked.

He flipped the light bar off, plunging us back into the grey dimness of the storm. "You're getting good at that," he said, his breathing finally beginning to level out. "At what?" "At the 'Dirty' work," Enzo said. I looked down at the Red Ledger. My knuckles were white where I gripped the leather. I wasn't the "Boring" girl who worked for a tech startup anymore. I was the woman who had just blinded a man so her husband could ram a truck. "It says here... 'The Quiet,'" I read, squinting at the page as a neon sign from a passing liquor store illuminated the text. "What is 'The Quiet'?"

K A I D A The library is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes my own breathing feel too loud, the rustle of pages unnatural. The scent of old parchment and ink fills my nose as I sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books I barely understand.

It’s quiet here… It’s always quiet in here, but not the kind that feels abandoned, empty. Just settled, I mean a bookstore shouldn’t be noisy either, so being used to the kind of quiet that sits comfortably in your chest instead of pressing against it is kind of my normal. We get a few regulars enough to keep the lights on, enough to remind me the place still matters to people other than me.

At the far end of the room is a stone pedestal. “Look,” Quinn whispers as she approaches the stand. On it is an ancient book bound in leather and adorned by runes. “Could this be what we’ve been searching for?” she asks, her blue eyes are full of hope. “There’s only one way to find out,” I reply, stepping forward to examine the book more closely. As I reach out to take it, I’m hit with a wave of nausea and my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Something’s not right,” I state to Quinn as she tries to take the book from the stand.

Sadly, until I get justice for my parents then I can wish for love. Quinn carries a large folder with him which steals all my attention. It has torn edges and papers that are slipping off. I grab one that is about to fall. I turn it. It has animated drawings with short narration. As I skim through I realize it is a draft for children's book. "You write?" My shock is evident in my high pitch tone. He snatches it back, "none of your business." He barks. I am still amused, "Who would have thought the hardcore Quinn wrote children books."