Shut Up And Write Novels & Stories

The second day had begun without her permission. She decided to write a list. Lists were orders disguised as thoughts. She found a pen in the nightstand drawer and a small notebook the housekeeper had tucked there and wrote: Don’t meet him. Don’t call him. Don’t let him call you. Tell him at the bookstore. Make it final. Walk away. She looked at the bullet points. They looked like instructions someone else would follow perfectly. She turned the page and drew a line down the middle and labeled the left See him and the right Don’t. Under See him she wrote:

he agreed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out nothing dramatic—no ring, no grand gesture. Just a folded paper. “I wrote something,” he said, and his voice held a trace of embarrassment. “It’s not legal. It’s not corporate. It’s… for us.” He slid it across the table. At the top, in his handwriting: Doors I Can Open. Below it, three short lines. I will not use power to make you stay. I will not use silence to make you guess.

"Shut up. Anyways I'm tired, hungry and there's some business I need to take care of before heading to bed so, goodnight." "Business..." I hear him chuckle on the other end, "Why don't you just say you're going to fap in the shower, Senpai? I feel bad for your shower drains, Senpai." "F-Fa…” I flush and I knew he was grinning on the other end, “Goodnight Jon Wilson!" His laugh rings through the phone even as I remove it from my ear and cut the call. Idiot. I dropped everything at the door and head straight for the shower. You weren't wrong but you're still an idiot. Before I head into the shower, I send her a good night text and one to many minutes later she replies.

She’d learned that she could absorb more by staying quiet than she ever could by performing participation. Near the end of the period Mr. Shepherd passed around a sheet. “List of American authors. Sign up for whoever you want, read three of their books, write a report on each, and put together an overall analysis at the end. First come, first served — if your favorite’s taken, pick someone else.”

“How dare you!” “Is this on record?” asks the secretary, scribbling furiously into her notes. “Don’t write another fucking thing,” Bazine snaps. The secretary stands too, holding her notes closely to her chest, bless her, glaring at Bazine from across the room. “That’s against protocol.”

“Stay safe then. You have a mate here who will be waiting for you” “I will. I love you all. Please don’t tell anyone else” “Don’t worry about that. The secret shall remain safe with us” “Thank you” “Shut up” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What do we do for the next chapter?" Julian smiled, a true, unfiltered expression that reached his eyes. "We stop writing the script, Maya. We just let the gears turn."

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Peter >> I stopped writing with a smile on my face. He knew it was not the best little thing he had written, but he knew that this was his place. It was the same feeling I had every time I wrote something good. It fit. It was that easy. If something didn't give me that feeling of belonging to that place, I would delete it without turning it around. It was one of my golden rules. Intuition was the most important thing to write with quality. That and inspiration, of course.

I needed a single night to absorb everything and give myself space for my tired heart. With a soft touch, I shut the window and laid down on the bed. There was silence around me but this time wasn’t scary. With a simple promise, I closed my eyes and committed to writing with complete honesty, even if it meant opening every one of my wounds.