Shut Up And Write Novels & Stories

“So I write without him.” Scott’s gaze sharpened. “Exactly.” She typed a sentence. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too. Winnie leaned over her shoulder, reading without touching. “That’s too soft.” Freeda’s jaw tightened. “I’m not writing for comfort.” “I know,” Winnie said. “Write like you’re closing a door.” Kris added, “And don’t explain. Explanations are where people start asking you to prove you’re sane.” Freeda’s mouth tipped slightly. Not a smile. More like recognition. “They love asking women to prove that.”

he asked curiously. “Uhm... Writing? Isn’t it obvious?” “I know you’re writing, Nat. I’m just wondering why do you need to use your hands instead of papers and why are you writing in the middle of our conversation.” “It’s for my manual, you know. So that I wouldn’t forget about the rules that I came up earlier. It’s better to be safe than sorry. And also, I got rule number seven, ‘Always list down the important details.’ That one was good, right?” I asked.

I scroll slightly and there’s more. “𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 � �𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒕.” At those final words I sit up, my spine straightening that I almost hear a crack in my waist.

" I took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. He was looking at me with some kind of resolution in his eyes; like he was hell bent on convincing me yet pissed off at the same time that I was not buying it. He clenched and unclenched his jaws and did the same for this fists to as he groped the steering wheel in one hand. "You don't have to give your self that kind of stupid storyline. You can simply write your autobiography. How about your legs? Huh? Write about them. Can't you? I've known you for a while now and I know you are not shy or insecure about sharing your story because you have bene doing just that on your Instagram posts for a while. You can simply just write about your legs and inspi

I asked. “That you talk too much for an artist,” he said, trying to sound amused. I smiled. “And you hide too much for a writer.” He laughed under his breath, but it came out uneven. He wasn’t used to being read this way. Most people aren’t. They think they control their stories. They forget that silence speaks louder than anything. I took another step closer, setting the sketch aside. “You’re doing fine,” I said. “Just… breathe slower.” He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “You keep saying that.”

> She thought: of course. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: there will always be more to write. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: that's how you know it's working.

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Third Person’s P.O.V (Somewhere not so near) “I am telling you this will be a success.” Guillotine said as he closed his laptop shut and he turned towards Maurice his assistant and content editor. “We should be grateful that the reviews are coming back positively tonight.” Maurice answered with a small sigh. “To be honest with you, you are such a terrible writer.” “Oh, no Maurice, don’t do this to me.” He chuckled as he reeled himself in his chair. “Writing is the only thing I know how to do.”

When he finished, he folded the paper carefully and added it to the box. "What did you write?" I asked. "That's between me and the summit box," he said, but he was smiling. "Your turn." He offered me the notebook and pen, and I stared at the blank page for a long moment, trying to figure out what the fuck to write. What could I say that was honest but not revealing? What could I leave here that wouldn't feel like a lie? Finally, I wrote: "Sometimes the best moments are the ones you didn't plan for. -S"

"If you disconnect, you’re not just saving them. You’re Deleting Me. I only exist as long as the 'Draft' is active. If you go 'Off-Line,' I fade into the system noise." ​She held out a hand, and in it was a Small, Physical Key. ​"There’s a third way, Nora," the Co-Writer whispered. "Don't disconnect. Publish." ​"Publish?" Nora recoiled. "And let them stay as 'Assets' for the Syndicate?"