Starting Point Book Novels & Stories

He didn’t deserve my forgiveness, not anymore. “Are we ready?” Justin asked, his voice bright with energy. A chorus of cheers and echoes rang through the room, everyone eager, motivated, ready to take on the morning. “Good,” he continued, “now let’s start counting those steps.” He led us out of the building and onto the open road, where the cool morning air carried a faint freshness. The group surged forward, feet hitting the pavement in rhythm.

"Earliest I can get clearance for." "Fine," I said. At nine o'clock exactly he walked me down. I went straight to the Stone City history section. Third shelf from the bottom. Four books from the left. The dark green spine with faded gold lettering. I pulled it out. Carried it to the reading table. Sat down. Opened it. I didn't go straight to the footnotes. I started from the beginning. Read properly. The way the book deserved to be read. The dry academic prose that described Stone City's criminal architecture in the early years before it became what it was now.

CHAPTER#1: The Heir [Jacob's Point of View] ꧁❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎꧂

I wrote the tenth line of the book on a Tuesday morning in March while Eleanor was asleep in the carrier against my chest and the Washington spring was making its first tentative appearance through the study window and Adaeze had sent me the first cut of the documentary rough footage with a message that said simply: "Tell me what you see." The tenth line was: What I know about starting over is that the starting is not the hard part. The starting is the relief. The hard part is the long middle, the part between the decision and the arrival, the part that looks, from inside it, like it will never become the thing you can see from the other side. I looked at the ten lines. Then I opened Adaeze'

Every part of it. Connected. Responsive. Alive. In a way the system never was. I exhaled slowly. Then made another move. Deliberate. Focused. A second point. Further out. The space responded again. Another ripple. Another connection. Now there were two. And between them. A path. My chest tightened. “This is how it starts.” Not with control. Not with rules. With choice. With intention. With awareness. I stepped onto the path. It held. Not rigid. Not fixed.

My sister disappeared because of my aunt, Renee Dover. She smiled and said, "Our little Candy is so pretty. It'd be a shame not to get her into kids' modeling." Then she took three-year-old Candy away. She claimed the shoot had been too crowded and that Candy had wandered off on her own. My parents searched for over ten years. When they finally found her, Candy was chained up in a house deep in the mountains. She had given birth to seven children, and her mind had broken long ago. She died on the way home. The grief destroyed my parents too. They lost their minds and were killed when a car struck them. Aunt Renee seized their inheritance and gloated, "Your mother should've lent me th

After failing to seduce his ice queen CEO wife, Josie Sinclair, for the 999th time, Tyler Ford finally called his sister Zoey. "I've decided to get a divorce, Zoey." There was three-seconds of silence before Zoey said solemnly, "I told you long ago that you would never be able to bring someone like Josie down from her pedestal." Tyler teared up as he smiled. "You're right. I was way over my head."

I said. " Yes, please. " Lara said. " Great !!! Even today we can have a serving of desserts. I am sure Mrs Gomez must have prepared something nice. " Robert said and they smiled and nodded. They read a book while we went to the dining table which was very long. But only one end was beautifully laid. He pulled a chair for me and after I seated, he took his seat in front of me. Mrs Gomez served different types of delicious-looking starters.

“Because sometimes pride is too big for words.” Calla – POV That night, I placed both books side by side on my desk. River’s first novel. My second. And a third notebook beside them—blank. Waiting. Not for closure. But for whatever comes next. Because my story didn’t start with my birth. It started the moment I chose to tell it.

Hearing the buzzing sound, I opened the door and entered and was graciously blessed with seeing the beauty of a young woman who I assumed to be the cashier. Walking up to the counter I just stood there and stared at her, taking in every single feature of her beautiful oval-shaped face. Staring into her hazel eyes I was just starting to get lost in them when I heard her ask me how she could be of assistance, taking me out of my trance. Her voice had matched her face––beautiful and angelic. “Do you have the book titled Start with Why?” I asked her, “it's a business book,” I added after I saw the puzzled look she wore on her face.