Story About Myself Novels & Stories

“You don’t deserve to hide. You did nothing wrong.” I looked at the floor. “The world disagrees.” Maya reached for my hand. “You remember what you told me once? About teaching players to get back up after a fall?” “Yeah.” “Well, this is your fall. You can’t stay down forever.” Her words sat between us, heavy but warm. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I said quietly. “Every headline rewrites me into someone else.” “Then write yourself back,” she said. “Stay. Fight for your own story.”

‘You are just awesome. And there goes my contentment and sense of self-worth. ‘I am not Sarah J. Williams. Umm…none of my works are famous. I am just an aspiring nobody. Some of my short stories are published in columns. Two tabloids and one published blog in NY. That’s it.’ I deadpan as I give him the most cheerful smile I can manage when deep within every cell in my body is crying. He might have noticed creases on my crestfallen face. Because the car goes silent. Good. I prefer it this way.

"You're not performing strength here. You actually have it. That comes through." I read it back myself one more time, my own words staring back at me from the screen. *I am not the woman Eleanor Hale has described in her filing. I did not manufacture a relationship, a scandal, or a pregnancy in pursuit of anyone's money. I am a twenty-year-old who has spent the last two months surviving a story other people kept trying to write for me. This is the last time I let that happen. From here forward, I intend to speak for myself.*

He smiled widely at me and I turned to the audience again nervously. "I actually.. have a little short story for you guys. This is out of the script but I just want you guys to know a little background story about me." I said nervously but I quickly got it together. "For years, I've been writing a lot of love stories but I've never believed in one. I always think that people will come into your life and then leave you one day. I shut myself ever since my mom passed away and that's not good. I used to only have my dad, my brother and his wife because I was so afraid to open up to people knowing that one day they will leave me. One day, I met my boyfriend, Ares, and he happened to be my dad's

“I believe in you but what’s important is do you believe in yourself?” “I do.” “That’s what matters. As long as you believe in yourself, everyone’s opinions don’t matter.” “Do you think so?” “I know so.” “I have written a lot of short stories which i haven’t shown to anyone.” “Really?” “Yes.” “I would love to read them.” “I’m excited about the new story i thought of.” “What is it about?” “It’s about the most notorious crime family in Zambia.” “That sounds interesting.” “I don’t know where the idea came from but each and every day, it grows stronger,” Ludo smiled.

First of all thank you so much to the editor, Martin who gave me the chance to publish my 50SHADES OF PUBERTY BOOK. Since this is my first story on this platform and English is not my first language but I tried to entertain you guys with my storyline. This book is special to me because in this book I had shown many real incidents that happened. And the other reason is I had to show some sparks of teenage life. I have one moral for this story's character.

I then began to read Amber's blog, words to words. My name Is Amber. I cannot tell you my last name or middle name, unfortunately. My identity, I prefer to keep in discreet. However, my story is what I would like to share with everyone. If you are reading this, I am sure you know of him. But how well you do know him is a better question, I presume. What I am about to tell you is in fact, a true story. As unbelievable it may sound, I want you to keep in mind that with this man, anything is possible.

He will come again. I didn't know what to do, should I be happy because my other personality came out and now I can get a proper treatment or should I be sad because my other personality has found himself a mate. And I don't know anything about her. I need to go to the bank to get the money my dad sent me. I am working as a freelancer but I am also getting money from my dad because of my expenses and treatment.

I recounted the tale of a small countryside town, the struggles my family faced, and the sacrifices they made to give me a chance at a better life. As I spoke, memories flooded back, images from my childhood blending with the present. I shared the story of my father, William, a hardworking and loving man who had fallen ill, burdened by financial strain and the weight of responsibility. I described the sacrifices I had made to support him, working multiple jobs and putting my dreams on hold to ensure his well-being.

And if something goes wrong, he will be the one who handles it. I draw in a breath. Slow. Measured. Because this… This is new. I do not do this. I do not sit in a room full of people and talk about myself. I don't even talk to myself about myself. I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “There is nothing much to tell about myself.” The words come out quieter than I expect. I bite my lip, shrugging lightly. “I am 21… no, 22 years old, who has no idea who she is.”