Unscramble Rewrite Novels & Stories

I hate myself for getting into this situation. Suddenly, the room goes dark as my eyes slowly close, and I enter into the longest sleep of my life. Blacking out at a party? Way to go, Lace. February 4th, 2017 Strangely, I awake to my dorm, and everything seems normal. My lazy roommate looks just that, sprawled across her twin bed, the usual pile of dirty laundry rests in the corner, and books surround my bed. Last night comes back in flashes, and I feel like I'm going to throw up... it was not a dream. In a blind rage, I snap open my computer, and make a beeline to Twitter. 90 minutes later, I had rewritten my creative writing essay onto a Twitter post, however in less than 300 words, and us

Sometimes it's pressed into the earth—and deciphered by the roots that still recall where pressure used to be. --- 8:47 PM — Penthouse Drafting Room, Long Table Assembly The table was strewn with the disarray of stacked maps, points of agreement, and end-clause matrices. Down one side, the wording of Clause Forty-Eight remained incomplete. Elira read aloud: "Reconstruction is not the act of restoring what was lost, but—" Caelan supplemented, "—but of putting what is left where it can matter again." She nodded, then wrote it in. Beneath it, she wrote the rest:

No rewriting necessary. We may get an opportunity now after many weeks have passed.

Heron “So your telling me the most eligible bachelor in the country proposes to you and you say no?” the exasperation in Clem’s voice was a welcomed comfort on this rather drab morning. It had not stopped raining, and I had to take off my display cases, that would barely fend against the wind. Though being under the canopy meant they weren’t drenched to the bone. Clem looked stary eyes as she rested her hands beneath her chin, her braids swooped up in an intricate bun, “You have to go back and say yes.”

Then I grabbed a snow shovel and slammed it down into the snow a few times, imagining the white ground as Katherine's teasing, mysterious face. Clang. The shovel slipped from my grip and hit the ground with a dull thud. I bent to pick it up, but my arm froze midair, completely immobile. Before I could call out, I was pulled into a warm, soft embrace. Leaning against Katherine, I could hear her calm, steady heartbeat, one beat after another, like a reassuring drum I could sink into. The doctor had said that ALS was an incurable disease. All one could do was slow its progress with medication and care.

It definitely was not a dream. In several webnovels, the essence of a rewrite was to change the major plots, and most commonly, the ending- especially saving the original story's main character. He shuddered, realizing the terrifying conclusion. He had been sent here, armed with all the knowledge of future events, to act as the crazy prince's guardian angel. As Keith moved to walk past him, Mars stepped directly into his path. "I'm going with you," he declared. Keith raised a brow, half-amused, half-annoyed by the obstruction. "Let me go with you," Mars pleaded, his light blue eyes wide and earnest.

“Get to work.” Gabriel still grimaced as he remembered that day. He’d never been able to touch Scotch again. Almost twenty years later, just the smell of it still made him sick. And that was how he wished he could feel about Calleigh. He wished he could get her out of his system once and for all. Until he never wanted her again. Until the thought of bedding her was as disgusting as a flawless Baccarat crystal decanter of imported single malt Scotch.