Novel & Cerita Wacky Writers

“Bet you’ve never even snuck into a bar. You're incredibly boring.” Her jaw tightened since he wasn't wrong, and that pissed her off. Emma had spent her college years building a perfect GPA, not chasing thrills. But the way Jake looked at her like she was predictable lit a fuse she didn’t know was there. She slammed her laptop shut. “Fine. You think I’m boring? Like I’m some predictable little good girl? Give me a dare, then.” His eyes lit up and he sneered. “Alright, hotshot. I dare you to follow me to the Vault.”

Maybe this was how moving forward started, one genuine conversation, one hopeful yes at a time. ... Please check out my W*****d and A****n for more amazing works. W*****d @creesey1234 and A****n @author Cree Say. I'm note active there and the stories are more wonderful in each book

There was a hint of annoyance in Jarred’s voice. Raven stood and shook both of his hands. "No, we insisted on coming alone. We thought we were just teaching; we didn’t expect students to mob us." I heard Enzo giggle from the corner. Raven glanced at me and winked. The—what the hell? "We actually didn’t expect that the three of you were the ones we’d have to invite," Hank said from the doorway. He smiled at me, then instantly shot a glare at Raven. Raven, Kylar, and Sentise had the worst reputations as writers at Arrow Publishing, yet they were part of the visual writers’ team. Cheating, plagiarism, copyright issues—you name it, they’d had a history with it.

He nodded towards the shipping logbooks from 1932. "We got some applications for the group this morning, " Marcus said. He pulled up a chair. "There are six writers who're stuck in bad contracts with big companies. They have to write a lot every day. They do not own what they write. This is like what Elena had to deal with five years ago."

It gave me those sad puppy eyes like, “Hey, don’t forget meeeee...” Fast forward to April 2nd, the day of destiny when I finally dusted off this bad boy and said, “Okay, let’s get weird.” Suddenly, words started flying faster than Juan’s bullets. I was writing like my laptop was on fire, smashing out thousands of words daily, fueled by caffeine, stubbornness, and maybe a little bit of madness. By May? Boom. Over 100,000 words of delicious, messy, mafia madness. (Shakes booty happily).

"I'm a goody two shoes and I'm a prude and I like to do my homework and I absolutely definitely don't know how to be friends with all around bad boys and ..." "Well, if you don't know how to be friends with a wanton because you're a good girl—" He lays emphasis on wanton, a word I'd used randomly many days ago in his room and I visibly swallow "—then there's only one solution. Welcome to the wanton train, good girl. Hope you enjoy the ride." This is what I get for not keeping my mouth shut.