Writing A Dystopian Novel Novels & Stories

It is used solely to serve the story’s character arc, themes of identity and survival, and dramatic tension. Characters in this book may display dark, immoral, or emotionally complex behaviors. This includes betrayal, manipulation, power struggles, violence, and intense romantic or physical relationships. The presence of these elements does not indicate that the author condones or promotes such actions in real life. They are included as part of the fictional experience, to explore the emotional and psychological impact of surviving in a dangerous and unpredictable world.

For the first time, Cathedra had someone who didn't cringe every time she opened her mouth to speak. So this is what having a friend feels like, huh? Cathedra thought to herself. One lunch break, while waiting for Diane underneath the tree, Cathedra was scribbling a draft of her first novel in her notebook. The novel contained the scenes she saw in the storybook, back in her kindergarten days. Since that day at kindergarten, she didn't tell anyone what she saw in the storybooks anymore. The thought of seeing things that other people couldn't still terrified her but she tried hard not to think about it by avoiding any book she can see other than school books and textbooks.

First and foremost, I want to express my gratitude to all of my lovely readers who have stuck with me until the end of this book. This novel has taken a darker turn than I had initially planned, and I apologize for not providing enough trigger warnings. My intention was never to cause distress to any of my readers with the content in some of the chapters. I truly believe that Naomi's journey needed this darkness for her to grow and fight for her own future.

I had considered myself a saint until recently. I was actually an author. I wrote dystopian fiction and romances, generally but I couldn’t be called a wildly successful author. My books didn’t have movies made on them and I had enough money to live a comfortable life. But I was at a point in my career where my editor felt, I should be aspiring to more. The couples need to be sexier and the writing easy to sell to millions.

I knew he wanted to say something but he wasn't given a chance to because Abramov, Antonov and a snowy man walked in. The snowy man radiates dominance, respect and authority. He didn't seem like someone to be messed with, my face went white with the amount of power this man expelled. All of a sudden, my brain readjusted— he seemed like someone who could kill millions of people in some minutes without breaking a sweat so why had he not stopped their creations, why are they watching humans die when he alone could save the human race.

At night, they would sneak unto their neighbors and steal their food; and at light, they would kill the man who gets the most ration from their hard work in the Upper Castles. My mother would say, that the plague was sent by Mother Nature, that people became too happy and took things for granted, so She gave them a lesson— one too ruthless and too dark that even history cannot forget if it wanted to. Maybe She thought it would make the Old World a little bit kinder and a little bit better. But She was wrong. For the new one is even crueler now. My name is Elizabeth Hale. Welcome to the New World.

I felt sorry for their parents. While waiting for Carlo’s return, I also resume my writing to kill the waiting hours. The ending of my novel was only a few pages close. I just couldn’t decide how to slay it. I notice that the ending playing on my thoughts is too cliche. This is not right. It must be unique. I could cliffhang my readers or just give them an open ending, which could lead to a sequel in case it clicks to the majority. Sunlight was already peeking through the window. I stretched out my arms. I got up from my seat and opened the panes to let the wind in.

“Welcome to your new role, Nova. My perfect little muse.” As I left the mansion on shaky legs, the taste of my own pleasure still on my lips and the memory of his mouth devouring me burned in my mind, I realized how deeply I was falling. I had come here to write better scenes. Instead, Damien Cross was turning my body into the living research for his filthiest chapters. And I was already desperate for the next page.

But lately… I had started again. I was writing about redemption. A young girl who lost her memory in a tragic accident is forced to navigate life, love, and power all over again. Writing felt different now. Less romantic. More desperate. It was solace. An escape from the outside world. I clicked open the latest chapter. Adjusted my glasses and started typing. The office noise became background music. Nora’s soft humming. The shuffle of papers. The elevator dinged in the hallway. In that seat, I almost forgot about Tom, court, and reputation and just flowed.