Writing In Flow Novels & Stories

Just… warning. I don’t answer. Because for the first time, I’m not sure I do remember. --- Friday. 8:49 PM. The office is empty. I’m not. I’m rewriting the Meridian onboarding flow because the current one “lacks emotional resonance,” according to Chicago. “Emotional resonance” is corporate for “make them feel something.” I’m good at that. I just don’t like doing it to myself. “Your posture is terrible.” I don’t jump this time. I’m getting used to him appearing like a very expensive ghost.

Writing it was different from speaking it. Speaking it I had done multiple times across the past weeks, in Marsh’s conference room and in Finch’s office and in Rachel Voss’s sitting room interview and in the study with Victor. Each time in the specific mode of someone presenting information to a purpose. The written version required something different. The full interior experience rather than the selected exterior account. I wrote slowly. Not from difficulty in finding the words. From the specific discipline of someone who understood that this account would be read by people who needed it to be accurate in its emotional register as well as its factual one, and that the emotional register re

Chapter 36: The Next Paradigm The sound of Avery's keyboard was the thing you could hear as the sun set over the big house in the country. On her computer screen the cursor was blinking at the end of a paragraph she was writing. It was a piece of writing that was not like anything she had done before. She was not trying to make it exciting to get more people to read it or worrying about how words she was writing to make sure she got paid. She was just writing because she wanted to without feeling like she had to hurry.

I heard her inhale and exhale and then she calmly waved me goodbye and ended the call. Walking my peanut butter to the sitting room, I picked up my laptop and turned it on, quickly loading up my Microsoft app. My gaze dripped to the word count and I felt a split surge of surprise mixed with panic at the number of words that were staring back at me. I'd thought I'd written more than that. It took me a while to get back into my character's headspace but my fingers typed away after I had achieved that feat. I'd added more than three thousand words by the time I became a little spent. And my sandwich had remained untouched through it all.

As I stacked the papers neatly, my fingers brushed over the smooth surface, pausing as my thoughts drifted to the words I had written before the darkness swallowed me, I placed the ink pot carefully on the desk and set the papers in front of me, smoothing out their edges. I took a deep breath and sat down, the chair creaking softly beneath me. My hand hovered over the blank page for a moment; The quill trembled slightly in my hand as I dipped it into the ink; before I knew it, the words began to flow faster than my thoughts, faster than I could fully process them. --- My Mate, I don’t even know where to begin. So much has happened since I last saw you, yet every moment apart feels like an et

I stress the word ‘compare’ to emphasize the objective. Cain puts down his hand and fold them together. He seems to have become more serious as he initiatively notes the ideas down. “True. But, if you’re aiming for a good score, I don’t think this is the option. Since, like you said, the flow is static and the paper might become boring.” I nod. “Yes, we risk making it boring. But, I think Mr. Rick will appreciate an organized paper rather than a messy one. Besides, we can pick two interesting works.”

“I encrypted it all in your head. I was scared and worried about how you all would take this so when I was creating you all, I made it possible for you to handle this outcome.” “Okay, that’s a lot to take in.” My sister nods in agreement. “It is. It really is.” “Technically, I don’t actually control you. I make the path and you follow it. There are many ways to go but you must choose one.” “This is a novel, you literally write down what I say. I am sure you are writing this down now,” I emphasize. “Yes, you are correct but I go with the flow.” “What is that supposed to mean?”

Also, it is okay to go with the flow and do things at a slower pace so I can process what I’ve been through and what I’m still experiencing. When are you most creative? Why do you think that might be?...I think I’m most creative when I have been struck with inspiration from what’s around me. At that moment if I could find a quiet place and I had a pen and paper on my hands, I could weave stories inspired by the conversations, body language and facial expressions. I realized that writing is both an escape and a way for me to keep my focus on what’s most important.’

“Be my guest.” His finger moved over the touchpad as he copied things and pasted them in other places, pausing every few moments to type something, his fingers flying over the keys. “There. I think this flows better.” He highlighted the middle portion. “Read that.” I skimmed it, my eyebrows shooting up. The words flowed and the sentences felt natural. “How…” “You had the bones. You just needed to be a little creative with your arrangements. It’s pretty much all still your words, just switched around.”

Three dots began moving, she was typing then it stopped. He her sent another text. Roman: This compliment is not only because of how you looked, but of who you have become. I sincerely owe you an apology. She didn't reply, even though she had viewed the message. He sighed tossing his phone aside, he had to try harder to get her attention. Vivian strode around her house, dressed like she was going out for an event, she held a half glass of red wine, sipping it as she moved around. Across from her, Piper her ever-efficient assistant, typed furiously on her computer, eyes narrowed with determination.