Written Blogs Novels & Stories

I jumped from my chair and danced round my room joyfully. "Ezra, you're smart. You are such a smart werewolf." I praised and sat down again. This time, I was prepared to do my research first. Were they people that loved hockey and would read blog posts on the sports? On the screen was a high surge in data. Indeed, there were people and even though there weren't many blog posts coming from Caldenmoor, most of the trending posts revolved around gists and gossip of players' lives. Hell, there were a few blog posts about me! Geez.

I had been blocked. "Clara here! Can't talk right now, but if you leave a message I'd definitely get back to you." I threw the phone across my bed with a frustrated grunt. Fuck this shit. She sounded so hurt that night. All I just wanted to do was talk. I wanted to make sure she was good, and not thinking too much about the unnecessary news that kept coming out on the blogs every two hours. I could not count how many blogs I had threatened, but that was the thing with blogs… they were run by faceless people and so they felt invisible. Every threat made them post even worse things, while the victims watched their reputation which they had worked hard to build crash to the ground.

Proserpina Around the same time as Lucien began to grow distant, the strange messages started to come. I had begun to write a blog. It had begun as a hobby. Egged on by my children and friends, especially James Schwartz, who kept praising my culinary skills, I began to write a blog on social media about cooking. It had become a runaway hit to my astonishment and I updated it every day, diligently, astonished by the number of followers I had! So I was mildly astonished at first when I came across the first comment that seemed strangely off.

It wasn't just a recounting of a story—it was an invitation to witness the resilience of the human spirit, an exploration of the depths of love that could withstand the trials of life. As their project unfolded, the blog became a beacon of inspiration for those navigating their own journeys through hardship. Abigail's words, infused with sincerity and empathy, resonated with readers who found solace in the shared humanity of the story. The digital space transformed into a haven where the collective strength of love and hope transcended the boundaries of individual struggles.

Writing had always been a passion of mine, and I was eager to share my experiences and insights with a wider audience. My first article was a reflection on the lessons I had learned during my time as a lycanthrope. I wrote about the importance of unity, the strength of community, and the resilience of the human spirit. It was a piece that came from the heart, and the words flowed easily onto the page. The response from readers was overwhelming. Many reached out to me, sharing their own stories of adversity and triumph. It was a reminder that, no matter our circumstances, we all had the capacity for growth and transformation.

I stared at the picture wondering who could be responsible for this. I read through the lines of one of the articles and I was seething with anger. How dare these blog writers formulate lies about me? Do they even know me? It was more annoying that these blogs were getting a lot of attention garnering over three million reads and thousands of comments. The comments! I wouldn't even dare go there.

This is just writer’s block, right? I mean, surely there was something about last night’s date with Gabe that went terribly. There must be something for me to write about... I sat in my office chair, staring at the blank screen of the word processing program in front of me. I had been gazing at it for half an hour, trying to brainstorm what to write for the upcoming blog post. The problem, though, was that I ran a website that people visited to hear about my bad dates, not the good ones. There wasn’t anything interesting about a good date, or at least anything that my current readers would want to hear. They wanted the ridiculous details. They wanted the men who didn’t pay for dinner and the

This is just writer’s block, right? I mean, surely there was something about last night’s date with Gabe that went terribly. There must be something for me to write about... I sat in my office chair, staring at the blank screen of the word processing program in front of me. I had been gazing at it for half an hour, trying to brainstorm what to write for the upcoming blog post. The problem, though, was that I ran a website that people visited to hear about my bad dates, not the good ones. There wasn’t anything interesting about a good date, or at least anything that my current readers would want to hear. They wanted the ridiculous details. They wanted the men who didn’t pay for dinner and the