The coffee shop was bustling, people on their way to work in the wee hours of the morning, teenagers on their way to school. Bundled up in coats and scarves, a cup of coffee was sufficient for fending off the bitter cold of this year's winter. You were no different than the rest of them, neither were the smaller forms sitting across from you.
It was something of a ritual. After their father died, you wanted them to have something to look forward to, something that might help ease them, and you, through this painful chapter. By setting time aside to schedule coffee (or orange juice in their case) and scones every Monday before school, it made the rest of the week easier.
The first few months were the hardest, the girls often whined about how much they missed Daddy walking them to school. You never blamed them, of course, and the only thing you could promise was your love and dedication for them.
They were so young, yet they knew so much. Your daughters, only five and thre
Anybody Can Write a Novel 2.0
Chapter 2 World-building – Section 1 "Story Types"
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“The object of all work is production or accomplishment and to either of these ends there must be forethought, system, planning, intelligence, and honest purpose, as well as perspiration.”
When crafting a novel, the first thing you need to know is what type of story you are telling. Most writers
For my dear friend, InkyStardust.
You asked for tragedy,
you got tragedy.
“So, what are some of your most favorite memories?”
Spain glanced down and thought for a moment. After a few seconds, a grin spread across his face, “My pirating days were pretty fun. I got to explore the New World and meet all kinds of amazing people! But, I gotta say, taking care of little Romano was a treasure in itself.”
You smiled; of course you’d been expecting that last answer.
“And just as much as I enjoyed my time with baby Romano, I’ve cherished my memories with you.” He threw an arm across your shoulders and brought you close, cheerfully kissing your forehead.
Your heart pounded at his simple yet touching words. You’d been sitting outside his house,