Melanie Herbertson. Critically acclaimed author, clever inspirational feminist, and mother to a four year old boy. She had it all. Practically in the sense of love, happiness and community that is. But everything would quickly shift for the worst when one very popular book she published would go horribly wrong.

Melanie gleefully had published the book titled ‘Blood Bath’ about a dramatic murder ...

The writer stared at the post-it sticky note on the wall.

She knew it would change her life for the far, far worse.

It was a plain square of paper—yellow, curling slightly at the edges, barely clinging to the crumbling paint of her office wall. A single sentence was scrawled across it in her own handwriting, but she had no memory of writing it.

"Don't trust him. Not again."

The pen strokes were...

Margaret sobbed. She wasn’t prepared for this.

How could she be?

Just yesterday, a letter had been delivered to every author's home across the country. It was brief, but horrifyingly clear:

"Greetings, writers.

This letter has been sent to you by superior forces to inform you that, by June 9th, you will all be detained and sent into the story of your very first novel. You will be required to surv...

My hand glides against the blue sticky note on the wall. It stares at me, questioning my choices. The chance of going to jail rises as I add more sticky notes to the wall. All I see are choices and different ways.

The more I add, the more I question my sanity. Why hasn't anyone stopped me yet? I finally dropped the notes and leaned back to view what was on the wall. My hands trembled inside my po...

“Amanda?”

“Huh?” The way Lauren said my name made me think it hadn’t been the first time.

“What is going on with your face? You’re really freaking me out.”

“Lala, would you still be friends with me if I wasn’t married to your brother?”

“What are you talking about?” She rolled her eyes. “My brother is smitten with you, and you know it. Why are you being weird all of a sudden?”

I couldn’t answe...

My heart dropped when i saw it.

It wasn’t necessarily the post-it note stuck to the middle of the wall. In all honesty, it was pretty sweet.

“My beautiful muse, until next time,” was scribbled across it, hearts scattered along the edges. There was no signature, no clue as to who wrote it. It was what surrounded it that made my heart drop into my stomach. Hundreds of pinned polaroids li...

“Dude, your mouth is hanging open,” Kennedy whispered.

Dickens clapped his mouth shut. They’d travelled to the Tree, which turned out to be a vast forest embodying children’s books. As Lady Kennedy sped along a yellow brick road, Dickens had spied Whoville, Narnia, and a pack of Berenstain Bears lumbering by. The young page now knew where the wild things were and he was shook.

They followed a l...

She saw a scribble on the wall,

She thought that it was a tell all.

Imagine her in baggy pants.

Wiggling like she was full of ants.

That’s what comes of too much makeup.

Now she has to make balloon pup....

As the writer started at the post note on the wall, it started right back at her. Like it had eyes. Like it knew it would change her world.

The more she started at it the more worse she realized it was. Gut wrenchingly bad, deadly bad. She would never stop thinking about this event and maybe it would be the end of her or maybe it would just change her life for the better.

The writer read ...

First, I got up and made myself a strong cup of coffee. I am going to need it to get through this shit show of a day. In my head, any day of the work week turns into a shit show, as soon as I open my eyes. Today is Monday, sooo that’s like bullshit x2. I don’t know who came up with a 2 day weekend idea, but they can fuck right off!

My hair looks like a crows nest and don’t even get me started on ...