Writing fiction can be a hard thing. I’ve written several novels and short stories -all of which are incomplete and unpublished. For now.
You can’t just say Anne has red hair and she says she needs to go to the store. Have you ever noticed that when you read a really good book you become somewhat attached to the characters? They’re not actually just figments of your imagination.
They are people. From your mind. You are God in this sense. You need to give them feelings, facial expressions, thoughts, sense of style and all that jazz.
“W-what?” She whispered. Her heart felt overwhelmed with emotion, as if it could erupt at any given moment. At this point, he had no more words. He shattered her, and he knew it. For a moment he wanted to take it back but he knew there was no hope left. “Maybe you should….just…leave now.” He said quietly as his gaze shifted to floor.
“Don’t,” she choked, “don’t do this.” He didn’t say anything. She watched him, hoping for signs of remorse. He exhaled a sigh of…anger? Oh no, she thought, and a chill ran down her spine. She slowly began to back away, then his eyes shot up toward her. Her eyes widened with fear. He stood up and moved swiftly toward her. They were nose to nose. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and he could feel her whole body fiercely trembling as muffled sobs escaped her lips. She smelled of roasted vanilla. A smirk emerged, and he whispered in her ear, “Get the fuck out.”