Excerpt
“Script Money” The Novel
Script Money Samirah Cromartie, the director of works like "The Penprint" biopic and "Sak Life," has bided on her money man and struck gold. Now Cromartie Productions and Kareem Cashmere, writer/rapper CEO of Script Money Entertainment, are fusing and launching what Hollywood box offices and TV networks are dubbing on-air "Script Money." Their primetime happy hour has brought Tinseltown in to speculate privately: can Kareem's reign uphold giving binge viewers the addictive drama they love? Will Samirah curate her workmate's Tarantino-esque scripts and a throne of talented writers to continue making back-to-back hits? Can Black entertainment portray enough excitement and value to withstand big stakes come academy award season? Script Money has everyone watching, locked in.
By Terence King2 years ago in Fiction
The Keeper of Words
In a bustling city, where anonymity was a shield and secrets whispered through the narrow alleyways, there existed a peculiar old bookstore. Tucked away from the neon-lit streets, it stood as a relic of the past, its windows adorned with dust-covered books, some bearing titles that hadn't graced a bestseller list in decades.The proprietor of this establishment was as enigmatic as his store. His face hidden behind a curtain of unruly gray hair, and his eyes concealed beneath the shadows of his brows, he was a recluse. Rumors swirled about his age, ranging from ancient to immortal, but no one truly knew. To the city's inhabitants, he was simply known as "The Keeper of Words."One humid evening, a young woman found herself drawn to the bookstore's quaint exterior. She pushed the door open, and the ancient bell hanging above it tinkled a welcoming note. The air inside was heavy with the scent of aged paper and adventure.As the woman wandered the narrow aisles, her fingers grazed the spines of various books. They tingled with untold stories, whispering forgotten secrets to her. She selected a dusty tome at random and began to read. Its pages, yellowed with age, transported her to a different time and place.She was engrossed in her literary escape when a voice, as old as the books themselves, startled her. "Ah, I see you've found something intriguing, my dear."Startled, the woman looked up to find the Keeper of Words, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a dim lamp. She nodded, not trusting her voice. He gestured for her to follow him to a hidden corner of the store, where a cozy nook had been carved out amidst the shelves.With an inviting gesture, the Keeper motioned for her to sit. "Allow me to tell you a tale, for every book in this store holds a story of its own," he said, his voice a soothing melody.He began a tale of a faraway land, where dreams took flight on the wings of paper birds. In this land, words held magic, and storytellers were revered like gods. As the Keeper spun his tale, the young woman felt herself transported into the very story he described, her imagination brought to life.As the tale unfolded, she realized the connection between this magical world and the old bookstore. The books on the shelves weren't just books; they were portals to different realms, each waiting for the right reader to unlock its secrets.With bated breath, she listened as the Keeper of Words recounted the journey of a young girl who stumbled upon a hidden library in a forgotten forest. This library, much like the one she sat in now, was filled with books that came alive when touched. The girl discovered that she could travel through time and space, exploring different eras and dimensions, all through the pages of these mystical books.The young woman's heart raced as she hung on to every word, feeling as though she too was embarking on an extraordinary adventure. The Keeper's voice painted vivid landscapes in her mind, and the boundaries between reality and fiction blurred.Hours passed like mere seconds, and as the tale concluded, the woman found herself back in the cozy nook, the old bookstore around her. She couldn't help but smile, feeling as though she'd been a part of that magical journey.With a knowing look, the Keeper of Words said, "Remember, my dear, every book here has a story to tell, and every reader has an adventure to embark upon. You have merely scratched the surface of what this place can offer."With a sense of wonder and gratitude, the young woman left the store that night, carrying not just the book she had randomly chosen but also a newfound appreciation for the magic of words and stories.And as the old bookstore's door closed behind her, the Keeper of Words returned to his solitary existence, waiting for the next curious soul to discover the hidden treasures within his sanctuary of books and the stories that bound them together.
By Pius Hustle 2 years ago in Fiction
Lost in Thought At the Park. Content Warning.
I am not really sure how long I had been sitting there, just staring at the passerbys and the people enjoying themselves at the park. It was not uncommon for me to lose track of time on these "days off" I took from time to time.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Death and the Tuna Baguette. Top Story - September 2023. Content Warning.
This story was written in response to a prompt by L.C. Schäfer in their story "Moonlighting": I've decided, in tribute, to keep the picture theme food motivated as it seemed to lend itself to what happens to poor Death in my story.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers into Madness . Content Warning.
The morning sun streamed through my bedroom window, yet its warm glow brought little comfort. Another sleepless night had left my mind clouded as I stared blankly at the ceiling. I knew what waited for me beyond these walls—the piercing stares, hushed whispers that followed wherever I walked. Like ghosts they haunted me, echoing fragments of conversations I wasn't meant to hear.
By Atugwu Racheal2 years ago in Fiction
The Phantom of Stage 16
Hollywood, Ca, 1936 Every year, thousands of hopeful girls from all over the country journey to Hollywood, hoping to be the next big star. Out of them, about one in every hundred thousand makes it. Out of all those hopeful girls, why should I, little Christine Davis from Columbus, Ohio, have been that one? I still don’t know the answer to that question. I suppose it was a combination of perseverance, being in the right place at the right time, Divine Providence, and some good, old-fashioned luck.
By Rebekah Brannan2 years ago in Fiction
