"He said he is scared of commitment, but he has tattoos all over his skin." The day Hazel Stevens moves from Maine to a small beach town in Florida called Walden, she encounters a boy, who's oh-so rude yet oh-so attractive. The only thing that connects the two is their love for dance and their dream of getting into Juilliard. The two spend the summer together dancing, getting to know each other and opening up to the other person. When mysteries are unraveled, feelings start developing. And after one simple tragedy, everything changes. [ wattpad featured book ] Copyright © 2016 by Charlie Jones All rights reserved.

A girl takes interest in a boy one day at the park. Never fully understanding why, she goes and sits with him. Winner of ChickLit's Week 20 Weekly Prompt

(A personal piece chosen to be in the top 10 for the Mind Over Matter Contest) Please don't hesitate to view my other works as well as request a cover from my cover book! :) The world thrives on pain. It is never about the happy ending, the prize, reward or the success. Life is about the journey. How we got there, what we had to endure. It's about the pain we all feel. The pain that pushes us forward but can also throw us so far back in our progress. At least, that's how I see it. You can't have happiness without sadness or success without failure. I thought my life was perfect, glorious, spotless. I was content with myself and the future that I was producing. That was all before everything changed. I became tired, confused, lonely and the only thing I could truly blame was my own head, my own thoughts. I had to learn the true meaning of being myself and how to want to live again. The thoughts in my head, constantly manipulating me, insulting me, tearing me apart slowly and fading out all of my originality, were relentless. This 500 word piece shows my struggle, my failure, my regret but also, describes my success, my future, and my happiness. I could not be where I am now without this hardship, without learning how to make the voices hush.

They always started and ended the same way, these letters I keep receiving: "Dear reader," to "From, writer." They also came in the same unknown way every Wednesday, and though I knew not who sent them, it never really bothered me. But all that changed on the day I received the seventeenth letter.