Novlr – Novel writing software built by writers for writers
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell,
nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbithole, and that means comfort. It
had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened
on to a tubeshaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and
carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats the hobbit was fond of visitors. The
tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill The Hill, as all the people for many
miles round called it and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs
for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes),
kitchens, diningrooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand
side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deepset round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very welltodo hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived
in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would
say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing
and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gainedwell, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.
Powering the world’s creative writers.
74,230 writers have written 651 million words in 120,816 projects.
Powering the world’s creative writers.
74,230 writers have written 651 million words in 120,816 projects.
