FROM RITAROO I glance over to the clock. It’s one thirty. God, I have to get some sleep. Tomorrow I have about fifteen meetings back-to-back at work and I've volunteered to man the face painting table at the PTA Christmas bazaar during my lunch break,after which I have to go back to work for five more hours and then skirt off to class until ten. I hate these endless days. My girls hate them even more.
FROM BENZO He ran through the night, his lungs burning from his flight for freedom. The harsh needles of the vast pine trees scratching and tearing at his body, filling his thoughts even more with dread and doubt. They were after him and would not stop until he was in their grasp, in the distance he could see Tridia. If he could make it, he could surly evade them in the streets and alleyways of the merchant town, but would his body fail him before he even reached the gates.
FROM MACKENSIE27 Your body is not your worth : a truth I must discover Here's the thing about eating disorders. They don't differentiate. One is the same as the other, despite being dressed up in different costume. I have suffered from anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder, and exercise addiction for the past 4 years. And the one thing I've come to realize is that the self hate that comes hand in hand with an eating disorder is all consuming regardless of which type you are struggling with.
FROM SUNNYD Chapter 1 - Fiery Bluster “Jeremy! Jeremy! Where are you?” I scream out his name as chunks of the ceiling, engulfed in flames fall all around me. Thick, black smoke fills up the room, as it does my lungs, from floor to ceiling. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me, and soon even that seems impossible. The smoke stings my eyes and my pupils drown in the tears meant to protect them.
FROM MAMIEGAIL Breath She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath for fifty years. Born into sorrow, she had lived her life as a vulture for love. As she grew older, her thoughts seemed to dangle just above paranoia, her fight or flight always engaged, sometimes even in sleep. Her troubles felt like mountains, her heart the river rushing beneath them. Pebbles of happiness rippled the surface, but more often life’s rocks were thrown violently against what she would have preferred remain calm waters.
FROM DEANNA At the eastern edge of the property, I began to turn, intending to head back toward the house. That's when I first heard it, ever so faintly, the sound of someone softly moaning and weeping. "Oh, what now?!" I thought with exasperation. I quickly ascertained that the sounds were coming from just inside the forest. Whoever it was, they were on federal land and not on my private property.
FROM THELMATRITON Fall Leaves are falling, Changing in color, Winds change direction, Birds flying south. You hold my hand. We go out again. Everything’s changing, For better or worse. We walk down the winding road hand in hand; Crunching the leaves as we walk upon them. Looking into each other’s eyes, We feel as though, We have finally made it home. Because while we may fall from time to time.
FROM QUEST2EXPRESS The main purpose of it is to show the bird mocking my belief in my own gifts, such as they are. Also, is there anything positive that you have to say about it? Thank you. I sat in my yard and looked in the eye a smug Mockingbird just dropped from the sky It spread it's wings both wide and proud then asked my name I swear, out loud
FROM MORGAN Becki McHaverford had the boundless energy of a race horse. Her speech was quick--in both pace and wit. She held the trademark air of intelligence mixed with oddity which belongs to those people often labeled by the insecure as "nerds." Although her body never seemed to stop moving--always gesturing wildly or rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet--both the right and left eye were noticeably lazy.
FROM PATRICK There he lay in a pool of blood, cold and lifeless as the day he came into this world so many years ago. The last rays of the long day fading from the glimmering pools of death. They don’t see him. Nobody sees him laying there as he fades into the darkness. And then into the night he went, and he was no more. He was Dagda of the Saoirs Family, and legend to the Lochlars; the last purebred descendant line of the first man.
FROM PLASTICWELD My Best Friend The knocking at the door is loud, not a request but a demand. I am up on my feet, not as quick as I used to be, like when I was young. I can’t believe I didn’t’ hear the approaching footsteps. The old guy counts on me and I let him down. “Luke…its ok…I know who it is.” He says it in calm voice. I am still agitated he sees this and he says it again.
FROM CITIZEN Whimsy - Team and Driver "Hyaaa! Git up!" The team was running like they were racing the devil. All four horses were lunging in the traces and pulling the wagon faster than they have ever been whipped. The look in their eyes told of a terrible truth that death was behind them. Their heaving lungs were taking every bit of air in the universe. Again the sound of the whip in their ears and the cry of the driver.
FROM MYRA It is like burying him all over again--putting him away piece by piece into cardboard boxes from the A & P and labeling them to be stored in the attic or to be sent off to the Goodwill to be picked over by strangers. I take his clothes out of the drawers, and I fold him away into compartments, depending on their newness, laying my grief out in this mock burial of my father.
FROM CRISSY This is an excerpt of a story that a friend of mine and I are working on. Honestly, it's pretty stupid, but I would love a critique! Thanks! ------------- It was a sticky, steamy night in New Orleans. Katrina was sitting on her front porch swing, her legs crossed Indian style, plunking away on her brand new guitar. It was beautiful; so beautiful. And so much more expensive then anything I could afford.
FROM CHANDRALEE I was actually at the game I'm referring to. While I was a Mets fan, I don't understand the finer points of baseball. I've checked facts on Google but don't know if I wrote this the way a really knowledgeable fan would. So all I want to know is that. Of course, if you have some marvelous suggestions they are welcome. But the rest of the phone call at the end of the paragraph is the important thing.
FROM J. SIGAL Good Morning John; I have written to you a few times in recent years, requesting your feedback on my work. While positive and encouraging in giving such, you also advised that I keep writing. I have, but for the imposition of life and its various crises, not to the extent I would have liked. I am including with this a piece I have just completed and had rejected as an entry to a “Christmas Story” competition, with the focus being food and family.
FROM DELORES On my way into a local thrift store, I passed by a homeless man. I’m not one to automatically jump to conclusions, but it was obvious. A shopping cart laden with aluminum cans was parked beside him. On his lap sat an overstuffed duffle bag and backpack. His sign read, “Hungry…please help.” I nodded to the man while passing by, feeling a little guilty. I used to give all panhandlers a buck or two but stopped when the local newspaper editorialist and my neighbor called me an enabler.
FROM CALDERONE It is the beginning of a chapter (perhaps the opening chapter) of a memoir I am working on. Any comments will be appreciated, but I am particularly interested in knowing if 1) the material flows and 2) whether the dialogue is stilted. Thank you in advance to anyone willing to take the time to comment. (Also, I don't know how to italicize in a post, but I do know the titles need to be italicized.
FROM JASON This is a scene I am working on right now...Hope it's not too bad. ---------------------------------------------------------- The word oasis normally brings to mind lush green palms, looming over clear water, in the middle of a parched desert. To a newly hired Jennifer mills, who was just arriving at work, oasis meant: urban dump in the middle of nowhere. A luxury apartment complex, with a sparkling pool and spacious gym, is what the brochure said.
FROM GILBERTSAYS This is the prelude to my novel aimed mostly at the older end of the YA market. It is also intended to be an exposé much like Pat Conroy's The Water is Wide. Would you continue reading this book at the bookstore? Home Means Nevada Ashton stands up holding a poster board sized copy of the answer key directly behind Señora Faye, who is absorbed in her reading of section D, the oral section of this examination.
FROM BARNEY Looking forward to any advice and thoughts, Thank you. Chapter 1 The world fears Andrew Collins, and Andrew Collins fears the world. He has no place in the world for him. All his life he has watched them without them knowing. He stares at the “normal” people and watches their movements. He has memorized every gesture, every expression, and every inflection of the voice or movement of the facial features.
FROM COLYNDA It's like a shadow play, the doctor said. A Chinese shadow play. I'm not exactly sure when this happened. It seems important not to get things out of sequence. Shadows? I asked. Yes. Shadows. He had the square jaw of the high school football star he'd once been. He allowed me to think and saw my blank expression. Imagine a Chinese shadow play. Sometimes a shadow is just that: a shadow, and nothing more.
FROM JONAS I have worked and worked on this, and I still am working on it. Everytime I open it, I find something I don't like and change it. Sometimes I make it better, other times I make it worse. I'm on a perpetual ferris wheel of rewrites. Everytime I descend, I think it is going to stop, and I can get off. But it doesn't stop, and I find myself ascending back to the top on the other side.
FROM LOTTIE Partially concealed within the flickering gloom produced by a single candle sat a beautiful pale young woman on a bed of black satin. She stopped combing her cascade of red hair and stepped off the bed with graceful agility. She walked – almost glided - to the attic window embraced by bars. The shadows caressed her and begged her to feed. She was so hungry her white hands trembled with the blood craving.
FROM GRIMSFEL Azrael stood over the corpse of Grant Thompson. The car that had served as his weapon had stopped initially, but panic-stricken by the severity of what they had done sped off he assumed. Azrael was filled with a mixture of elation and remorse. The deed was done and there was no going back now. He waited while Grant’s nervous system shut his body down completely, until there was no life left inside at all.
This is the begining of the second chapter of a novel that takes place in Philadelphia in the spring of 1825. I've read (and rewritten) this thing a half dozen times so now I've completely lost perspective. The story is about Charles, whose wife, Martha, died giving birth to Joseph several years earlier (mentioned in the first chapter). Is it too wordy? Too slow? Melodramatic? Boring? Interesting? All comments appreciated! Thanks so much!
FROM CARNEGIE Below is the first 700+ words of my middle grade/fantasy for critique. Nothing could be further from anything magical than Jack Disor’s family. They lived in the Philippines on a tiny island shaped like a sock and surrounded by a gloomy jungle where tales of witchcraft and black magic abound. Some of Jack’s friends bragged about having relatives who were witches or warlocks, but all his family tree could ever boast was an uncle who was hit by lightning seven times.
FROM NAT Until the second the lights flickered on and flooded my room, I actually thought I had got away with it. Not because I was particularly good at the whole breakout extravaganza, or because I had been especially careful, but because I had been doing it almost nightly since I had found out about the move, and I had yet to be caught. My parents had been too busy screeching at each other to notice I was missing.
FROM ED ...I was hoping to get some feedback to the opening of a novel I've been working on. Here is it-- *** If you can’t forget, you have to remember. That’s what you said to me. I said in reply, That seems obvious, and you said, It’s less obvious than you think. I’ve been in a sorry state lately. It’s my sophomore year in college and I’m taking these very difficult Bio-Chem major requirements, like Biology 421 Intro to Bioinformatics and Chemistry 566 Mettalopharmaceuticals.
FROM JUGGLED Here is my start to a chapter on what to wear when participating in winter snowsports. Any feedback is welcome. Thanks in advance! How to Dress It is a lot of fun to spend the winter season skiing or snowboarding, as long as you are dressed properly. The temperature can change from sunny skies to cold gail force winds in a matter of minutes in some places. So we are going to learn how to dress for all winter extremes.
FROM LENNOX THE DECLARATION OF UNITY The end of democracy and the defeat of the American Revolution will occur when government falls into the hands of lending institutions and moneyed incorporations. ~Thomas Jefferson One Human nature was dead, and I’d helped murder it. Backstage, organized chaos spun around me. Clipboard-toting producers paced to and fro, spouting instructions into their headsets. Grips and pages scurried to perform said tasks. Lighting operators threw switches.
FROM LILA I'm struggling a bit with these few paragraphs...I'm wondering if they come off as too wordy, or clunky. Any opinions would be greatly appreciated. The thought of being completely helpless and vulnerable would usually leave her boiling with anger, but now Adrianne merely sat blank and empty, clutching her mother’s hand in her own. And still the minutes crawled by. The shallow breathing was becoming even more strained. Adrianne looked once more at the pained face below her.
FROM MITZI I've gone over and over it and would really appreciate some external feedback! Don't water down your critique, I'm a big girl and can absolutely deal with it. My goal is to make it better and get it published - not boost my ego The novel is light SF but doesn't really collide with that genre until the end of the first chapter - another 2000 words from this excerpt.
FROM LORETTA This is my first post. It is a short story I'm working on. Let me know how the story feels. Is it to melodramatic? Blue Moon Rising By Loretta Green It was a Tuesday night when the stagnant heat settled over the island in a blackout caused by an overloaded grid. It was hot, and hot again. Blindly hot. Sucking the breath out of the remaining tourists, itching the locals.
FROM BOOFY With almost three quarters of my first draft written down I returned to my opening chapter and was horror stricken to discover that it no longer pertained to the rest of my story. Having realised, I've been working on a rewrite of sorts for the first four chapters as a welcome break from the hard schedule I've set myself to (finally!) and I was wondering what your thoughts were.
FROM MR MITCHELL Dangerous Ground (Chapter 21) (swearing) After being alone for most of the afternoon and the only visits being from nurses or doctors, I have turned to the booklets in front of me to attempt to keep myself sane. While I am reading them two distinctly familiar voices can be heard from the doorway of the room. Sure enough, David and John are accompanied by an unnecessarily huge ‘Get Well Soon’ card.
FROM GUITARHIRO97 xoMechanica (Intro) At 3500 feet and going 575 miles per hour the sleek Boeing VC-25, also known as Air Force One, soared through the sky like some strange exotic bird. Their destination: Tokyo. Aboard the plane was the president, his attendees, other officials of the political variant, and of course, the secret service. Maria Tanaka, age 25, Air Force Engineer, was the only one who didn’t quite belong. Her Japanese heritage had left her shorter than the average but she made up for it with personality and athleticism.
FROM TINACRABAPPLE It’s all in your head “Are we adding or subtracting? Are we putting together or taking apart?” “We are putting together,” Little P said. “What are we putting together?” “Four and Five,” the Rose said. “Big D., what two numbers are we adding?” “We are adding four and five,” Big D said. “What do they equal?” “They equal...” “Count, please!” “They equal one, two, three...nine. They equal nine.”
FROM DATO Crossroads I have worked for a university for many years, and as some of you may know, campuses tend to be hectic places during a school day. But in the very early morning the campus paths are devoid of the teeming masses which later appear and despoil the mystical serenity of early-morning light and shadow. The cacophony of midday noise has not yet swelled. Birdsong trills unadulterated, celebrating the dawn of another day with an avian paean of 'Ode To Joy', heard by only the granite block walls of ancient, wizened buildings as they sit silently in their ivy covered robes .
FROM LIZ Kind of an emotional poem I originally did for a weekly theme...It was written to maybe be a song. Shiver When it rains it pours, When it whispers it roars, When the end comes, Nobody can stop it. When it calls, we hear, When it draws us near, We have no other option, But to follow. So I stand here alone, in the rain. As the ones I love slowly fade away.
FROM DARESH Dream_Bubble_Matter_ antimatter_antibubble_antidream Cast out of a rural mural and transported through a blue tinted portal, I conjured anew as a subtle air bubble full of multiple essences of whimsical trouble. Hasty fluid breaths in a liquefied canvas insisted to finish all of a sudden as the body materialized itself abruptly into substance. Wet eyes flutter as matter tips the scale, the head breaks the surface and gazes skyward to an atmosphere of fire frozen in waves of sails.
FROM MAEWEST Love Sonnet Sonnet V How could anyone not want to be around you? Your eyes rival the sun in all their shining blazing glory. The moon is a pale crescent in the orb of your smile. Flowers open, birds sing, children giggle Animals are stirred to investigate your magnetic charm. I am amazed that you love me, you who could have the adulation of any number of beauties far creamier than I.
FROM NEVRBORN Prologue Ever thought your life needs a soundtrack? A mix-tape of well-chosen songs to accompany everyday non-events. Something classical while reading the newspaper in the morning? Or minimal techno while ironing the slim-fit white shirt just before hitting the bars? Well, this is the soundtrack of my life. I'm twenty-nine, male, gay and no, my soundtrack will not be ABBA or Beyonce! Don't worry, I don't have high hopes of it going platinum!
FROM DEBBI By the second week in Dublin I had already fallen into a routine. I woke up early and went to the newsstand down the street for a USA Today. On the way back up to the room, I made some oatmeal and a cup of tea in the kitchen, which I ate while I caught up on what was happening back home. Being away for so long had peaked my curiosity about what was happening back home.
FROM ZAIDA I need help with a synopsis: In a matter of life and death at your choice between your best friend’s life along with your own or the life of your true love’s,in the end who would your decision kill? After a swift escape from their prison cells six people are forced together in a journey of love, betrayal, and distrust. Ones with unexplained abilities live across the earth mentally out-casted by humankind, they are named the Gifted.
FROM ANGELA Is this beginning too dark for Young Adult? Contains violence, i suppose rain is fitting for this moment. Standing above a grave wouldn’t feel quite right without rain. It helps wash off the blood, too. My shoulder throbs where the knife sliced through nerve and muscle. If I press a hand to it, blood dribbles through my fingers and mingles with the rain. It’s become a game now: how long can I press on it before my vision starts to go dark?
FROM NICO So, below is an excerpt from a book I'm still in the process of editing, the sequel to the book I published to amazon.com. This is book two in the "Tales of Erets" series, and is the prologue, the hook. Thoughts? Please, if you think I need to change something be specific. Just saying "I don't like such and such" is not terribly helpful unless you throw out a few suggestions for alternatives, which can inspire my creativity.
FROM HEROIC I'm currently working on an epic poem in dactylic hexameter. Ambitious work, I know. It's a story I've been kicking around for a long while, and have written previously in both prose and as a screenplay. The choice to write it as an epic poem is more an exercise in practicing a different writing form than a serious attempt at getting published. It's also still extremely rough, but I was hoping on some feedback on style.
FROM ROGUE MUTT Prologue I’m supposed to be in school, but there’s no way I’m going to miss this. It’s the latest “Trial of the Century,” except this time my dad is at the center of it. My dad is the one who’s going to bring down Madame Crimson and her criminal empire. I wish I could watch it from the courtroom, but Daddy won’t let us near there. I have to watch from my bedroom with a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup next to the bed.
FROM J. SIGAL I hit the snooze button for the second time. It was a normal morning. But why was it still so dark, I wondered, as I peered squinting through my one eye not buried in the pillow. The voice on the radio trailed off into welcome silence, when through the fog of sleep, I remembered the real estate agent I was working with arranged an eleven o’clock meeting to go over the results of my recent home inspection report with the client she represented whom did not like to be inconvenienced.
FROM AJFISK Some things best left forgotten by A.J. Fisk The house was a little too still. Too silent and dark for the bright afternoon shine outside. After a number of calls left unanswered and repeat visits greeted with only the dull sound of my knocking and a soft shuffling on the other side of the door, I thought it time to force my hand and enter. After all, it is what friends are for.
FROM DIANE This short snippet is part of a new novel. The protag, Kelly, has just gotten out of bed after a one-night stand and has gone out to the patio to ponder the events of the evening. Any critique would be welcome...thanks!! Swinging her legs one at a time up and over, she sat on the railing and thought of the cowboy who had walked out of her life as swiftly as he’d entered it.
FROM LOWCHEY Here is a paragraph for critique. Tell me where it needs work and I'll see what I can do. On the way downtown he was so completely alone with his terrible error that he felt the necessity for the strange warmness and goodness that came from a familiar and gentle voice speaking in the night. Already, in a few short hours, it seemed that he had known her a lifetime.
FROM MICHAEL "Body Bag" Bloodstained, a tattered veil Upon the battered face Of the Fallen One A wretched sleeve engulfs her carcass Embers of her vitality Extinguished by the tears Of the Lost One Whose love was gone Whose feet stroked soil Resonated throughout the night Like bells in mourning Residing in cathedral corridors Their rhythm moaning solemnly Chiming the hour of death Through voices set ablaze In crematoriums of mortuaries
FROM L. T. VARGUS I'd eat shards of broken glass to get you to read the free sample of my book. CRITIQUE For those of you who want to read the writing sample that I will critique to save Ms. Vargus from esophageal laceration, you can find it right here. It is the first chapter (about 1700 words) and a portion of the second chapter (about 3400 words). So, first chapter…first person present.
Perspectives by N. Flikkema Finally, the day had arrived. I woke up early, exfoliated, and even curled my hair with hot rollers. I felt prepared for my interview at Elle Magazine. A long shot, but nevertheless, my dream job. I’d practiced interview questions and role-played scenarios in the mirror for weeks. Today, I’d get my shot. I stared at my reflection, feeling pleased. I wasn’t a traditional beauty, but my new lip plumper seemed to work great.
FROM MARIKAGUTHRIE To head off the slew of grammar corrections that are coming my way I will say that I have a friend of mine (a newspaper editor) reading and correcting for me. I haven't gotten it back yet so this is the raw version. Also a quick heads up that my background is mainly in poetry so keep that in mind and somethings such as fragment sentences are intentional. I am going to post two threads to keep under the requested 1000 work limit and you can also get a feel for my dialogue.
FROM MICHAEL Dorren was numb to the suffering of his body, lost in his labor to all but the rhythmic swinging of his pick-axe. Clumps of soil and small rocks flew into his face and upper body, stripped bare in the summer heat. For the last two years, since the United Armies of Sarranhold under the command of King Varrel III, Warlord of the Sarran Empire conquered the Kingdom of Ashela; Dorren and every other citizen of the once mighty lands east of the Crying River had been forced into work-camps run by Sarrian Overseers.
FROM JAY SIGAL I just finished reading "ON THE ROAD" the original scroll for the first time a week ago. I did so within four days, four separate sittings. The last three, simply out of my long practiced commitment to complete every book I start. Like many readers, I came to this tome with a mental oil-slick of non-specific references of what a masterful interpretation of the "beat generation" it represented - - yet at seven years old, when ROAD was originally published, I knew nothing of Jack, Neal, Alan, Louanne, Denver, alcoholism, bebop, drug [ab]use, stealing cars, smoking pot, sex, or that ethereal "
FROM J. HORDE I have read and heard it said that the beginning of a story is what hooks the reader. Thus it must be good. Even though I have read some works with LOUSY beginnings but that I ended up enjoying immensely! Nevertheless, in that spirit I am trying to beat out a palatable beginning to MY story and thought I would let you have a go at it. Now where is that thick skin I leave laying around for times like this?
FROM MILKAN This is just a sample of what I am writing. I know it is hard to judge things when they are taken out of the context of the story. I am worried about the style in which I am writing, if it is overly confusing or has enough "Voice" to carry the lack of action, or if the prose is just flat out bland. “But this isn’t in process of solar lithography.
FROM MALCOLM It's the first 1,000 words. Thanks in advance. -====-==- It is clear that I am dying, though no one has said as much. It is a Tuesday morning in the state of Connecticut. An especially hot summer has been followed by the onset of an unseasonably chilly fall, and some of the leaves have already begun to turn. I am lying in a white, rectangular room, a sterile-feeling place, alive with the buzz of machines and nervous voices.
FROM EDWARD I had excerpts of this work published before as mini short stories but this is sort of my prologue / first chapter. Just overall concerned about the "flashback" and was wondering if it is ok as it is, overall too it is a contraversial book (about my previous life as a social worker), I had excerpts published but the overall format of the book is similar. Chapter the first – Prologue
FROM DIANESTO This is an excerpt from The Fall. For lack of a better description, it's a love story taking place in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. I've trimmed off the very beginning because it's mostly set-up for the world I've created. It's a world where lines are drawn based on socio-economic status. Grant's family are impoverished apple orchard-keepers. Myrian is the daughter of a government council member. This excerpt is about a page and a half in.
FROM PB SIMISTER My wife tried to kill me. It’s not what you think, something was wrong with her. Holly came home from work looking like death warmed up. Her face was pale, clammy and stained with the telltale red lines caused by crying. I hugged her, sat her down on the couch, and tried to find out what had gotten her into such a state. What she told me seemed like one of those fevered nightmares that don’t let go, even after waking.
FROM SUSANH Something from the middle of my book-- pretty representative. Thanks for any observations. About 6 months ago it dawned on me that this process of fixing up the boat, no matter what the current project, would have as a common denominator messiness, in ways that are both predictable (dirt of all kinds, for instance) and unpredictable (a blob of grease covered with sand on the bottom of someone’s shoe, that ends up on a rug you used to like).
FROM LAWRENCE KISER The bright sun shines down upon the world, lighting the earth in a torrent of unrelenting blissful luminance. Normally one would look around at a landscape illuminated by a midday sun and feel reassured by the beauty and majesty of life, and the power of the all-encompassing rays of the life giving heavenly body. However, no matter the brilliance, no matter the majesty, and no matter the assurance that the sun will indeed continue its course through the sky no matter what happens below it, the beauty of the day is lost upon me as I speed down the highway, struggling with my thoughts.
FROM SAM DOUTHIT I wonder if you would be kind enough to have a look at a piece of my writing and let me know what you think? It is the opening to a story about a man called Samuel who begins to realise that his life is a little different to most people. He has no family or friends and very little understanding of the world he is blundering through.
FROM JAYNE On one of the first days in New York, I found myself wandering in the Lower East Side, a part of the city that had been formerly Jewish and that still contained remnants of its earlier incarnation. The streets teemed with small shops and merchants in one great cacophony of business being conducted noisily and openly. Most shops, their front doors ajar, revealed crammed, dark, cluttered spaces, where merchandise consumed every inch of space.
FROM N. FLIKKEMA Jealousy in Unexpected Places I’m not a jealous person. I am genuinely happy for those who are fortunate in life. If I see a lady who has a beautiful family that loves her, I am happy for her. Once a couple buys or builds the house of their dreams, I am glad for them. When a guy pulls up in a fully restored ’57 Chevy convertible, complete with vanity license plates reading “AHH YEAH,” I think it is fantastic.
FROM KIMBARKAVE Even as a young boy I always knew things where not right at home. It wasn’t till years later I would learn just how wrong. My parents never seemed to ever get along, and there was always turmoil in the house. My parents were always arguing about something and dishes were flying around the kitchen or us children were getting woke up at all hours of the night with arguing between the two of them.
FROM SAMUEL Chapter 1 “Do you swear upon this holy bible that the information you filled out in this athletic packet is correct to the best of your knowledge and that you live at the address designated?” “Yes,” The Notary lady looked indifferently down at the forms before her, signing a page here or there. “You know you can take your hand off the bible now,” “Oh yeah, sorry,” I said.