%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Thoughts and deeds taking me on my path toward insanity. |
|
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please visit me for updates on the Myth to Life series as well as other writings, don't forget to leave a message in the guestbook, and join the site at: http://www.eairwin.webs.com I would love to hear from you! |
~ Quote of the Day ~ Some things have to be believed to be seen. ~Ralph Hodgson, The Skylark and Other Poems Hello Everyone; It has been quite some time since I wrote in my blog. I will write of my adventures at work another day. Today I want to share something that has seemingly been a long time coming. I wish to thank all of you who believed in me even when I did not, who took the time to nuture my spirits when I thought all was lost, and who encouraged me to continue writing despite every doubt I possessed coming into play. Today I'd like to share what has occured since the beginning of the year. Myth to Life - The Rise of Riley McCabe, has been picked up for publication by Mystic Moon Press, and I have been given a two-year contract for writing the series. I have known about this for several months, and have been waiting until I received the cover art as well as the final edits on the first installment - Between Myth and Blood to be complete. The release date is quickly approaching and I will place the book cover and the date of publication soon so all of you can share that with me. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I am really excited, knowing that I am indeed fortunate to have my hard work published when many other writers have not had this joy. This is my wish for you, that all of you are published if that is your desire. Like I always say, sometimes they just like your dress. Wow, am I happy they liked my dress as well as my writing. Once again, thank you to everyone and their continued support of my work and especially me. I love all of you so much. I could not think of a better place to share my happiness than with the people who understand all the ups and downs of living a writer's life. Ta and peace, and oh, WOO HOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! P A Matthews |
~ Thought of the Day ~ Pink has been used in prison holding cells to effectively reduce erratic behavior. Hello people; I came back from a self-imposed hiatus since I've gone back to work and need the down time, only to find someone had dripped pink all over my port. What's up with that? Okay, now I am easily able to find my hidden objects among the pink jungle, but why pink? Couldn't they choose blue? I just thank God they didn't choose yellow since that color makes me overly anxious. Can you tell I'm affected by color? Egads! Something new to complain and rant about. Thank you! I was actually considering writing something political and that would get tres ugly. Now I'm saved by my pink fluffy port from writing about something I promised never to write about. At least wearing the color pink I simply look like a pudgy piece of cotton candy fluff. Not bad for a hot-blooded sugar mama. Oh my gosh, I have to stop, blonde is leaking everywhere. Ta and peace? P is for pretty princess in pink  |
~ Quote of the Day ~ Happy Valentine's Day ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I hope all of you have a wonderful Valentine's Day filled with much love and happiness. You'll find me sitting against the wall, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for tomorrow and the opportunity to change the day on my calendar. Punished You crave being hurt, thus, I consider my lies icing on the cake, a delectable reward, punishment for loving me. Ta, P http://music.aol.com/video/call-me-when-youre-sober/evanescence/1687329 |
~ Quote of the Day ~ “Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire” ~ François de la Rochefoucauld Hello People; Just a quick insane bit of reminiscence before I toodle off to work. Last week was one of the more hellacious weeks I've had in a long time. I can multi-task with the best of them, however adding in going back to work with all its sordid glory left me longing for many things other than sleep. I'll catch you up on last week when I get the chance. Miss all of you. Saturday, I had to go by Walgreens for odd bits and pieces that make life more tidy. While at the check out, I noticed they had lighters at the cost of 3 for $1.00. So I picked through them, found three blue ones, and added them to my booty. The cashier looked at me and got on the phone to call someone else to ring up my goods. I looked from the cashier to her replacement, a nice, congenial young man, and then to my few items on the counter. Her quandry? Shit, she wasn't old enough to ring up lighters. I looked at the guy, who looked about eighteen, and asked if that was the problem. His reply was yes, and then he laughed. I laughed again, since it's been too many years since I was carded for anything. Ah, where did the time fly? I told him I didn't even smoke, I just liked to have lighters in the house or purse in case the lights went out. I didn't feel the need to tell him I was also a pyromaniac in recovery. It was then I noticed the display of cigarettes and avoided the need to buy all of them just to inhale something other than the insanity of the past week. And while I was there, I wondered if they had a hard liquor section where I could find the most potent drink in a bottle and wash away my life in a steady stream of swallowed amnesia? I bought a box of Junior Mints and left the store. Such is life. Pretty, ain't it? Hope your days are faring better. Talk later. Ta and pieces, P |
~ Quote of the Day ~ "Carpe modem - seize the airwaves!" Pamela M. Matthews Hello people; My sister sent the above quote to me the other day to encourage me regarding seeking publication. I am happy and thrilled to annouce that "A Shiny New Andrew" hit the airwaves via the electronic page and is now published. Woo Hoo! Okay, I'm really excited. What a way to wake up after long nights back at work. If you would care to read the story, here is the link: http://www.everydayfiction.com/ Thank you to all the people who continually support me as I step through another chapter in my life - from unknown to infamous.  Ta and peace, P |
~ Quote of the Day ~ "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." ~Elmore Leonard Hello People; Back with another mind-numbing adventure. Not much good sleep has happened, but last night I think I did have several hours of continuous sleep, so that was good. The other night I turned off the computer before 7:00PM, usually I’m writing until late in the night. I crawled between the bedcovers, turned on the television, hoping to allow my brain to veg and lull itself to sleep. Around 8:30 I drifted away, 9:00 I was wide awake after my power nap and stayed awake until 5:00AM. Sigh. I just kept my eyes closed and let my mind wander because trying to control the situation only makes it worse. I plotted stories, thought about people, plotted stories, my mind sang songs (I don’t think I ever told you that every morning I wake up and a different song is going through my head. Fully orchestrated, nothing held back – exhausting.), plotted stories until unconsciousness happened. Last night I did the same thing, this time with better luck, sleep occurred sooner, though I woke every hour until around 6:30AM, then passed out until around 10:00. Today I have a hangover without benefit of alcohol or drugs. So be it. I’ve done all I can at this point. I return to work on Monday (yay for money, yuk for less time to write), and this week got the opportunity to change my schedule so I could start work at 3:00PM instead of 6:00AM, which required me to get up in the middle of a REM cycle at 4:00AM. Hopefully this will ease the insanity of working with only one or two hours of sleep a day. Life gets a little edgy otherwise. Okay, insanity tends to take root and run rampant. I thought I’d also catch you up on my progress through the world of publication vs. non-publication. Wasn’t that a nice way of stating rejected? Let’s face it, what lack of publication in many realms means is that you haven’t found the right editor/publisher for your piece. They either hate it or love it and work the piece into their publication depending on said attitude. I’m likening it more these days to a job interview and you’re either hired or not depending upon your qualifications or the dress you wore that day. I once had a job interview that lasted over four hours. If I’d known it was going to be that long I would have packed a lunch. I went through psychological testing as well as other obscure tests. The interviewer asked me the most irrelevant questions, expecting my answers to probably reflect an ‘ism’ from one or a hundred philosophers. Honestly I’m not sure it mattered what I answered or if my qualifications were for that job. The interviewer gave no indication of anything – an interview by automaton would have been more successful. Needless to say I didn’t get the job, nor did I even get an acknowledgement I’d ever been in the place applying. Want to know the job? Working in an optometrist’s office. Yeah, like I couldn’t figure out how to cram contact lenses into someone’s eyes without understanding philosophy or psychology, mostly I think I needed an understanding of anatomy. I’ll take you on another little side trip here because I know you just love them. Several years ago when I was taking voice lessons again, my teacher told me of one of her experiences auditioning for the Metropolitan Opera. She and another woman (after they’d graduated college,) were up for the last slot in the company that the Met was offering. I knew the other woman, had been in college with her and she was several years ahead of me like my teacher. So while I was singing, my teacher related the scenario of the audition, which was rather like a two-pronged attack while doing a lesson. I think at that time she’d asked if I had auditioned for something and my reply had been no. Anyway, she and the other woman sang their six required arias for the Met audition. Both were excellent singers, pretty much with the same qualifications. The other woman received the spot in the company. Now you have to understand auditioning for the Met isn’t a little thing, losing a possible position there can be devastating. Want to know what clinched the deal for the other woman? The panel liked the dress she was wearing and stated that later. It had nothing to do with her ability as an artist. Since hearing that, I always keep that thought in the back of my head despite my disappointments – and having auditioned for many things, or put my artwork on display with my expectations not fulfilled the way I want them, makes for some disappointing areas in my life. So what does the side trip have to do with non-publishing aspects of writing? Sometimes they just like another person’s dress. Nothing more, nothing less . . . that is unless of course your story stinks, then that’s another blog in itself. Let’s see; you know about the two accepted pieces at MicroHorror, Pictures and Red Fog. I haven’t added anything else there yet since I’m searching out other horror markets for flash, but I’m very grateful for two pieces to be on their pages and may submit a third down the line. One of my favorite little ditties got sent to an online publisher of everyday fiction. Both editors wrote back and told me the subject was overworked, blah, blah, blah. Okay, fine, I can deal with that. I thanked them for their comments. Undaunted, and just because I like to occasionally understand the parameters in which I have to play, and okay I felt a little miffed and wanted them to define their acceptance of work more, I sent these editors a totally different styled piece – horror as opposed to humor. Both wrote back and explained that they were rejecting the piece. One editor mentioned she thought the twist at the end was too unexpected – my thinking; that’s why they call it a twist hon. The other editor said the piece a tad too gory for their lunch crowd. Now, I had read months worth of daily pieces, and frankly even if it wasn’t my piece, I would have preferred a little gore rather than several works I read where more than ten percent of the words used by the author was the word fuck, along with other profanity. I sent them a nice thank you note and told them at least they hadn’t said the piece was boring. But, still undaunted, I sent them another piece, waiting for the third rejection. I just wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn’t give up. Several weeks later I received a notice they wanted to publish the piece but wanted the ending stronger. The editor that stated my prior piece to gory said he hated asking me since I would probably hesitate rewriting the piece. I rewrote, re-edited, resubmitted the piece and just received notification they liked the new ending and they are going to publish it. Yay! A Shiny New Andrew has no publishing date yet, but the promise of one. That’s all I can ask for. I’ve sent another piece in and will find out in a few months if they liked that one, or if I was wearing the wrong dress again. A few months ago, I stumbled across a contest here for speculative fiction and sci-fi stories. Since I have never written a sci-fi story and couldn’t even to save my life, I sent them a little horror speculative piece which they never commented on, plus the only sci-fi-ish thing in my port – a poem, An Electromagnetic Pulse. I never received a comment on that poem either, but months later, I did receive notification my poem had made it into Farspace Anthology slated for release some time in February or March. Yay! This past week, I found another online outlet dealing in stories of 100 words only. My mind flashed on something, I wrote it, and before I really thought about it pressed send. The piece made me laugh despite its somewhat questionable subject matter, which to me is another learning lesson not dealt with in this entry. I received a rejection on the piece, and here are the words used to notify me: “Sorry, P.A., this story doesn't work well for me.” I laughed, a bit from relief that my piece wasn’t going to be published, as well as at the editor’s words since I’d read several pieces that I would find questionable on their page. Plus, the day my story was rejected, their story of the day was simply atrocious, but that’s their choice du jour. Could she have rejected me better? Perhaps, but that’s her decision. I say all this because if I hadn’t gotten used to odd reviews here at WDC, I wouldn’t be prepared for the odder out there and be seriously fretting over something I couldn’t control. When I start getting rejections on pieces I truly love and have slaved over I will begin to get upset. A few days ago I submitted a poem to an actual outlet that is paying. The submission guidelines were stringent and the last item they mentioned was to ask if you want the remarks the editors make sent to you whether you’re accepted or rejected. They state this prior to you submitting since apparently the remarks are unvarnished and at times pretty lethal. So I agreed to receiving the remarks, sure my poem probably won’t make it past the first round of editors (they have three rounds you have to go through prior to acceptance. This always makes me wonder how pretentious the editors actually are.), and submitted my poem. I received notification they received the poem, and that it was headed to the editors and I would hear sometime toward the end of February. Here’s to waiting! So that’s it on my end for submissions. Share your stories with me. Nothing like camaraderie to take the edge off waiting. And I suppose all of this is to just say don’t give up. Yesterday I wanted to give up writing, truly toyed with the idea, and it had nothing to do with rejection or acceptance. So I know what fragile ropes we walk when crossing the mental chasm below us. It’s scary and daunting, but made more palatable when shared with friends. Ta and peace, P |
~ Quote of the Day ~ One can pay back the loan of gold, but one dies forever in debt to those who are kind. ~Malayan Proverb I wanted to say thank you to Char for providing my little space a spot of color with this wonderful and unexpected ribbon. And such a color it is. Blood red. Ah, I see a theme, my lips, my toenails, the color of my printed blog, the blood spilled upon the pages on which I write, and those whose blood I spilled across that page to tell their tale. This couldn't have come at a better time. Today, I have wept copious amounts of tears. Insomnia my foe - exhaustion its weapon, has left me in a state I abhor. Vulnerable to my emotions, unable to explain their emergence, while remaining willing to allow their wanton dallience upon me. To do otherwise would only prolong the agony - for emotions are a jealous lover. Tomorrow, sensibility will hopefully reappear, and turn the gray of my eyes into something more colorful. Until then, I linger in the ether between the staid and the exalted. If only a poem would emerge from the troubled atmosphere and write itself upon my heart. Ta and peace, P Well, I worked on a poem for something, and now need to write another since mine is now seemingly off topic. So, here it is in all it's sordid glory. Grayed Imperfection Tired skin, ashen and taut stretched across planes of discontent, eyes—color of storm-charged clouds reflect the nebulous deep within, gazing into amalgam-backed glass pensive expression perceived by me, merely a mirror of my portent, or a study in grayed imperfection. |
~ Quote of the Day ~ Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room. ~Kurt Vonnegut I proudly annouce this is Dance Like No One Is Watching Day Hello People; We've had back to back storms for over a week. The past few days have been fast and furious; wind, rain, sun, clouds, alerts on the television, wild weather coming at you from every side. Needless to say I haven't been outside and am feeling more than a tad antsy. So, in honor of the pent-up beast in me, I offer these dance tunes for your foot moving prerogatives. Pick one, any one, and get your groove on. Come on, dare ya! I'm not gonna look, I'm too busy watching myself have fun. Life's too short to get self-conscious now. Uh ... you in the back, get up offa your thang and show me what you got. Forgot your tassles? Try the basket by the door. From the rediculous to the sublime, have fun, Ta and rock on, P http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYGCT4AQIR0 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jLGa4X5H2c My apologies to Alfred. I'm sure this will make his hair curl, but it was the best I could find amid the amatuers. Just another form of dance. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vF8dCUd9AMw http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHFJWCCsWWQ&feature=related |
~ Quote of the Day ~ "Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves." ~Abraham Lincoln "In the truest sense, freedom cannot be bestowed; it must be achieved. " ~Franklin D. Roosevelt Compassion in Black and White* by P. A. Matthews I always wonder what’s goin’ on in people’s heads, ’specially if the landscape of their face remains empty—like barren ground where roots of thought or deed haven’t borne fruit. Miss Eulalie has one of those unreadable faces … not considered beautiful by anyone, but she don’t quite scare the townsfolk with her ugliness. Everyone calls her plain and some add other ugly words … Miss Eulalie seems fine with that way of lookin’ at her. I’m not quite sure about their view of her though. Mainly, I think folks don’t know where to pigeonhole her, so they just think her lack of expression and plainness as not bein’ a whole person so they don’t have to put out any effort to know her. Miss Eulalie seems fine with that as well. Jasmine fills the sticky air, mixin’ with the magnolia blooms linin’ the long road to her house. Breathin’ deeply brings a peace my way. Another thing that makes me wonder—how is it her property is the sweetest smellin’, most beautiful place in the county? Lookin’ up from watchin’ my feet scuff the dirt as I walk, I see her sittin’ on that wide wrap-around porch of hers, her coal-black head slightly bowin’ as if she’s prayin’. I smile. Maybe she poses like that in church, but Miss Eulalie believes once she shows reverence to God she should raise her head and speak to Him directly. Climbin’ the wide stairs, I call to her. “Hey, Miss Eulalie!” It’s only her voice she raises. “Hello, Reaper, come and sit a spell. It’s quite a walk from town.” A few squeaks accompany me ’cross the wooden porch. Still she don’t lift her face, but now I see why … her thoughts are aimin’ at the sewin’ in her hands. Leanin’ against a weathered pillar, I watch her stitch—a perfection of moves satisfied on blue broadcloth. A knot, a clip of thread, and she’s done. A quick fold of fabric and she looks at me, her face blank, waitin’ for me to speak. “Whatcha makin’ today?” “Just finishing some dresses for Mrs. Montague-Tibbett.” I nod. Miss Eulalie’s sewin’ is the best in the county, but some of the womenfolk are afraid to buy her goods, tellin’ everyone they think she stitches spells into her stuff to make her work more pretty ’cause of her face. But there are a few brave ladies who buy her work, ’specially her quilts, ’cause like her land, her stitchin’ is beautiful. I stare at her plain pale face with its good skin, and then to her almost blind-lookin’ gray eyes. A scar bunches up her right eyelid … the doctor’s stitchin’ not as perfect as Miss Eulalie’s. Today, the eye twitches like it wants to say somethin’. “There is lemonade in the kitchen if you want some, Reaper. Still might be cold.” “Reckon a cool drink would do me just fine. Can I git you a glass?” “That would be nice. I also left you a plate of food in the oven.” “Thanks, be back in no time.” The screen door slams behind me, its squeaky hinge bringing back a myriad of memories—both wonderful and terrorizing. Listening to Reaper’s footsteps retreating through the house makes me realize how fortunate I am that he and his family choose to remain with me. Resting my head against the rocker, I set it in motion as my father did many years ago. Gazing across the orchards and lush fields, I note their beauty as the sunlight dips between branches and dapples the rich earth. Inhaling the perfumed air makes me believe anything is possible, even my wild imaginings that the fireflies over the pond are really faeries dancing on the water for our enjoyment. Simple enjoyment seems an ephemeral emotion these days, as fleeting as the dragonflies darting through my garden, and then disappearing. “Miss Eulalie?” Reaper’s voice jolts me back to his presence. I look into his wizened face, exploring the intricacies of its wrinkled weathering. A face which reminds me of crumpled money long lost in a hidden pocket, finally found and smoothed over ebony-colored skin. Reaper is his own currency, paying for much with his life instead of cash. “You okay? You seem miles away.” “I am just admiring our land, letting my mind take in its beauty.” “That it is … beautiful and sweet-smellin’—none finer anywhere. Here’s your lemonade.” Her hand shakes a little when she takes the glass and puts it to her mouth. The tick is still tuggin’ at her eye. Lots on her mind I ’spect, makin’ her take on more than she should. An old soul is what she is, but her odd face shows no lines. Truth is she’s young enough to be one of my grandkids. Lemonade leaks out the right side of her mouth that never really works. Palsy from a curse on her, some of the womenfolk say, but I think that’s just gossip to make them feel better ’bout themselves. “The food’s good today. Nobody makes fried chicken like you, pretty good sweet potatoes too.” A slight chuckle finally leaves her. “You ought to know, Reaper, those are your wife’s recipes. There are pies and a lot of fried chicken today; would you be good enough to take the food to our families?” Our families … our land, she always says ours not hers. When askin’ about her past before returnin’ home, I always git the same answer: ‘Land of circumstance, Reaper, a place where I no longer dwell.’ My thought is a brutality of fists and crimes against her damages her face and body, and turns her mind toward helpin’ others escape the same. Swallowin’ my last piece of peach pie, I watch her, wonderin’ how long we can make this work. “Miss Eulalie, people are callin’ you a nigger-lover.” “This is nothing new, Reaper.” "Yeah, but it’s not just the womenfolk anymore. The men are startin’ to gossip too.” “People are always going to gossip. All this means is we have to be more careful. You aren’t having second thoughts after all this time, are you?” “No, girl-child. Nothin’ changin’ my mind.” “This is good to hear.” “Don’t mean I’m not worryin’ ’bout you though. You got more to lose than me. No tellin’ what those ignorant men gonna do to a little thing like you.” “My life isn’t any greater than yours is Reaper, our insides are the same.” “They don’t see it that way. “Ignorance is a disease. Most people will die from it unless they seek a cure. But we don’t have time to heal them right now. All the food is in boxes and ready for delivery, and the supplies you need are in the wagon. The horses are ready as well, all you have to do is hitch them and leave. Reaper?” “Yeah?” “My special quilts are beneath the floorboards as usual along with some extra cash in case of an emergency. This is an important delivery—a lot of new people will be riding the railroad when they get the word.” Two spots of red paints her face as she continues with this plan, her eye twitchin’ like a second mouth when she tells me about a Cajun name of Bubba gonna drag me into a bayou to disappear in case of trouble. The glass in her hand slips a little from its weepin’, like it cries unsalted tears for her and the sorrow she don’t allow herself to shed. “Miss Eulalie, you need to calm yourself and not worry. I’ll be fine, just like all the other times. You done enough cookin’ and sewin’ and sharin’ your land so folks git a chance at freedom. You want I should send my Maisie up here to keep you company ’til I git back?” “No, that would only arouse suspicion. I’ll be fine. You better hurry so you don’t keep Mister Bubba waiting.” “Alright. I’ll be on my way.” I look at her face one last time and finally see what she always hides from everyone … a fragile spirit that knows and sees too much heartache for one little girl. Those womenfolk is wrong, it ain’t spells but her pure love for God she stitches into her work. “Miss Eulalie?” I look back at his dark face as eventide begins its kiss on the retreating day and the fireflies dance upon the pond. I wonder what he thinks … the concerns he never really voices along with the terrors that he lives daily. I wonder if he knows this could be the last time we see each other before the cowardly finally come and set a cross ablaze on my land. His eyes mist as he stares at me, creating a tighter bond before he leaves. “I know, Reaper. I love you as well.” The End *Alfred suggested I put a link to this story in my port for those interested in commenting or reviewing. Here's the link: "Invalid Item"  © Copyright 2007 P Matthews (UN: pmatthews at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. P Matthews has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
~ Quote of the Day ~ "I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch." ~Gilda Radner Hello Everyone! Gosh, it's been a week since I was here last. Been tres busy, so much so that I haven't been outside except to empty the trash.  But I popped in here today to check my mail, and Char had left me a link to a new contest. I'm up for a challenge, how about you? Now, if I can figure out how to do something in ten days.  Here's the link, and the contest ends January 31st. It's sounds interesting as well as mind stimulating. I'll try to enter something. Come on guys ... give it a try.
Okay, I'll get down from my contest fence. I'll be back tomorrow sometime, or Monday. The loft held me prisoner today. I think I actually heard the walls scream something about the room looking like an episode of Mission Organization.  Sorry to say, it does. Everything is in the middle of the floor as I work toward organization. I think this is going to be one of those organizational happenings where it takes you about ten different times to rid the room of more stuff. If I can get it organized into the correct bins and such, then the next time I go throgh the crap I can get rid of more. Cross your fingers, folks.Gosh, I haven't even touched the clothing yet. Last year I got rid of tons of clothing and still my closet is full. I am ashamed of that now that I don't work in the clothing industry. Someone could be wearing my clothes, and my shoes, and umm ... my costume jewelry. I did get rid of some of my tres wonderful stilletos a while back. I kind of wanted to put them in little shadow boxes and hang them on the walls some were so cute, but refrained. Now I suppose I'll have to do that business again. But I'm keeping the boots, and the pair of snakeskin high heels I've never worn since I bought them right before I had an accident. Maybe those should be bronzed as a trophy to overcoming something. Sigh. I'll write another day about shoes. To give you any indication of my unexplainable love for shoes (I haven't bought a pair except some industrial things for several years) my sister bought me a magnet that says: Will cook for shoes. Since she doesn't cook very much, she thought it perfect for me. What can I say? Life goes on. I hope all of you are doing well. Ta and peace, P |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
