I came across your piece in the 'Read and Review' section where it gives random writing to read.
I've been on Booksie for about 4and a half years now. It's very easy to post there with copy/paste. A few members of WDC have started posting there as well as here; I wouldn't say it is the same as comments made on pieces are visible to all, and there is a definite community feel to the place where you get out what you put in. If you decide to give it a go, send me a private message there and I'll follow you. My user name is the same!
To the anonymous writer/author who nominated my piece for this year's best short story; I thank you humbly. "Veronica's Red Sweater" , 'twas a joy to pen really, and I'm glad it made at least one other person gasp. Step out of the shadows, masked nominator, and raise your hand. Anyway...thanks again.
So my first born graduated from high school yesterday and I wanted to give her something unique. I knew I wanted to write something inspirational but my prose lacked form. It was not quite a poem and it was not quite a letter. So I let it be, and coined a new term to describe what I created. A 'Po-etter'.
My vacuum cleaner sucks and I'm not happy.
Which is ironic, because this is precisely what I need it to do to please me.
Company is coming, and I'm rushing to clean my fuzzy, dusty carpet.
But my damn vacuum cleaner is on the fritz and is just noise with no action today.
It's a reputable brand, from a stand up company, who claimed it'd suck for years, but today, it just plain sucks!
I look outside and the company is here, and I'm so mad I want to swear a bad word at my sucky vacuum cleaner.
So before I open the door, to let the repair man in, I shout at my sucking machine and yell...
Just finished my latest piece. I call it 'In the Garden of Eden'. As you read it, you'll see that it's essentially a confession and it so totally has nothing to do with religion. It's short... not like my regular behemoths. Check it out.
I've had such a freaking fertile imagination over the last week or so. I've got three short stories in various stages of development bursting to get out. Last night the third one actually gelled and woke me. My muse is working overtime it seems. I feel like a crowded tarmac with flights eager to take off. So I need to stop grinning and get to it. I'm writing 'Angus McGregor' now should finish that tomorrow. Then I'll take on 'The Naked Baker' next; a comedy period piece. The the last flight out will be called 'Where there's a Will... There's a Wait.' Hmmm did I mention I was moving now too? Ahh well. Wish me luck.
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