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Thread: Are There Any Writers Here?

  1. #1
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    Are There Any Writers Here?

    [SIZE=3]Im a new writer and this is one of my poems. Please could a couple of you let me know what you think? Thanks a lot xx[/SIZE]


    [SIZE=3]Stories at breakfast[/SIZE]

    [SIZE=3]I tell the world; the minute I wake up. [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]I tell my wife. I tell the kids.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Mostly my little one-helps her recall.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]What I did, where I went. The things that made no sense that DID make sense[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]My dreams are so odd. Everyone says so.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]I’ll say-[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]“Wait till you hear this one. You’ll LOVE it.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]You’ll never believe! We were in the old house,[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Remember, Marie, the lilac carpet?”…[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Then I’ll go from there.[/SIZE]

    [SIZE=3]Oh not again, please no. Won’t anyone tell him?[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]We don’t care. [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Am I jealous?[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Because of what happened?[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]You see, I don’t ‘dream’ any more.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]After the accident, after the operation, my sight faded out[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Flickering valiantly, then ping! [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Gone[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]I dreamed brighter. Raw colours, intricacies untold[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]When I slept, I had them back again[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]But now, they’re gently waving goodbye. [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]With no fresh pictures, nightly journeys starve[/SIZE]

    [SIZE=3]Her stories have changed; [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]They’re Frantic, her teacher says. Frantic.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]With my stories I gently prod her memories[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Every morning I select succulent details[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]What I did, where I went. The things that made no sense that DID make sense[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Catalogues of my sleeping adventures, so she won’t forget hers.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]It helps her recall[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]She doesn’t need her frantic desperate stories[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]I’ll share mine.[/SIZE]

    [SIZE=3]I see you’re trying, Dad.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Your lent, cobbled snapshots[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Aren’t food for my brain, just flavours[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]There are other ways to dream[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Lately I feel the bumps of my new pages when I sleep[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]My dreams aren’t images, they’re pains, lumps, textures,[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Catalogues of daily sound[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]In that matrix I bump into my bed, smell CK One[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Trace a whole surreal day by touch alone.[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]I can’t see your face exactly now, if you’re in there[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]But know it’s fleshy mounds by heart[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Now, really Dad, there’s nothing more boring [/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]Than hearing other people’s stories at breakfast[/SIZE]
    [SIZE=3]So I won’t keep you.[/SIZE]

  2. #2
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    I'm a teacher and a writer, so please forgive me. I will be doing what you asked. I will be criticizing your poem.

    I would axe the first stanza with the exception of the quote which I would put in the third line of the second stanza. The first stanza explains what you are telling us in the rest of the poem. You don't need to do that. It is realism poetry. We don't need an explanation. This is a mistake I used to make too. A story and a poem are different. If you write a short story, you want to use a great deal of imagery and more explanations are sometimes necessary and desired in order for your audience to get a picture of what's going on.

    There are lines that are truly sublime. That's the goal of this form of poetry. You want to be lean and subtle in order to create a big impact. Other than that, I think it is very good. You might want to make sure that you NEED every line.

    My two cents. I hope I didn't offend you. I wouldn't have bothered if I had just read the first stanza. I didn't care for it. The rest was great!
    Either this wallpaper goes or I do. ~~Oscar Wilde's purported dying words

    I did not get my SpahettiOs. I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this. ~~ Grasso, Thomas J. - 1995 death row inmate on his last meal

  3. #3
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    O.k., your turn...I initially had 6 extra lines in this poem that I deleted to make a greater impact...but it still may be shite. lol.

    Angry Little Stars

    Never on another day
    will I wake up late, get a chance, cry, feel guilty, wish I had less attitude
    and wish I were a little star
    A tiny little star that twinkles as gently as a volcanic eruption, spewing out hot, white and very large empty spaces of time at the speed of light
    Time

    Time that speeds by me through the caverns of my face but not my thighs
    Regrets that wish they had more girth than the caverns in my mind
    An empty space with no twinkling stars

    I am kept
    A kept woman
    Not to be mistaken for a prisoner
    For a prisoner would require a warden, and a warden would require thought
    Being void of mind, no prisoner am I
    I'm kept

    Cradled blissfully by a mind void of responsibility
    Body merely follows
    There is a warmth to it
    Not hot
    Not white hot
    Not disruption or eruption
    Disruption is guilt and attitude, but the blissfully ignorant being am I floats in the cradle of my mind
    Floats, blinded by the twinkling star I wish I were

    Closing my blind eyes to this cradled existence does not shut out the light and its anger The light wishes to be heard
    Or seen
    Or acknowledged with a hand raising to shade it away
    The light is angry as the little star tries to be blissful

    But there is no bliss in the light or the star, it is only in the void
    Thus the little star that tries so hard to create an agry light crashes into the voided mind and remove all evidence of bliss
    And the light is all that remains
    And the bliss floats away
    Either this wallpaper goes or I do. ~~Oscar Wilde's purported dying words

    I did not get my SpahettiOs. I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this. ~~ Grasso, Thomas J. - 1995 death row inmate on his last meal

  4. #4
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    literary stuff

    No, please, I'm so grateful you took the time to talk about it. i'm just pissed off that the computer put in all those SIZE 3 things.
    Point taken about verse one; I was really concerned the reader wouldn't know what the poem was about without a lead-in explanation. It's a Dad and his recently blind daughter, taking turns in each stanza. How would you suggest I combat that need for a 'lead-in'? thank you for your kind comments.
    As for yours, i felt that it was about a very comfortable relationship that wasn't very fulfilling for the more passive person. Perhaps the speaker is something of a trophy in the relationship. he or she has been 'won' and now is bored, perhaps they have entered the r'ship from necessity.
    A tiny little star that twinkles as gently as a volcanic eruption, spewing out hot, white and very large empty spaces of time at the speed of light
    that line is a little bit wordy and physics'y (!) and you could have well cut out everything from 'spewing' to the end of the line.
    If you fancy doing more literary things, PM me! xx

  5. #5
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    Cool...thanks for the suggestion. It's actually about my own struggle with depression...being a "kept woman" a reference to being a victim of a disability and the resulting depression. The star is having all of this mental energy, but none of the physical energy. Your criticism was very helpful. The other lines I cut also were a bit clinical or academic sounding. Thank you. I'll write to you soon. Time for more sleep.
    Either this wallpaper goes or I do. ~~Oscar Wilde's purported dying words

    I did not get my SpahettiOs. I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this. ~~ Grasso, Thomas J. - 1995 death row inmate on his last meal

  6. #6
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    halogirl, let me offer another suggestion as well

    Right before you post, instead of hitting Submit Reply, hit Preview Post first. Then it will show you your post, with any "ghosts" or stuff that has slidden out of format. You can edit that crap out then hit Submit Reply when it looks like you want it to look.

    I don't know what all that stuff is, I think they've done some format adjusting here. Seems alot of us were having trouble posting pictures, now any pic I post goes right on. They'll see it and work it out, in the meantime Preview Post first
    .
    .
    "So, what, no fuckin' ziti now?"

  7. #7
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    damn ill never write lol

  8. #8
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    Anybody mind taking a crack at this one? It's not a poem, in fact, I don't know what the hell it is aside from something I wrote when I couldn't sleep.

    Some people don’t have to go missing to be lost. She calls them the shadow people. They’re the people you look at and then forget a minute later. They’re the ones you work or study beside for years but you never really know. It’s easy to look through them and not at them. They blend right in, they don’t matter; they aren’t really there. Nobody finds out if they like the rain or those movies you see on TV late at night. Nobody ever asks them their dreams or their fears. They aren’t really there. She’s been a shadow person her whole life. She’s been the girl people run into with just a backwards glance and a “sorry, didn’t see you there.” She always thinks “nobody ever does” when she actually says “it’s OK.” You can’t hurt the shadow people, words and actions; they don’t do anything to them. At least that’s what other people think. You can hurt them, but nobody pays enough attention to know. Some people carry their scars on the inside. Words can hurt just as much as punches the only difference is the scars aren’t visible. Sometimes, she wishes hers were on the outside. That’s useless though, nobody ever notices that she’s always a few seconds away from tears even though her eyes show it. Nobody notices her shaking hands or the way she looks down all the time. Nobody notices her much. Her friends live in books. Holden Caufield, Scout Finch, Tom Joad, Esther Greenwood, Delores Price, Anita Blake, each one of them is at least part of who she wants to be. The problem with friends who exist on paper is, they disappear when you close the cover. Oh, and they don’t talk back. They never talk back and they don’t have any words of comfort aside from the ones written for them.

    It all started years ago. The damage that never really ends, it all started because nobody really wanted her to begin with. Hell of a legacy to live with, but she knew it. Everything she did wasn’t good enough. There weren’t any drawings proudly displayed on the family fridge. Even the pictures that won contests and the poem that placed third in the whole state were forgotten. Anybody could take pictures and write a few verses here and there. It wasn’t anything to get excited about. Get back to us when you do something worthwhile, then we’ll care. But they didn’t. She still tries for them, never for her. The only thing they never called her was stupid. Everything else was fair game. Everything else still is. But at least when they said awful things, they knew she was there. She wonders how long it would take for people to notice if she just stopped showing up. If they couldn’t find her, would they look? She does try. She lays her soul bare sometimes, it’s met with silence. Silence is the worst part. It means nobody is paying attention, nobody sees. She shrugs it off, plays it like she’s used to it and it doesn’t matter. Inside, she’s screaming. It always matters. When the ones who should love you most don’t pay attention, it matters. When the ones who never cared do it, it’s somehow worse. So pathetic, she’s happy when somebody remembers the color of her eyes. They’re her great-grandmother’s eyes, she looks just like her. Exactly like her, almost a duplicate in fact. Except nobody knows that either. Nobody knows that sunflowers make her smile or that she hates marigolds. When she’s gone from this world, nobody will have known that much about her. Who she was, what she liked, what she hated, all just a mystery. She thinks about that all the time. A handful of something or other, a quick jump from the right height, a step in front of something big moving fast and the world just goes away. And when she’s gone, they’ll be nothing said. Nothing at all just silence.
    "Certian songs, they get scratched into our souls." Craig Finn

  9. #9
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    Lard Boat! - with apologies to Neil Young

    Lard Boat!
    copyright 2006 – Stephen Redgwell

    - with apologies to Neil Young, but he inspired it all! Damn hippies! Damn Powderfingers!

    "Lard boat! Lard boat's a comin'!"

    Lord, how I miss my yesterdays living on the Mississippi. Every week you’d hear a steam whistle off in the distance, someone would yell those words and you knew that everyone was in for a treat. The smell of freshly rendered pork products floated up and down the river. No matter how tough things got, you could always count on the lard boat. Times were simpler then for sure.

    My most vivid memory happened just after Daddy had passed away and my big brother John was in the mountains hunting. He was trying to feed a hungry group of kids and our ailing mama. Actually, it was good to see him go because John drank too much when he hung around the house. Our oldest sister Emmy Loo drowned in the river earlier that year and he’d been pitifully sad ever since. I think that’s what made mama sick too.

    Anyway, I could see the lard boat coming closer and closer to our stop. With John away, that left me in charge. I ran into the house, grabbed Daddy's old gun and sang out to mama,

    "Look out, Mama, there's a lard boat comin' down the river,
    And it's full of bacon, and a flag, and a man on the rail..."

    All the barnyard animals got skittish. When they heard the lard boat's steam whistle they knew that one of them was going to die. Usually it was a pig, but Daddy would shoot old cows too. That day, it was my turn to pick. I just turned twenty-two; I was wonderin' what to do. And the closer the lard boat got, the more those feelings grew...

    I could see the pig pen from the front porch of the house and singled out an old sow that had seen better days. I remember thinking that her fat would taste choice, after rendering it down and straining out the chunks. It was the cycle of life. A fellow could live without schooling, but you always needed to eat!

    I remember that Daddy's rifle in my hand sure felt reassuring. But as I walked into the barn, an unexpected shot hit the door. The pigs were ready and started shooting to try and scare me off. All that did was get me angry! "Sorry Porky, that don't work!" And I raised the rifle to my eye. I never stopped to wonder why. The pig saw black and his face splashed into the sky.


    After that, it was easy because the animals ran for cover. I just grabbed old Porky’s leg and dragged her butt towards the water. I remember thinking that she must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. When the captain saw that fat, old carcass on the dock, he smiled. He started sounding the steam whistle and screamed,

    "Lard boat! Lard boat's a comin"!
    Last edited by Steve; 04-18-2008 at 08:12 PM.

  10. #10
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    Great story, Steve! You have a wonderful gift for writing (I'm assuming this is something you wrote?) What fabulous memories!!

    My husband grew up on a farm. Told me some of those sows were downright mean. One night he had a nightmare that one of them was trying to kill him, LOL, and he sat up in bed and screamed "HELP ME!!!" We still laugh about that.

  11. #11
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    My uncle had a sow escape. He followed her down the highway in his pick-up, shot her, tossed her in the back, took her home and threw her in my aunt's freeze whole and bleeding. When she was frozen solid, he ground her into sausage, and gave it to my cousin, who took it to work and sold it. I think there is some left. PM me and I will hook you up with some great sausage. (for a price.) I never ate any.

  12. #12
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    Thanks for the kind words. Ye,s they are my stories.

    Pigs will do that. My mother used to hate going to visit my great uncle. He owned a pig farm and my mom was frightened of animals. Even dogs and cats. When she found out that my great uncle had me helping with the pigs, she went ballistic! Of course, she never left the farmhouse to get me...

  13. #13
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    Gee, you certainly confused me. When I saw the subject line of LARD BOAT, I mean, well, I just assumed that ABC must be in negotiations for a new weekly series like THE LOVE BOAT or something; only this time each week they'd have a group a D-List celebrities trying to loose weight within a feel good one hour of entertainment delight.
    KELT' HOME FOR WAYWARD YOUTH-
    Helping Young Men To Turn Around For Over Twenty Years !

  14. #14
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    Some things are best left in the past. The Love Boat is a prime example...

    Here's an Internets gift to you. A Captain Stubing doll.


  15. #15
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    I just re-read your piece, and keep thinking of Mark Twain, one of my favorite authors. Kudos, Steve!

  16. #16
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    Thank you. That I could write half as well as he. I'll post some Back Porch Commentaries over time - just for fun.

  17. #17
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    Jesters Kiss

    This is a story of the Jester..............i will repost the continuing story over time. Feel free to PM me with your thoughts, or just post them here.

    JESTERS KISS

    In bounced the Court Jester, tumbling head over heels. The King looked up as he heard the Jester’s door open on the left side of the Great Hall, a smile appeared instantly upon his lips. The Jester looked like a spinning wheel of gold and blue as he cartwheeled his way to the center of the hall and stopped on his feet before the King. He bowed low and the tassels on his pointy hat completely covered his gaily colored face. As he stood straight again, the King’s smile began to slowly disappear.
    What was this? Could it be real? Were the Kings eyes deceiving him, or was that a frown on the clowns face? The King shook his head to clear his eyes, but when he looked at the Jester, the frown was determined to stay right there on his face.
    The Jester cleared his throat loudly to make sure the Kings attention was completely on him, for he looked to be rather distracted. The Jester removed the hat he had worn so many times in this room and wiped the paint from his face and did said something he never believed he would ever say.
    «My king, I would like to be serious for a moment, for I have something I desire to get off of my chest. For many years have I been in your service, and even before that time I was a jester, always making other people laugh.
    «But here I stand before you to tell you that I am not happy. Why should I too not laugh to my hearts content. I am tired of being taken for a fool, for that is not who I am. In my breast beats the heart of a warrior. In my head is the mind of a scholar. These two hands are the hands of a master craftsman. All of you laugh at me, never to be taken seriously. Who among your court even thought to come to me for help or advice when they were in trouble? Did anyone ever wonder if all my needs were satisfied? Or am I forgotten the second I tumble back into my small chamber?
    «Many a time have I come to you and been serious, but all I get as a reply is laughter for you think I am joking. And those that I have talked to, and explained my views, so that at least someone on this world may know me for who I really am. But even those that knew I was being serious, and did not laugh thinking it a jest, laughed at me instead and thought me an idiot among men, not fit to walk in their shadow.
    «This before you is a man, not a toy. I will stand no longer for this ridicule. No longer will I be the butt of ever joke. I too want to find someone special to love and too hold. I implore you my king, I beg of you oh great and wise King, please...take me serious and let your kingdom know, that Jester is a man to be taken seriously, loved and respected.»
    The Jester looked up at the Kings face in hopes to find kindness and understanding as he had seen upon the King’s face a thousand times before the King dealt with his loyal subjects. Happiness sprang into his heart as he saw a smile grow upon the King’s face. But the smile did not stop at the level of kindness and understanding. Nor did it stop at the level of joy, but continued to grow into the face he had seen a million times before. The same face that always appeared when he slipped on a banana peal or juggled fruit, getting himself all covered in slimy juice.
    The happiness fled the Jester’s chest as if it knew it was not meant to be there as the King bellowed out in laughter. The King finally got control of himself and wiped the tears from his eyes. He had not laughed so hard in quite a while.
    «I thank you my good Jester. That was indeed a very good joke, and one that was most definitely needed. You always know when to cheer me up. Thank you again. Now if you will please, I have some serious business to attend to. Good day,» said the King as he beckoned in his subjects. The Jester hung his head low and dragged himself back through the door, on the left side of the Hall, not for the last time, but from now on he will entertain with other business in mind. When the time is right, tomorrow or the next things will change. There is a darkness growing now, growing from the hate and ridicule. I will have justice he thought. And a wicked smile appeared.......
    Last edited by JestersKiss; 05-01-2008 at 12:48 PM.
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  18. #18
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    ........along with evil thoughts that bounced in his head. Things will change he thought as he applied a new makeup. A darker makeup. A scarier make up. Not too much, still to play the part of a clown but there is something lying there just beneth the surface of paint. No longer will i just entertain the king, but i will entice the audience, i will draw them in, i will leave them wanting. I will wait untill the time is exactly right and i will take what i deserve. Ahhhh, the kings 17 year old daughter, she has always had a look in her eye twards me. No longer will i hold back with responsibility. I have nothing to lose. My wife is dying as we speak of the sickness that has been spreading. My oldest son was killed years ago by one of the Kings knights in a so called accident in the courtyard. I buried him myself. Alone. No not in the royal cemetary. but down by the River Guild. No marker. Only me and my wife knows the location. All that is left is me and my young son that is grieving already for his mother who still barely clings to life. I will bury her too. Alone. With these same hands that perform magic and illusions for the royals and thier fat guests. the same hands that i desire to someday soon to have the blood of my master on them. All the Pain and emoitions are now boiling in the Jester about to erupt into violence. the Jester sees the dagger lying by the paint box. It is screaming to him to grab. Just as he is about to move his hand twards the sharpe blade. Movement. Enough to make him jump and his heart dance. Its his son. sleeping just beyond the dagger that he was about to use to either cause pain or suffering or both. A tear rolls down his freshly painted face, leaving a smear like a scar. He cannot hold back now. More tears. The Jester drops to his knees and sobs quietly. The pain of everything has filled him to his breaking point. He thinks to himself, of times of joy. But they seem few. All he can see is the face of this young boy dreaming near him and what will happen to him and how he will fare when the Jester does the unthinkable. The Jester slowly falls asleep on the carpet that lays at the foot of the bed. The thought of death in this castle fills his dreams with nightmares tonight...............
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  19. #19
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    ..........his sleep was filled with blood soaked images. So many ways he could perform the devilish delight. There were many ways and they tickled his nightime affairs. But one that stood out was the one that was the less morbid. The most unscary. He woke many times from his unwritten scripts that danced in his head. Each time he woke he looked to the young man on the bed. Sleeping soundly. Happy dreams he whispered....as he layed his head back down on the sweat soaked carpet and returned to the gore of revenge.

    Early now as he rose once more. He could hear the faint sounds of the other servants doing thier chores. He stood and stretched , arching his back as if he had slept in a box and his joints enjoyed the room to move. OH NO!, the child is gone. The bed lay empty only the evidence of a small jumble in the tattered blankets. He moved quickly through the small room, loking in every possible place, even the impossible places. He child had never left on his own before. too afraid of everything. The Jester froze. He heard a familiar voice. The King. In the palace. At his throne. Just outside the closet door. It is way to early for the fat, lazy drunk to be tending to court business. Fear then ran threw his veins when he heard the second voice. It was the small meek voice of his 10 year old. The Jesters son was in the lions den, how, why, what to do..............Just Then........BAM BAM A heavy knock on the closet door. The Jester quickly covered his now bare face, he was never to be seen without his makeup. Kings rule. Slowly he open the door a crack to see who had banged. It was Edmund the Kings doctor. Yes sir how can i help you, stuttered out of the Jesters mouth. "It is your wife sir, shes asking for you" Just then before he could react. the small patter of scurring feet and then the fragile boy slipped thru the crack and hide behind his father as if he had been there the whole time. " thank you Edmund i will be right there" and he started to shut the door. " It is of great importance that you hurry to her" Edmund stated and turned to leave. As he did the Jester could see the King behind him sitting popously on his throne, looking back twards them with a slight grin and then it quickly disapeared as Edmund whisked by him and the Kings attention turned to him. The Jester quickly shut the door and hugged the child as if he had lost him for years and just found him. In a small and weak voice the child spoke" Father, why did the King tell me that mum was going to go on a long trip and i may never see her again." The Jester winced inside but didnt let it show. " Come on child, lets us go have breakfast with your mum" he said as bravely as hed could. they then put on thier best on Jester clothing and suck out the rear of the castle. Heading for the doctors cottage. Rage was still brewing in the Jesters heart but he knew right now he mustent lessen his grip on being there for his child. And there was still some questions to ask of the meek one.
    They approached the cobblestone house that appeared more dark than he had ever noticed before. An errie darkness had also appeared in his heart too.
    Last edited by JestersKiss; 04-30-2008 at 07:23 PM.
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  20. #20
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    Wonderful tale-very cool!

  21. #21
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    I look forward to the next installment...

  22. #22
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    No tears this time. For some strange reason the ground seemed softer too. Even the bugs that pestered him when he buried his son many years ago didnt seem to bother him this time. He leaned against the same old oak tree and slid down to his butt. His hands caked with the clay soil that lies along the river bank. The ache in his body felt strangly good. He wiped the sweat from his head and took a minute to catch his breath. He just let his mind wander for a second trying to recollect what he just did. Why did it feel different this time? For the last three hours he has been working on buring his wife and for some reason there was no remorse. Only this gut wrenthing feeling of darkness and evil. While digging, carrying his wife, laying her in the hole, covering her and placing the river stone, the only thing or person he could think of was the King and two looks that the king had givin him in the last week. The roaring laugh at the Jesters court room confession and when Edmund told him of his wifes request. One other thing haunted the Jester right now besides his lack of feelings for what he had just done. But what had the king talked to his boy about and why wont his son talk about it either. Many times the Jester had asked leading questions to the boy, but the boy only shakes his head and wont speak for hours. As if a curse or something had been placed on this subject.
    The Jester wrung his hands together and stood up. Kelt by the river bank and carefully washed his hands in the frigid water. He looked up across the water and saw a duck swimming closer too him. He gazed for awhile almost in a trance. The duck seemed to know the this man on the bank ment no harm and almost teasingly swam a little closer on each circle. He duck was about an arms length away on this pass. The Jester thought for moment about scaring it off and leaving when the darkness hit him hard. His eyes focused and his breathing almost stopped. The Jester changed from a man watching a beutiful creature , to an animal seeking a meal. The duck came around one more time. The Jesters arms swooped quickly and deadly. Grasping the fowl by the neck. The Duck never knew what hit him and never struggled. It was so fast and acurate that the Jester suprised himself. He stood holding the dead duck with the newly broken neck in his hand. Blood ozzed from the beak and ran down his wrist. The Jester looked down at his collection in his hand. He did not see a feather covered animal in his gripping fist. The Jester saw the King.
    Just then a noise from the thicket behind him. He turned just in time to see the all familiar backside of his youngest son running into the thick brush. The Jester dropped the fowl and took chase. Yelling his sons name to stop. Asher stop he yelled as he entered the thicket.................
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  23. #23
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    good night all,,,,,,,,,more tommorrow
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  24. #24
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    The King awoke in his large bed with a fright. Sweat soaked sheets wrinkled beneath him as he reached for the goblet beside the bed. As he gulped down the last drop of the warm wine he remembered the nightmare. He has had bad dreams for years, with all the Kings duties he must order done. Some not pleasent. Some not liked. But they had to be done in the kings mind. But these recent dreams had become tragic nightmares. The King rose from his bed and scuffed to the large window and felt the breeze at now cooled him. His robe was open to the gust of the northern breeze. Anyone watching would be able to see vaugely and outline of his majestys, magesty.

    He looked twards the stables. And remembered his nightmare. Although it seemed like something his mind had made up he knew in his heart that it was just a retelling of events that didnt really haunt him untill recently. He knew exactly what had triggered this memory. He was awake now with the drafts of air cooling him quickly but his mind was back on the details of that night long ago.

    His mind grapsed at the details that he wished would stop but his mind was obsessed now. The stable,,,,,,He was drunk,,,,,,,he followed a woman .........she was grooming his horse,,,,,,,her breasts looked perfect beneath her tattered clothing,,,,,,,,and then she seen him spying.........she was nervous and scared .......he was proud and was not going to take no for an answer............he .....he......he.............blood, there was blood. Not his.......he ran quickly to his chamber and washed of the evidence. His queen begged for him to tell her what had happened. He yelled or roared at her to mind her business.........yes he had raped her.........but he was used to taking what he wanted anyway......After all he was the king. He could see her naked body again beneath him, struggeling but not struggeling. She had spit in his face, he hit her with whatever tool he had grabbed in rage.
    The King snapped out of his memory and turned back into the room, closing his robe as he did. As the years went by he had seen the woman from time to time, mostly down by the river in his favorite hunting spot. Kneeling on the bank and sobbing. He never approached her but always wanted to. He had never spoken to her in all these years. But the thoughts never left him and had grown mightier in the last month. He could not sleep. He was in fear of what she could say or do to him. And he was sure there was evidence now of what had happened in the stable. He had seen a young boy the other night. After the Jesters most outragous joke ever.
    Ther King had gone to speak to the Jester very late that night after he had sobered up some. He did not knock. He just entered the closet door. He saw the Jester lying on the carpet. And then something rose from the bed. The King was startled and thought he was looking into his past. The boy looked like him when he was just a lad, growing up in this same castle. He knew immidatly that his was his son. He also knew who the mother of the child was. He also knew who thought this was thier only son left. The King had hundreds of emotions rage through his body in mere seconds.
    The King had no sons, no heirs if you will. Only two daughters that seemed to enjoy disgracing the royal blood every chance he got. He reached his hand out twards the seemed frozen child sitting in bed. The boy who seemed not be afraid for the first time in his life, got up and cluthed the Kings large paw. They exited the closet quietly and chatted for a while. After the King dominated this conversation for a while, he called for a servant to sit with the boy. The King had something to do.............and headed for Edmunds cottage.
    The King snapping out of this day or night dream if you will. Found more wine in his bedroom. His head ached misrably. He swallowed a few more gulps, and sat in his chair. "What have i done" he said aloud to no one. He glanced to a sachel somewhat did under the giant bed. He knew what it was. It was the poison he had used that night to poison the childs mom. The same woman he had raped so many years ago. and now this poison called to him again...........................
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  25. #25
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    Gotta keep those post numbers climbing!! LOL

    Great story Jester!! More Please!!

  26. #26
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    Excellent Jester!!

    More please, honey! xx
    Inside me, there's a skinny woman fighting to get out....but I can usually shut the bitch up with chocolate

  27. #27
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    The boy that hasnt said much in years sat alone in his aunts bedroom. He has heard all thier whispering and gossip. Thinking he did not understand. He understood a great deal. He was just too shy to talk. Or on some occasions just decicded that they didny really to care to hear him any way. For years he was whisked this way and that. Depending on who his father would stick him with. They all had secrets and he knew them all. Beside who would suspect that the poor little boy that had lost his brother and now mother would have an impish way of eavesdropping on thier conversations.
    He sat on the bed. He could hear them right now. All the family and busybodies of the village gathered to eat and drink and pretend they cared about his mums death. They have not cared all the time shes been sick so why do they care now, he thought. Thier conversation has turned to his father now. and he listened eagerly. Ears perked and tuned.
    Male voice" something has to be done, someone must speak to him" A female " oh no, not now not at this time" "shes right" chimed one other gossiper" he dosnt need more problems" Man again " I mean hes going nuts and hes at the river right now, Lord nows what hes doing."
    Female" i heard he kept her body with him all night in his shed" "and cries could be heard by the blacksmith next door"
    " Well by all means cant a man grieve " said on more.
    " Pass me more ale " and a gasp came from the others. The bot recognized this voice. His drunk uncle. They all called him Blue. He didnt know why but he liked it and he liked him." What" he said in defense." Im either gonna do it in front of ya all or i can go out back and do it alone" Rumbles came from the crowd of gatherers. The boy coundnt make out words anymore. But he did regognize the heavy wood door as it banged shut.
    The Boy jumped to his feet and peeked out the shabby window covering. His Uncle tipped back his mug and headed for the barn. Secrety the boy slipped out the bedroom door and down the narrow hall. No one noticed, of course, as he passed by the entryway to the back door and slipped out as quiet as a mouse. He ran hard to the barn door , listened briefly and slipped inside. He let his eyes ajust. but before they could his uncle spoke. "Come here lad" The boy listened and went twards the voice. He could see now, sitting in a pile of straw, his uncle finishing his mug. " Did you bring me more ale" he joked and motioned for the boy to sit by him. The boy was not afraid of Blue and nestled in besides him." No matter, i snuck this past your Aunt anyway. Blue handed his nephew a chicken leg. The boy nibbled a bit, mostly out of politeness. " Wanna talk" Blue stated and then laughed to himself, nowing full well the boy had only ever talked to him once in his entire life. He got serious all of a sudden " im worried about your father Asher" " He seems to be numb to all this and something bad is going on in his head, I can see that plainly" The boy just looked at his uncle, no expession just blankness on his face as if he had no idea what Blue meant" Blue seeing the look on his face continued." I mean he is alone again, down by that dreadfull river, again burying his heart, Your Mum, in the clay."
    The boy dropped his meat in the straw, and got up. Looking Blue right in the eyes with a curious look. Blue thought for a second and realized the boy did understand and he knew exactly what was in the lads heart. " Oh i geuss no harm can come to it" " He is down through the thicket on the west bank" he no sooner said it and the boy was gone. Blue reached deep within the haystack and returned with a brown jug.
    "ahhhhh and here is my true love,,,,,,,to us" GULP " ill drink to that" and he flopped back down in the straw......and sipped again...........
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  28. #28
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    ........As soon as Asher got out of site from the house and barn he stopped running. He stopped in a small clearing to catch his breath.........he wanted to be with his father so bad that the adreniline was flowing. He hadnt seen him much since the morning of his mums death. His father was in and out alot, not being able so sit still. Asher new that there was something besides his mothers death eating his father from within. Asher didnt understand it but he knew he wanted to be with him all the time. No matter his frame of mind or mood. Asher even wanted to talk to him about things that he did not understand. .......He started again moving slowly weaving his way twards the spot. He knew the exact place his uncle spoke of. He had followed his father there before and he also had followed the King there once. Untill the Kings hunting dogs caught sent of him. Luckily the King just yelled and jerked his dogs back the direction he wanted them to go. Asher stopped he was there.
    He came just out of the thicket as his father kelt by the river. He thought his father was crying again. So he he paused , i little fear lurked in him. He decided not to distirb him just yet. He would just sit and watch for the right moment to approach him. He sat down queitly crosslegged and studied his father. The same way he would when is father performed for the audiences and the King. He smiled when he thought of these things. Asher was always supposed to be in bed or studing. But he almost always snuck a way to see the final act or joke. Most times he had to told in laughter so he would not get caught. Asher always thought there was a little bit of a Jester in him too. When no one was looking he would pretend he was his father.Making everyone laugh. These where Ashers happy thoughts. They all included his father. He always cared for him when everyone else pushed the young lad to the side. Asher stood. he could take it no more. He wanted to hug his father so badly right now. Just as Asher stood, so did his father. Asher froze. Something was wrong. His father just stood there looking twards the ground. No wait its his hands. Whats in his hands. Fear now peirced Ashers heart. He wanted to run now and pretend he never came here and seeked out his father. His mind changed a bit. The man he saw there on the bank was not the father he so badly wanted to hold him moments ago. This was a monster. A monster holding his catch of the day. Asher was spooked, he was afraid he was next. He turned to run and slipped. it made a sound. Asher never looked back he ran as hard and as fast as he ever before. He did not know where he would hide. All he knew was he had to before he was caught.
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  29. #29
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    Hope yer all enjoying......more tommorow
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  30. #30
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    WHAT THE F*#@! And that's coming from the zit popping video guy. Oh well, to each his or her on.

  31. #31
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    Quote Originally Posted by biguncfan View Post
    WHAT THE F*#@! And that's coming from the zit popping video guy. Oh well, to each his or her on.
    i dont know what yer talking about
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  32. #32
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    I appreciate the effort but man, that's hard to read on a computer screen.
    I bailed very early on.
    Last edited by Tugboat25; 05-01-2008 at 05:11 PM.

  33. #33
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    Quote Originally Posted by Tugboat25 View Post
    I appreciate the effort but man, that's hard to read on a computer screen.
    I bailed very early on.
    Same here. Nice addition but so much info on here to digest! But it sounds like you do have some people following the story!

  34. #34
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    The King slept in late. He did not sleep well again. The wine is losing its effect as a sleep agent and the powder Edmund gave him is losing becoming an addiction. The king can feel his body yern for the powder. He finds his mouth watering for the juice as Edmund mixes the sleep poition. And now as his female sevants wash his entire body by hand and dress him for todays activites, a hunger grows. Not a food hunger, as should be there at this time of day for a man who eats very heartily But a hunger for something darker. One would guess it was an addiction to the opium that now blends with his blood. But that would be a mistake. Its the wooden box, beneath the giant bed that calls the Kings fingers. The Box holding the poison that was used days ago on the Jesters wife, the mother of the Kings only male heir, screams to be released again. This time on him. The Jester. And the King has a plan. And that plan is of true deceat and trickery. A plan that will invole the royal blood to be a player. One of the purest points of treason is about to be played out in the royal court. More will die, more will suffer and for what. So that the King may have a son. Yes the boy has already been born out of a violent night that happened long ago. But now the King want the boy to know his true father, his true calling, his future. The King will almost if you will, sacrifice ones who already love him, for a small child that he hopes oneday will show him love. The King thought as his sevents finished thier acts of scrubbing him in even his most delicate areas. This discusted the young women that now had to do the bidding of the King. If they had a choice thay would do any other task given. But them being the prettiest, the best devoloped, and from good genes as you will are destined to this degrading task of cleaning, drying and dressing the most royal in the land. Yes, on occasion they too must uncloth themselves to perform thier duties. And yes they too have been raped during thier assignment. The King has his prefrences the others would say. It was accepted practice. That was thier life. They had no choice. The King was dressed and releaf spread amoung the three girls. No "extra" duties today.

    The King put on his cloak as the young ladies quickly scurried away. He king sat and pondered a second. How would his family survive this deed that was planned and already in motion. The King reached beneath him and slid out the box. He placed it gingerly under his arm and stood and headed for the door. If all went as planned in 24 hours the King would have a son and his family would hate him." It must be done " he whispered beneath his breath, "no matter the cost" He exited his bedroom. He spotted his horses caretaker down the hall. " Is my stud ready" he bellowed" Yes your majesty" echoed down the corridor. As they neared each other the King spoke again." Is everything in place and ready like we planned" " Yes sir" The horse is ready, your daughter is ,,,well prepared, and the Jester is at the river as we guessed." " And the boy" snapped the King. "At the mourners cottage" ........"AND"....the King interupted. " No one else knows anything" the servant said proudly. " Good Job" comended the King. A smilr grew on the sevants face as he turned to lead the king out of the dark passage way. The Servant had taken only a few steps when panic set in. Something was wrong. He couldnt breath, something was squeezing his neck, he could not breath..................blackness set in the servants mind as his body fought violently against what ever was killing him. But it was too late.

    The King released his grip on the servants throat as soon as he was sure that the life had been squeezed out. His body fell like a dirty rag. The King stared down in amazment at the lifeless body with eyes wide open satering blankly back at him. He knelt down and closed the eyes at where looking into his very soul. " No more loose ends" he said a matter a factly. The King stood and stepped over the body as if it were now a inconvience. He moved to the stairwell and looked back over his shoulder twards the dead lying behind him on the edge of the darkness. He then looked down below him in the foyer of his great house. about a dozen servents all waited below. If they knew what had just happened they would not be so eager to please the King at this moment. " Lets begin" he stated and moved down the stairs. The rest of the servants eagerly awaited his arrival from the grand stair case. No one noticed a tear being wiped as they did thier Kings bidding. " I have a big day ahead" the King said to himself as he headed to the stables......................
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  35. #35
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    The Jester dodged low branches and jutted around large mounds of brush as he despretly tried to catch Asher. Panic drivin he threw caution to the wind as he tried to catch up with his son who had just seen him kill a defensless animal. Willow brancjes scratched his face as he ran through them. I must explain was Jesters only wish. Why cant i catch the boy he wondered. They were headed for the abandoned well. It has been dried up for a hundered years. Once while playing hide-and-seek the child hid near here. He has got to be here the Jester convinced himself. He slowed to listen. He heard a noise to the left. His head jerked in the direction. "Ah ha" as he noticed some clothing under the next bunch of willows. He slowly moved twards the bit of clothing he could see. He didnt want to scare the child and have him off running again before he could explain.. The Jester was about 20 feet from the child, and more of the clothing was revealing itself. The Jester was just thinking to himself how the boy has growwn in the last few months, when panisc set in. This was not his child. As if in slow motion the Jesters mind tried to exlain what he was looking at. A white sleeping gown, lace..........balled up,,,,covered with leaves. Just beyond that a white pale foot, leg, thiegh......The Jester was tempted to cover his eyes,,,,i shouldnt look at this,,,,,,but his mind forced him. A young woman.....nude,,,,,perfect breasts,,,,,perfect body.......blonde hair covering the very appearant lifeless body. He was right next to the young child now. He knelt down. and slowly moved the hair from her face. Just as he bent in to swipe back her lovly golden locks, now caked with mud and leaves, a drop of his own blood, hit the child on her stomach and made a perfect circle. But the Jester didnt notice. Horror had set in. It was the Kings Daughter. "My God" slipped off the Jesters lips. He jumped back as if a snake was coiled and ready to strike. He felt sweat rolling down his face and wiped at it. looked at his hands that were now smeared with something that should no be there. His hand was covered in blood. The Jester did not know what to do. He was frozen in this dream. It had to be a dream. "Oh no,,,the Boy" as he heard a noise coming closer. " Dont come over here " he yelled. He did not want Asher to see this. He knew the boy would have nightmares for the rest of his life if he was to get a slight peek at this scene. " Dont come in I say" as the sound grew nearer. The Jester turned to the sound area. It was not his son. The face he saw was the last he dreamed of seeing just moments ago, but now it was who he wanted to see. He needed to tell this face of what he seen here under the willow. The King was sitting on his horse. Looking at the Jester, with the blood ozzing from his face and on his hands. The Jester was out of breath and stood there trembleing. " What have you done to my daughter" came from his mouth, even though he had not even glanced at the nearby body." Over here yelled the King" as he bellowed behind him. The King nudged his horse to go nearer the shaking man. As he rode up beside the Jester he said this" My son will now return home, and i will see you killed, im sorry but this is the way i must have it" The King said this slowly and low, only the two could here it.
    " Over here hurry" he yelled again. " Imagine this Jester", now whispering again." i killed my own daughter, just to have a son, not your son but my SON"as he stated the end of this sentence, he kicked the Jester in the Face, knocking him to the ground. As the Jester cleared his head from the unexspected blow,,,he heard,,,,horse hooves,,,,and bustling,,,,,,He looked up just to see two horsemen ride in and he heard this from the king" My Beautifull daughter, he killed my daughter." Panic, set in.....what to do. he did the only thing he could think of. RUN. The Jester took off as if he was on fire. He ran twards the river since it was straight ahead. He ran not looking back. He ran and ran and ran. When he got to the river, he dint even slow down. He jumped in and swam until he got to the other side. then He ran again..............
    Last edited by JestersKiss; 05-05-2008 at 02:55 PM.
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  36. #36
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    ok ive had some imagination issues, due to extreme business. So im asking for ideas. PM me with some possible scenarios.
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  37. #37
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    This a great story. I do hope you write for a living?

  38. #38
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    I wish,,,,,,,i only write reports,,,,lol
    "Living is not measured in how many breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away!"


  39. #39
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    Quote Originally Posted by JestersKiss View Post
    I wish,,,,,,,i only write reports,,,,lol
    That is still cool=)

  40. #40
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    I have been published!

    Someonetook me seriously as a writer!!! It's taken 2 months and lots of edtiting but here I am! I am seriously hoping to break out as a writer. It's my dream. I have so much insight and ideas, I LOVE writing and I love sharing it!

    http://www.sweetmoxie.com/magazine/a...ast_names.html

    Check it out! I am so thrilled!!!

    I hate that of all the pics I sent they chose my death pic. Ugh
    There aint' no future living in the past!

  41. #41
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    Way to go sweetie! Have fun with it!



    -Morbid1

  42. #42
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    Congrats!
    I hope everything goes well for you.

  43. #43
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    That is awesome!
    I hope everything works our for you.

  44. #44
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    Attagirl!!! Good stuff

  45. #45
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    Great essay. Congrats!

  46. #46
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    I am so excited for You...Wow we will know someone famous ya'll

  47. #47
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    That was great!!!
    What if I fall? Oh but my darling, what if you fly?

  48. #48
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    Quote Originally Posted by harlequin_clown View Post
    Someonetook me seriously as a writer!!! It's taken 2 months and lots of edtiting but here I am! I am seriously hoping to break out as a writer. It's my dream. I have so much insight and ideas, I LOVE writing and I love sharing it!

    http://www.sweetmoxie.com/magazine/a...ast_names.html

    Check it out! I am so thrilled!!!

    I hate that of all the pics I sent they chose my death pic. Ugh
    Congratulations and good luck! I am sure you will be successful!
    "You are my center when I spin away..." TY

  49. #49
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    I can see why you got published, your work is GREAT! Congrats!!!

  50. #50
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    Quote Originally Posted by harlequin_clown View Post
    Someonetook me seriously as a writer!!! It's taken 2 months and lots of edtiting but here I am! I am seriously hoping to break out as a writer. It's my dream. I have so much insight and ideas, I LOVE writing and I love sharing it!

    http://www.sweetmoxie.com/magazine/a...ast_names.html

    Check it out! I am so thrilled!!!

    I hate that of all the pics I sent they chose my death pic. Ugh

    God every high school grad should read this.....excellent work !!!!!

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