"I [love] words...I have fallen into the joy of writing them." -- Anne Rice
"A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part, we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure." -- Henry David Thoreau
"There are pages still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." -- Vladimir Nabakov
"Prose is architecture, NOT interior decoration." -- Ernest Hemmingway
"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." -- Anton Chekhov
"A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part, we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure." -- Henry David Thoreau
"There are pages still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." -- Vladimir Nabakov
"Prose is architecture, NOT interior decoration." -- Ernest Hemmingway
"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." -- Anton Chekhov
- Last seen on Feb 12 1:21 PM 2008. Member since September 7, 2007.
- I am a 21 year old woman from Michigan (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm reading, dancing, making memories, loving people, hugging, painting or drawing, worshipping God.
- I am in the groups Editors Available
- I have 27 comments, 13 stories
Stories I'm focused on
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It was Saturday, my favorite day of the week. No school, no homework--just me, the sunshine, and twenty-four hours of freedom.
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Why else would someone be at our door at eight o’clock in the evening except to get some advice from my dad about business?
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I could not turn away from the sight of smoke spewing from the chasm as though a hidden dragon had been rudely awakened from hibernation.
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What intrigued me most, however, was the floral bouquet fitted securely in her hands: dandelions.
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Her eyes gave it away, always laughing, sparkling because she knew the world was playing a hilarious joke on us 'normal' people.
My Stories
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I watched the leaves cartwheel today, and they remain in my mind magnificent Polaroids of light and shadow interrupted by color. Tumbling,
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A visit to a nursing-home.
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There. You just did it. And there--again. Without a thought. Maybe there was a blink or two inbetween. You took a breath. Inhale. Exhale. O
Guest Book
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miles of smiles on August 7, 2008I like the quotes in your profile...maybe I'll take a peek into looking at your stories, as well.
