Having had this life-affirming exam before, I was mentally if not emotionally prepared for the necessary violation of my nether region.
Loaded, goaded and bribed into the sweltering, sweaty, duMaurier King Size-stinking back seat of grandmother’s border-crossing, international law-defying Pontiac Parisienne.
Sorry for the inconvenience everyone, but due to a couple of pressing novel-length projects with self-imposed deadlines, I'm having to suspect work on the weekly Blogmance, "The Canoe Wrangler's Love". With luck, I'll be able to get back at it before the end of February.
Don’t let clutter get in your way and distract you from the task at hand.
For me, a close-up image is one where the subject is everything and the overall setting is nothing. It's all in the details.
She found her way to Facebook, All confused innocence and cautious half-smiles. Her friends suggested it, recommended it, put forth the idea.
Okay, so today I started with the fictional blogmance/diary of Will Cotsan and his love Sara. Based on the survey I conducted (thanks to all who responded) the title is The Canoe Wrangler's Love.
You're the waitress and I'm a guy who rents overpriced canoes to tourists too lazy to walk the mile-and-a-half to the other end of the lake. It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it, don't they, Sweetheart?
6:20PM Rushing to get to the comedy club, stop at a red light, then turn right (legal here) just after invisible pedestrian steps onto crosswalk three lanes to the left.
A moment of silence can speak as loudly as any words, and without being silent, you won’t be able to listen.