It's Too Early for a Class - I Want to Die ;)
"...my life couldn't fill up a haiku, let alone a book..." - Bill McNeil (aka Troy McClure)
I'm entering a short story contest. My prompt is: "Seven days ago, _________. Now, nobody will talk to me." The prize is something like $100 or something but on the slim chance that I win, I'll be published in "Writer's Digest," so that's kind of cool. I won't hold my breath or anything, but it's good exercise anyhow.
"It's perfect cane weather,"
"Central Park must be full of idiots with canes then,"
I
"News Radio."
In theory, tomorrow = "POTC2." We'll see if that happens. And I cannot wait until:
I'm entering a short story contest. My prompt is: "Seven days ago, _________. Now, nobody will talk to me." The prize is something like $100 or something but on the slim chance that I win, I'll be published in "Writer's Digest," so that's kind of cool. I won't hold my breath or anything, but it's good exercise anyhow.
"It's perfect cane weather,"
"Central Park must be full of idiots with canes then,"
I
"News Radio."
In theory, tomorrow = "POTC2." We'll see if that happens. And I cannot wait until: