"going to the edge and back, one word at a time."
Have you ever thought to yourself and started with the phrase, just the other day? I have and it carries me back to times of distant past. Just the other day, I was sitting on this mountain side, staring at this girl and the scenery that panoramically enveloped us. The wind had icy, cold fingers …
I don't know what to write. Seriously, I don't. When a writer cannot think of anything to write or relate to the reader, one would think that a fiery comet the size of Iowa was currently jetting toward Earth at the speed of sound. So much relies on that connection that one would think that …
One morning, I was traveling on a road with other weary cavaliers of the pre dawn hours. The jaguar sun was nowhere to be found. Most mornings, he would already be in the sky, prowling the safaris of the far reaching horizon. The blue sky had been erased and painted with the cold, leftover ashes …
The other day I caught Vernon laughing at himself. He has a slow leak in his rear passenger tire, and every second day he has to fill it back up to thirty-eight PSI because the thick piece of rubber is that demanding of his patience, smooth demeanor, and personal time. No matter which point of …
With my first two posts out of the way, Introductions First and College - Copy and Paste, it's now time to dive into the lettered, paged abyss that I call my first completed fictional novel - A Story About Her. In my query letter that I have toted around like a fifty pound backpack for …
vernonwrites 