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Books On/About/Around Writing
Once someone becomes a writer, they will often find themselves slowly accruing a, not insubstantial, collection of books about writing. Maybe you went looking for advice and encouragement for getting started, or some secret insight that might just help you get through a block in our story, or maybe you just wanted to know how others approach the craft, seeking some kindred spirit in this solitary passion. From there, the collection just seems to keep growing. Maybe some were gifts or an impulse buy at the bookstore. Maybe you’ve read every one you could find in your local library. Each book offers a new and exciting perspective, a peek behind…
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Hark! A Christmas Miracle!
Ten minutes to midnight. A woman sits on the trunk of her mangled car by the side of an endless road and has sat there for over an hour, stewing in her thoughts as she waits for the tow truck to arrive. Because of course this had to happen, getting stuck in the middle of God-forsaken nowhere, on the side of this damned frozen road, because she skidded on some damn black ice and slammed her junk car into a God-damned cow fence!
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Transience
Snow piles up outside the windows, glistening in the moonlight as it tumbles through the air. The house is warm and smells like ginger and clove. She’s been baking all afternoon and now the gingerbread is finally cool and hard as brick. She takes the cookies and the candy and the icing to the table and she nestles her toes under the soft belly of her dog who curls up at her feet. And then she gets to work.
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The Lost Hours
Melodic chimes resonate from a chorus of chrome-rimmed clocks mounted in every room. The final tolls of the temporal hivemind that infest the house sing in an inauspicious harmony. In each identical face, bold blue numbers suspended in darkness display the time. 10:00pm
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The Observer
The call is strong tonight. Stronger than it’s been in a while. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet. I don’t know if I can face whatever lies beyond. Rainwaters batter the roof while thunder and violent winds threaten to crumple what remains of this castle. It’s been raining for days. The air is thick with moisture that makes the wood swell and feeds the mold. The walls were strong once; nothing could shake them. It was a little fortress against all the evils that lurked in the world. At least, that’s how I thought of it when I was alive.