Last Friday morning, I arrived at the Inn of the Ozarks in Eureka Springs only to be greeted by this lovely sign on the marquee.
Evidently, we were in for quite an adventure in travel as they had repeated the word twice. I imagined a band of Writing Quilters, or Quilting Writers, traversing the country in a Gypsy wagon peddling hand-bound stories in extra-softcover editions.
Actually, the correlation between writers and quilters is not so farfetched. Quilters stitch together blocks of fabric to form a beautiful piece of art that often carries a theme or serves as a reflective memoir of a special occasion. Writers piece together scenes to construct a story to entertain or enlighten the reader.
To get in the mood for this piece, I tried typing with thimbles on all eight fingers with my thumbs securely tucked inside the holes of a pair of scissors. I found this to be rather cumbersome, but clicking noise did remind me of an Irish Stepdance. So far, it’s done nothing to enhance the content.
I will not be posting a Friday Flash Fiction this week as I am bound for four days of outdoor recreational activities (yes, that means drinking beer) and will not have access to a computer or the web. Perhaps I’ll have a good story (that’s not too embarrassing) to tell upon my return.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
A Humor Blog
Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.