fall break

gone fishin'

back nov.1

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feel free to look around

and read

or write on earlier photos

marked

welcome readers & writers!  

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today's photo prompt was taken by my son on a family trip this summer. it turned out remarkably well for a picture taken out the window of a moving car!
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here's my haiku spin on it. writers, i'd love to read whatever bubbles up inside of you - poem, story or creative non-fiction. click on comments below to share. readers, feel free to comment as well!

5. 7. 5.

fresh bitter broadcast 

sierra delta kilo

the meaning? don't know.

twisted

readers & writers - welcome! thanks and thanks again to Pauline, Chuck Galle and Catherine (welcome!) for writing with me yesterday. reading your work is so much fun.

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so, as i mentioned a few days ago, spoof saturdays have been moved to wednesdays. we're calling them "wacky wednesdays" - and they're just a chance to have some fun with our writing. hope you'll join in! to see the kinds of things we did on spoof saturday, click here, here, and here. today's wacky wednesday topic is tongue twisters. have you ever heard "she sells sea shells by the sea shore?" probably so! and if you're this side side of 35 years old you might even remember the brady bunch episode where buddy hinton teases cindy because she lisps when trying to say it... awwww - but then somebody punches his lights out (peter, maybe) knocking buddy's tooth loose and causing him to lisp. see now, how the shoe is on the other foot. uh huh. ANYHOO... write your own tongue twister(s) if you'd like. a tongue twister is any group of words that's difficult to repeat with accuracy several times in a row. here are a few from me:

fried rice fried twice feels nice

please freeze a flea's knees if he's in your green peas
but if it's bees knees in your green peas, do not freeze please

writers, come write with me! readers, your comments are most welcome :)

found

welcome readers & writers!  many thanks to krowles1981, Chuck Galle & FilmGuy for sharing your writing on yesterday's photo prompt.

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i found this barrette in a parking lot the other day and thought it might have some interesting stories to go with it.  here's my spin on the photo, and I'd love to read yours!  submit your story, poem or creative non-fiction by clicking on comments below.

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Ruthie longs to feel young again. No matter that her wavy red hair is streaked with gray, or that her ankles look thick in bobby socks. She wants to revel in the swish and the sway of a poodle skirt and, even on warm days, to push the three-quarter sleeves of a cashmere sweater up past her elbows. So every night she sets her hair in pin curls and presses her white collar shirt. And every morning, before her shift at the library, she turns herself into a bonafide dolly. The clothes, the shoes - they're all fairly new because the originals don't fit her anymore. But her sweet little hair clip, which she places just above her temple after a good, cloudy spray with Aquanet, is an original. A friend of a friend saw her the other day, scouring the grocery store parking lot for her barrette. She seemed quite distraught to have lost it. You haven't seen it, have you?

writers, come write with me! readers, feel free to share your happy thoughts through the day on whatever fabulous writing comes in :)    

marbled

welcome readers & writers! many thanks to pauline for your photog friday picture contribution, and to FilmGuy for writing with me on friday!

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as you may have noticed, i didn't post this weekend. i've been tracking the traffic patterns for write away every day, and weekends are very slow - which is actually good because it means you're out doing interesting things and seeing the world (either that or washing massive amounts of laundry and standing on the sidelines of your kiddos' soccer games like i am). in fact traffic is a quite a lot slower overall than it has been, and i'm trying to do some guesswork as to why. so i'm going to make a couple of changes to the blog. we'll see how it goes! we can always change back if need be.

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first, i'll only post monday through friday (spoof saturdays will become wacky wednesdays). second, i'm going to allow comments on what i and others post, but only positive comments. i still don't want uninvited negative feedback (for me or for you writers). but i'm thinking that our readers need to feel more invested and engaged in what's going on, and i think creativity is boosted for writers when we hear words of praise and encouragement when it comes in. so let's see how these things feel through the week. feel fee to email me your feedback or leave it as a comment.

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as always, thank you for being part of write away every day, whether you're stopping in to check out the photo, to read the written responses to the day's photo, or to share your written work. so glad you're here!

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Here's my spin on today's photo prompt:
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One of the things Bitsy hates most about doing laundry is emptying pockets. Oh, she's tried getting her boys to do it themselves. She's left them notes and made threats and let piles of things go on through the wash - damn the consequences. But something, one thing, keeps her hanging on... woos her back time and again, daring to plunge her hand into those pockets stuffed with rocks, sticks, acorns, matchbox cars, school papers and food wrappers. It's the occasional marble. She adores marbles and has, over the years, built up quite a collection. 

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This is why she never argues with the boys when they want to buy a new oversized marble at a fancy shop, or a whole pack of traditional marbles at the dollar store. There's just something, she thinks, about holding that glassy sphere in one's hand, lifting it to the light and marveling at the swirls of color and perfectly round tiny bubbles made in glass too quickly cooled. 
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She keeps her marbles in a drawstring bag made of pink corduroy. When the kids are out sometimes, she lays belly down on the living room floor and empties the bag on the plush carpet. Pinching her favorite marble between thumb and forefinger, she spends minutes on end gazing at it. Color, light, texture, mystery - how do they make those swirlies? Each one is different, each is beautiful or striking in its own way. Kinda like her boys. 
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So, okay. Maybe doing laundry and checking pockets is worth it. Or maybe she should start charging a marble for every load.  She smiles to herself... that's the ticket.        

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readers, feel free to heap mounds of praise on any of today's creative responses!  writers - come write with me: 250(ish) words - story, poem or creative non-fiction. click on comments below to share. have a great day!

locked

welcome readers & writers - it's friday. wa hooooooo!! a big thanks to krowles1981, FilmGuy and Ashley Brandon for writing with me yesterday. i love to read your work.

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so, not only is it friday - its', yes - you guessed it - photog friday! every other day of the week the photo you see on the blog are mine. on fridays the photos are the work of a pro. this week's photo was taken by one of my very best friends, Pauline Palko. Pauline and i have belonged to the same writing group for almost ten years (10 as of february!) Pauline is a published short story writer. she recently returned from a trip to italy, lucky lady! the fascinating photo above is right out of her trip album. thanks for sharing it with us, pauline :)

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writers, what's your take on Pauline's photo? short story, poem or creative non-fiction - send it in by clicking on comments below. here's my fiction spin on it:

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The young priest leads the way outside after our rehearsal. My fiance and I follow, enveloped by our families and our wedding party. Fr. Phillip stops, turns to the group and says, "Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder. It's the final pronouncement in the traditional wedding ceremony. Forever, we say. In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for richer, for poorer, as long as we both shall live. 'We won't let any of these things tear us apart,' you're saying - 'and we won't let the presence of another person be our undoing either.' Yes?" "Yes," the two of us say, looking into each other's eyes. My fiance takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. 
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"To be that strong," the priest continues, "to have a foundation that solid, to really make a go of this marriage, you've got to hold it together. You've got to have a pact. An intentional, unbreakable bond. Tomorrow you'll make that promise inside, surrounded by those who love you, in the eyes of God. But tonight, here in the setting sun, I ask you to declare your strength, your intention to live in that strength, in a visible, tangible, public way.  What do you offer as a symbol of your wedding day promise?" 
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I pull our lock from my purse. It's shiny and gold, and I love it. And if you want to know a secret, I bought it long before I met Anton. I bought it as a declaration to myself and the world that I was open to love, and it's been sitting on my mantel - open - ever since. The night of our first date, Anton came to my house to pick me up and saw it on the mantle. He asked me about it, what it was for and why it was there. I knew he was a good man when he didn't run for the hills hearing me talk of marriage before we'd even had dinner. 
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We reach out together now and add our lock to the chain of links. It clicks into place like the final piece of a puzzle long in the works. I smile at my sweet and we kiss. It's official. We've cast our lot with so many others. It feels good to know we're not alone; since Fr. Phillip arrived, every couple who marries in this church brings their lock and adds it to the others. 
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I believe - deeply believe - that with Fr. Phillip, our family, our faith and our friends on our side, our commitment is strong enough to last a lifetime. Til death do us part. We're going to make it. It may not always be easy, but we'll make it.  
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come write with me!

railroaded

welcome, readers & writers. many thanks, brian potopowitz, for writing freddie, the sequel in response to my story yesterday - fun stuff! 

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here is today's photo prompt, along with the haiku i've written in response to it. i'd love to read your spin on the photo, short story, poem or creative non-fiction. 250(ish) words or less. click on comments below to share.

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5. 7. 5.

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riding the rails - there's

no work in sight, 'cept making

dairy towers right

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come write with me...

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thursday's string around the finger: we're almost to 100 followers! if you're checking in often but haven't signed up as an official follower (by clicking 'follow' on the right hand side of the page) i'd love to have you make it official! if you're already an official follower, tell a friend about write away every day :) as always, thank you for your support!

trawled

readers & writers - a warm write away welcome to you this wednesday!  

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here's my take on today's photo prompt:

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Name's Freddie. Freddie the Shark. You might think I get bored swimming round and round in this tank. Meh, sometimes. But I got ways of keeping myself entertained. I chase the little fish sometimes, yawning as I swim by just to see them flip away as fast as they can. I hang out in the bubbles, get a little massage on this tough old shark skin. And I jump into photos like this one, planning my route so I'll be just behind kiddos like these. "Cheese!" I like to make things nice for them, you know? But sometimes, just every once in awhile, when no little kids are watching and an adult or two is hanging around, I bulge out my eyes real big and swim right at the glass with my mouth open and bump into it, JAWS style. Just hard enough to make them jump. Ha! By the time they're back in their shoes I'm swimming around peacefully again. Whoooo, me????  

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come write with me! story, poem or creative non-fiction, your biggest fan (that's me!) is waiting to read. it needn't be anything fancy or long... just a writing warm-up & creativity boost! click on comments below to share.

 

spun

welcome readers & writers!  thank you, brian potopowitz, for writing with me on yesterday's photo :)

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writers, what do you make of this photo?  here's my spin:

Ellie, who lay belly down on the seat of the swing, twisted and twisted - holding steady with her feet until she couldn't twist anymore. Then she let go. Unwinding in one mighty whoosh she smiled, and waited for the ground below her to be still again. When it did, this is what she saw. This squishy floor under the swing set that reminded her of the split peas her Granny always put in soup. Ellie spent every recess on this swing, only occasionally stepping away if another kid complained that she'd had it too long. In those cases she would walk the perimeter of the swing set, keeping her eyes on the split peas and waiting until she could swing again. 

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This was her fourth school in four years. Her mom liked to move around a lot. Always there was a better house to be found in a better city.  

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Today Ellie spins again and again. At the end of her ninth spin she sees some shoes beside her and looks over to see Emily, who's also in Miss Berkholder's class, laying belly down on the other swing. Ellie smiles at Emily and Emily smiles back. "Hey," says Emily. "This looks like fun."  "It is," says Ellie simply.  And they spin until the bell rings and recess is over.  

click on comments below to send in your story, poem or creative non-fiction piece in response to this photo.  happy writing!

signed

good monday to you, readers & writers. it's a new week, and i hope that write away every day will help make yours great as we read & write together!

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writers, i won't say much at all about this photo prompt (where i took it, what it is, exactly) - i'll just leave it to your wonderful imaginations. share your story, poem or creative non-fiction spin on the photo by clicking on comments below. here's mine:

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He could be anyone, this Dave. Might be David Letterman is in town, or else Dave Barry.  No? David Beckham. David Caruso. David Schwimmer. David Copperfield. David Chappelle. David Bowie? Or, okay, this Dave could be my son Dave. He loves to write his name. Everywhere. On books, notepads, medical consent forms, newspaper, wrapping paper, any kind of paper. With my lipstick on the bathroom mirror, with the cheese whiz on four little crackers, with frosting on his birthday cake (and mine, and his father's, and his sister's). Ever since he was little. DAVE. DAVE. DAVE. DAVE. Everywhere I look, there it is. All over town. On the dirty back windows of cars and trucks. Scratched on the sand by the ocean. And, last year, when we visited my cousin out in Connecticut, in big life-sized letters carved by his snow boots into freshly fallen snow at the park. DAVE. So it doesn't surprise me to see his name, ever so faintly, here on this city storage unit. DAVE. I guess it's a good thing I didn't name him Captain Fantastic Faster Than Superman Spiderman Batman Wolverine Hulk And The Flash Combined (officially the longest name in the world).

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hey you, whatever your name is, come write with me! =-)

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rested

happy sunday! readers & writers, thank you so much for stopping by. 

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i'll be back tomorrow with more photo prompts.  until then, feel free to look around and read or write on photos you might have missed.

crowed

welcome readers & writers! many thanks to Brian Potopowitz and Bess Weatherby for writing such great posts in response to brian's intriguing photo yesterday.

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it's spoof saturday, and being that it's also election season (and politicians are constantly on the radio and tv crowing about their awesomeness), i think it would be fun to write some spoofs on political ads. my only request is that we not use the names of real candidates or actual political parties/movements :) play nice & have fun! click on comments below to share.

Suz E. Kew for President (of the Cookie Bakers Club of America)

Last month in Wichitaw, Kansas alone an estimated sixty dozen cookies were baked and consumed. But I ask you, just how many of those cookies were made from scratch? My opponent will tell you that women are too busy to make real cookies anymore. She'll try to convince you that cookie dough in a tub, that [shudder] slice and bakes, taste just as good and are as wholesome for your children as homemade. But I've been baking cookies for twenty-five years and I'm here to tell you, they're not. My opponent is wrong. Those fancy women with their big, important jobs and their well-paid nannies and their specialty cupcake shops and their crystal cookie trays are wrong. Nothin' but good home cooking, and home-made cookies will do. You betcha. Don't let them fool ya. Stick with me and we'll keep the dreams and recipes passed down to us from our grandmothers, er, those things alive.

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I'm Suz E. Kew and I approve this message.

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write with me?

cooked

welcome readers & writers... and many thanks to Jessica Lemmon, FilmGuy, Chuck Galle, and Brian Potopowtiz for your awesome posts on yesterday's photo! what a great day for the blog.

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it's photog friday! today's photo contribution was taken by a frequent visitor and writer to the blog, brian potopowitz. brian is a friend of mine and an all-around creative soul - carpenter, writer, jeweler and photographer. he's originally from alaska and now lives in northeastern pennsylvania. i saw this photo on brian's facebook page and asked him if we could use it for a photog friday - it's intriguing to me! thank you, brian, for the use of your great photo.

here's my fiction spin on brian's photo:

I sink down into my claw foot tub, which is already filled to the brim with hot, silky suds, and I relax by degrees. An involuntary shudder runs through me as the heat penetrates through every layer of my skin and deep into my bones. My scalp tingles with the pleasure of being warm for the first time all day, for the first time since I turned off my electric blanket this morning and put my feet on the frosty floor. In fact, the whole day's been frosty, and I'm not just talking about the weather. My boss was in a miserable, self-centered mood. With a few muttered words and the flutter of her hand she shot down the proposal I've been working on for weeks. My ideas don't even warrant a complete sentence anymore, I guess. My co-workers could hardly look me in the eye. It's not that they don't like me. And no, they weren't being mean. Deep down they fear that failure is contagious; they want to succeed so badly that not one of them would chance contracting my luck. Ah well, tomorrow is another day, and I'm on to a new proposal.
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I soak for more than an hour, adding water whenever the temperature strays too far from sizzling. I sip wine and read my novel. I close my eyes and drift off for a time, and when I open them again I see such a lovely -- almost leopard-like -- pattern of condensation on the metallic tiles above me. I've heard it said that 70% of the human body is composed of water. Not me. 95% or bust, baby.  

writers, i hope you'll join me in writing about brian's photo!  short story, poem or creative non-fiction... just click on comments below to share.

prickled

readers & writers, welcome! thanks to filmguy and brian potopowitz for your great posts on yesterday's photo prompt. it's a joy to write with ya'll.

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i took this photo at the park last week on the first "cool" day of fall here in austin (low 70's). writers, what's your short story, poem or creative non-fiction response to the photo? i'd love to read it! 

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as for me, i'm thinking it's time for a haiku or two:

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5. 7. 5. (x 2)

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silky green surface

beckons a touch. ow!  curse your

peanut window pane

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desert harvest loop 

stand down your summery thorns

sing a song of fall

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care to write with me? just click on comments to share your work.

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thursday's string around the finger: you can share write away every day with your friends on twitter or facebook. just click the desired icon on the right hand side of the page (under the word "sociable"). thanks for helping to spread the word!

masked

welcome readers & writers!  thank you to krowles1981 and cjohnson for yesterday's posts. cjohnson, you win the prize for the shortest story ever told on write away every day ;)

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i hereby present today's photo prompt, along with my creative non-fiction spin (excuse the pun!) on it:

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My second baby was a great sleeper, the best of all three of our kids. But the circumstances had to be perfect. None of this drifting off in the car seat, the shopping cart or the restaurant's high chair like some angelic children. But give that baby a darkened room and some white noise and his little eyes would be drooping before the first sweet strains of his favorite lullaby escaped our lips. To this day he sleeps best with a fan going in his room. I guess it drowns out the sound of life going on around him - the TV, his older brother's piano playing, his dad and I chatting, the garbage disposal and dishwasher. In this case, white noise is good.  

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It works for adults as well. Our New York city friends have a white noise machine in their apartment to mask the noise of the city - sirens, horns, blaring car stereos, heavy-footed upstairs neighbors.  
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But what about another type of white noise -- those intentionally sought out distractions that mask reality, blocking out what's real? Those things that become an excuse for missing our own lives? When I was growing up, TV was a pretty constant white noise machine in our house. Sometimes that's still true for me. But these days my white noise is often the soft glow of this computer and the snazzy little apple clicks that run a hundred laps a day around the same loop: email, facebook, twitter, this blog, news pages, other blogs.  What, I wonder, is the noise masking? What reality am I missing? Good things? Difficult things? Maybe it's time to scale back a bit and really listen to my life, to what's real inside and all around me.        

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come write with me! i love to read your work. click on comments below to send it in.

whittled

welcome readers & writers!  thank you, Chuck Galle, for writing with me yesterday. 

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here's today's photo prompt and my spin on it.  writers, i'd love to read your take on the photo: short story, poem or creative non-fiction.  just click on comments below to share!

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Paul likes to whittle. Each day, after his coffee (cream, no sugar), and his toast (honey, no butter) he takes a seat in his workshop. With the radio buzzing away he picks up a block of wood and whittles it, chisels it, fashions it, sands it into something beautiful. His favorite project is toys, baby rattles especially. For years he watched his kids, and then his grandkids, play with plastic monstrosities: loud, gaudy, annoying things. Back then Paul wasn't woodworking yet. He was working, though. Eighteen hours a day in his restaurant. And all for what, he asks himself sometimes. No, often. All for what? He worked until he was too old to work anymore. None of his kids wanted to take over the business, and he wasn't about to make them. He wanted them to be happy. So he sold. And, after twenty-five years of constant motion, he went crazy for awhile - trying to learn golf, follow soap operas, and work the Sudoku puzzles on the daily calendar his grandkids gave him for Christmas. Gardening helped, but winter months were long. One day he decided to clean out his already spotless cellar, and he came across some two-by-fours left over from a fence project. Something about the swirly, fingerprint-like grain of the wood called to him. He dug up his old swiss army knife that day and whittled a whistle. No matter that it didn't actually whistle in the end. He went to bed happier that night than he had for years. That's how it started. That's how Paul came back to life again.

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come write with me!        

arrayed

welcome readers & writers!

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here's my spin on today's photo writing prompt: 

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The waiter set their menus and a handful of crayons on the table and leaned in to take their drink orders. Katie, who loved to color, made a face. Her dad ordered coffee and a chocolate milk. When the waiter stepped away, her dad said,  "What's with the face, KatieDid?"  
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"Poopy colors," Katie sighed. "Katie-Daddy day is ruined." He smiled at her pronunciation: 'wooned.'  
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"Whoa there," he said. "Not so fast. Let's take another look, because Katie-Daddy day is un-ruinable. It simply just can't be done."  
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Katie looked dubiously at the crayons. "Yuck," she said.  
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Her dad arranged the crayons in a neat row on the table. She watched him intently as he opened up the kids' menu and flattened it out, blank side up. "Nah," he said softly. He picked up the black crayon and began to sketch. "Look here. You can use this dark brown to color in my tree trunk. And this soft green will make some oh so lovely leaves for these branches."  Katie giggled. Her dad continued, "And this light brown color, well, that's the fur of a chipmunk with a jaggedy black stripe down his back.  What's his name?"  
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"Chip-Stripe," Katie said solemnly.  
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"Gotcha. Chip-Stripe lives here in this tree. And today, well, it's kind of a cloudy, foggy day. See how the sky is kind of gray blue?" He handed her the sky color and she started filling in the sky at the top of the page. "But look, over here on the horizon," her dad said, "the sun is nudging up a bit. It's going to melt away the fog." 
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"Uh-Huh," said Katie. "And then it will be sunny outside." 
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"That's right," her dad said.  "And then Chip-Stripe can carve his Halloween pumpkin."
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"Yeah," Katie laughed. "His Halloween pumpkin."  
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Her dad finished sketching the scene and Katie worked on coloring it in, finishing up just as her pancakes arrived. "Wahoo," she said. "Just in time. You can't color while you eat. It woons the food."  
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Her dad smiled. "I love you, KatieDid."  
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"I love you too, Daddy."
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what does your imagination make of this photo? i'd love to read it. click on comments below to send it in - short story, poem or creative non-fiction.      

rested

happy sunday readers & writers!

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on sundays around here we take it easy.  i plan photos and posts for the upcoming week - and you are very welcome to catch up on last week's posts (or further back if you want) & read or write about those. have a great day :) see you in the a.m.

formulated

welcome readers & writers!  thanks to filmguy & chuck galle for your story on yesterday's photo, and to krowles1981, cjohnson, and chuck galle for your new additions to thursday's post, illumined.  

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it's spoof saturday! time for a little silliness and fun. check out some other spoof saturday fun by clicking here, here, and here. today's spoof saturday assignment (we need to make use of these very cool aprons): write me some recipes for disaster.  click on comments below to share them with your biggest fan (that's me!).

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here are a few from my recipe box:
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How to Make a Spot on Your Lovely White Shirt
ingredients
1 white shirt
spaghetti with red sauce
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directions
Bring the two into close proximity.  Ruin shirt.  
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How to Make Mama Pull Out Her Hair
ingredients
3 boys, varying ages
1 dog
snacks and sweet treats
1 minivan
1 map, marked for thirteen hours of driving
stack of dvds
1 dvd player designed to break after a few trips so you have to buy a new one
1 iphone
1 Radio Shack in the middle of nowhere
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directions
Pack until two a.m. The next morning, put boys and dog in minivan - begin driving and mix well. Toss in snacks and treats.  Spin dvds in player until player won't work anymore. Try to convince boys to read books, play old fashioned car games or sing old fashioned car songs. Plug ears to drown out fighting and complaining. Use husband's iphone to locate nearest Radio Shack. Drive half an hour out of the way to said Radio Shack. Buy new device. Repeat.
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How to Lose All Confidence in Your Writing
ingredients
one query letter which has been kneaded, formed, tenderized, coddled, chilled, baked and glazed
one online agent with a site called "query shark"
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directions
Send letter to this Shark person for feedback. See Shark rip it to shreds. Try to piece back together, only better. Send to Shark again. See Shark rip it to shreds again. Read 47 comments on Shark's site, most of which take the shredded pieces ripped by Shark and rip them into tinier pieces. Cry. Put letter away for one week. Try again. Only this time, don't send to someone called 'Shark', dummie!      
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thanks, friends!  come write with me :)

gilded

welcome readers and writers - happy october! many thanks to brian potopowitz, film guy and ms. brandon for your awesome posts on yesterday's photo.

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it's photog friday again! every other day of the week the photos you see on my blog were taken by me. on photog fridays we get to gaze upon (and write about!) a photo taken by a pro. 

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this week we have the pleasure of writing about another photo by the very gifted kelli west of kelli west photography. a thousand thanks to kelli for this gorgeous pic! click here to see the other wonderful photo kelli contributed to the blog (as well as the stories that came in on it).

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writers, i'm so excited to read your response to kelli's beautiful photo ~ story, poem or creative non-fiction. 250(ish) words or less, just click on comments below to share. here's my reflection:

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Today I'm wishing I could enter into Kelli's photo the way Jane and Michael Banks jumped into Bert's chalk paintings in Mary Poppins. I'd spend the day by this pond, paddling around in that shiny blue canoe, thinking on this worn, craggy rock. Then I'd slip into that wonderful boat house, which has been converted, you know, into a writing studio. It's painted a rich, creamy white inside with accents of nettle green and the palest butter yellow. There's a hooked wool rug on the floor, a shabby chic antique desk near the window and a big, deep, over-stuffed chaise lounge to sink into a little later, when it's time to fuel writing with some great reading. If it's chilly enough I might set a fire in the pot belly stove and heat up a cup of mint tea with honey. You can't see it, but in the shade of those leafy trees there's a hammock. Perhaps I'll pull on a sweatshirt and let the hammock cradle me while I doze off awhile, listening to the birds sing. This wonderful day would stretch out forever, until I felt centered, grounded, peaceful and like I'd made some great progress on my writing. At least I can go to this place in my mind :)  Thanks, Kelli, for the mini-get-away! 
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writers, i love to read your work. come write with me!