Gas, Grass, or a Poignant Haiku That Makes Me Cry, Nobody Rides for Free
Goes without saying, but no rhyming means no sonnets. I don't care if Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets; you will be writing zero in this truck.
Goes without saying, but no rhyming means no sonnets. I don't care if Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets; you will be writing zero in this truck.
It’s the story of one man’s life of tears and anguish, obscured by a drawn-on smile and a perennial cloud of dirt.
He ruffles my feathers. He overcooks my sunny-side-up eggs. You know what I mean? Really Mondays my Garfield.
“Makes you glad to have nerve endings.” — Kirkus Reviews
February 1: Someone told me the ice cream bowl was basically just a cone. Total hater.
The word was poised to leap out of my mouth. I could feel the word coming loose from whatever papillae it had stepped in.
Before Lex Luthor’s hedge fund bought us out and we started reporting only by telephone, I loved running to crime scenes.
Prompt 4: Do you think you’ll ever grow out of being a nerd?
I do feel this horrible event on a visceral and personal level, like way worse than how anyone else is feeling it, for sure.
If they have a mentor over the age of sixty who spends most of their day wearing robes, then you are dealing with an absolute keeper.
I suppose death could be right around the corner for us... In the movie, of course!
The publishing world has always had a bias against writers who have never actually written anything.