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Post by sapphiresmoke on Mar 16, 2009 10:56:13 GMT -5
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Post by Endovia on Mar 16, 2009 14:00:36 GMT -5
How long can the story be? Or is there not a length limit?
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Post by Axle on Mar 16, 2009 19:21:33 GMT -5
Whatever length you'd like, I'm not really picky. Sorry you guys that I haven't been on lately. Doubting Thomas is just eating my time like crazy.
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Post by Endovia on Mar 16, 2009 20:28:10 GMT -5
Ok, I was just wondering. Hey, it's ok but we miss your stories. (Well, I'm speaking for myself, but I assume everyone else here misses your stories too.)
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Post by sapphiresmoke on Mar 17, 2009 10:47:51 GMT -5
Of course I miss her stories! It's okay, though, Axle. It's understandable. Real life comes first. Could you give us a deadline the next time you're on, though? I don't know about everyone else, but if I don't have a deadline, I'll never do it.
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Post by Axle on Mar 17, 2009 16:46:59 GMT -5
May 10th
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Post by Endovia on Mar 17, 2009 18:53:51 GMT -5
No, I'm the same, Sapphire. Lol. I procrastinate a lot even though I don't want to admit it. So, when we're done do we just post it here?
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Post by Axle on Mar 17, 2009 19:05:42 GMT -5
Yep, that's about it. I'm really trying to keep up my writing, but I probably won't have a lot of time in the coming weeks.
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Post by Endovia on Mar 17, 2009 20:24:36 GMT -5
That's okay, Axle. We all understand.
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Post by sapphiresmoke on Mar 17, 2009 22:26:05 GMT -5
Yes, we do. And now to get to work on that challenge...
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Post by Axle on Mar 18, 2009 1:30:05 GMT -5
He didn't understand why we couldn't go home, and I didn't have the heart to tell him we had no home anymore. He looked so small wrapped in Papa's coat and my scarf. I didn't have the heart to tell my brother Pasha that our entire village was gone. The soldiers had turned us away, and told us to go to Chernivtsi. The UN would be waiting to help us, my young brother and I. I knew what the UN would do. They would take my brother and I would never see him again, this I could not allow to happen.
His cheeks were rosy and his nose looked much like a cherry as his breath formed a fog on the glass. Ukraine was cold in September like this. Nuclear winter they called it. Odd, it didn't look any different from regular winter.
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Post by sapphiresmoke on Apr 12, 2009 23:40:08 GMT -5
Wrote this to the second song... Love love love that song, by the way.
You Just Have to Keep Trying
Dear Miss Sampon,
We thank you for submitting your writing for publication, but we do not feel that it is right for our company at this time.
Callie didn’t bother to read the rest of the letter. Tears filled her eyes to spill over onto the white coverlet of her bed. She made no sound; her face didn’t change. She just let the tears fall, silent and free. For a long time, she stayed where she was – sitting cross-legged on her bed, holding the still partly folded, crisp letter in her left hand, her right hand resting on her knee. She dared not let herself think. If she thought, it would be about how her writing must be terrible, how she’d never make it as an author.
A light knock on the door caused her to break out of her paralysis. Quickly, she shoved the letter under her pillow and dragged her sleeve over her eyes to dry them.
Pulling a book onto her lap and opening it to a random page, she called, “Yeah?”
“Callie, honey?” It was her mom. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Mom – just reading,” Callie called back.
“Can I come in?”
Callie sent a quick prayer up that her face didn’t show any signs of tears.
“Sure.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Sampon entered the room. She was a tall, pale woman with blond hair, wearing baggy clothes that hung on her frame. Her face was sympathetic. Sitting next to Callie on the bed, she rubbed her daughter’s back.
“I saw the envelope on the table. They didn’t take it?” she asked softly.
The tears filled Callie’s eyes again with a fierce violence. Callie buried her head in her mother’s shoulder as Mrs. Sampon wrapped her arms around her.
“I wanted to be published so bad,” Callie whimpered.
“I know, baby. I know,” Mrs. Sampon soothed. “You’ll be published, honey. You just have to keep trying.”
“If they didn’t want it, who will?” Callie said hopelessly.
Mrs. Sampon held Callie’s shoulders and pushed her gently away so that she could look her in the eyes. Brushing strands of brown hair from Callie’s eyes, she squeezed her daughter’s shoulder gently.
“Someone will. You’re a wonderful writer, honey. Haven’t you told me that your friends tell you they’d buy your books when they’re published?”
“They’re my friends. They’re biased,” Callie muttered.
“Your teachers like your writing, too. And you’ve won so many contests,” Mrs. Sampon pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess,” Callie said.
Her mother smiled encouragingly at her.
“I’ll be making dinner, if you need me,” she told her daughter.
When Callie was alone again, with the door closed, she pulled out the letter and scanned it over quickly. So they didn’t want her. She wasn’t good enough for them. She took a slow, deep breath. More fool them, she decided. Impulsively, she stood and walked to her computer. Switching the monitor on, she opened her novel and hit print before she could change her mind. She would send her story to as many publishers as it took.
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Post by Axle on Apr 14, 2009 20:54:35 GMT -5
Wow, love it! I really need to submit a real entry, or finish the one I started.
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Post by sapphiresmoke on Apr 16, 2009 11:07:38 GMT -5
Haha. Thanks. I'd like to read more of the one you started... It sounds really good so far.
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Post by Axle on Apr 27, 2009 0:28:28 GMT -5
This one's for the 3rd, the Elbow song.
Leland's Wake
He stepped out of the yellow taxi and into the street, this unfortunate fellow Leland Garvey. He pulled out his mobile phone to check messages. His girl Willow was breaking up with him tonight, so he was told.
He leaned in to pay the cabbie, and as he reached over the seats, he managed to drop his phone into a puddle. With much effort, and a bit of profanity he leaned over to dig though the muddy water.
The taxi backfired a few times, but unconcerned Leland put his soggy phone in his pocket and continued on towards his flat.
As he continued on down the sidewalk in the pouring rain, Leland fell on a rather slippery spot. As he lay in rain and the mud, a younger fellow ran towards him. He tripped on Leland's soaked body. Leland grunted a "sorry" climbing to his feet. Two police men ran up close behind and Leland could only muster a half-hearted "It was an accident."
Continuing on, Leland noticed his shoe was untied, it was only getting better. Maybe he hadn't tripped on the mud after all.
"Thump, thump, thump..."
Leland barely acknowledged the noises above him. However when he stood, he noticed some holes that hadn't been in the ply-board behind him before.
Oh well, he thought to himself, no consequence to him. They looked a bit like drill holes, maybe a bit bigger and more splintered. Still he didn't pay much mind to it, he had bigger things on his mind.
Down the soggy road he continued, splashing unintentionally in the deeper puddles.
A bit farther down, he spied an elderly lady attempting to open a cab door with an arm full of brown paper sacks stuffed to the brim with groceries.
He jogged to the woman's aid and as she pulled away something crashed behind him.
He looked back to see a black SUV wrapped around a light pole meters away.
Lucky old lady, he thought to himself...
More later.
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