December 4th, 2006


(no subject)

The first line came to me one night at dinner.
Written in 20 minutes
short, short story.

“I’m thinking about writing a book,” she said, her eyes gazing up to lock with her friends.
“What? Why? You want to be a writer? I thought you wanted to be a doctor,” her friend responds, a mild look of surprise on her face. and the rest, hidden behind this pretty little linkCollapse )

Critism is love. Because the ending sucks. And, yeah, I know it.