Pinocchio beckoned me to his office where I was chastised for talking about money to other employees.
Saturday, I attended my two year old grandson’s frog-themed birthday party. On my drive home, I pondered the day, and vaguely listened to radio chatter…
A movement, begun generations ago, needs to continue, in the form of generous random deeds, quiet rescues, and momentous demonstrations…join me as we work together to write a World Recipe.
My father, a man of few words, talked nonstop about how much he would cherish the picture.
I joke about my wand. Magically company appears…or not. It’s a bit unreliable
In June, when I recognized my car was unresuscitatable*, I knew I’d contribute it to my local NPR station.
Assuming you’d like to avoid (another) rejection letter, how do you know when your writing is publish-ready?