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WRITINGS
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THE PHOTO
The smoke burned her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she picked her way through the smoldering remains. The firetrucks had left, and all that remained in the vacant lot were the few bystanders who were shivering in their light bathrobes.
She didn’t want their sympathy. She didn’t want their pity. All she wanted was her family.
“There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
- Ralph Daigh
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