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WRITINGS

Favorite Bits

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.

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POEM

If I was a little bird, with nary a care in the world,


I’d fly around,


Not touch the ground,


And watch men’s life unfurl.

RISE AND SHINE (SILENSE SNIPPET)

Ashlyn


The silence is deafening. My eyes fly open and I see Aisley. She’s shouting at me, leaning over me and yelling. I wince and try to pull away from her angry face, but there’s nowhere to go.


She looks furious. What have I done?

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“There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

- Ralph Daigh

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