i am a writer

Ever since the incident out in the warehouse something had been taking the energy from him in ways that he could sense but not describe. He felt as if his steps were sluggish his mind less quick than before. He came to work he continued his reporting he sought his pleasures as he did. But even they had seemed to pall slightly. Madame Dulac had even noticed and if her interest remained professional she at least had the concern one would expect over a reliable customer who spared her girls from stress. Once while he was leaving he sat down in the now-empty parlor for thought where Dulac found him as she came in to look over the room once more before closing. “I am sorry to hear it.” She tidied up a couple of pillows on the largest couch then turned to him. “If you will allow me to say it your mood has seemed less happy over these months. I hope none of my girls has been a problem?” “Oh no. Madame not in the least. In fact they’ve been more of a comfort than ever though perhaps I have taken longer to reach satisfaction than in the past. But that fault is mine not theirs; I would have let you know if it had been otherwise.” She walked over to where he sat. “Monsieur. I speak perhaps out of place but my establishment might not be the best of places to recover your mood. I do not say do not come here; men are the creatures of habit they are and your desire will not abate. Yet if something troubles you so we can only do so much to please you.” She smiled in turn a bit grimly. “I will not trouble you with the stories of where my mind went in my past when I was the one working. My body did one thing while I thought of everything else instead and many of my thoughts were not the pleasantest.” McMahon nodded slightly. “Mine have not been either. I have seen and reported on things lately that leave me feeling very…I cannot easily find the words and here I am a writer.” He chuckled. “But work down in the Coast will do that I suppose.” “I did not want to mention it in a place like this. Madame to yourself or your girls. And I don’t work there all the time thankfully. But…” He paused and she waited almost to her own surprise. Normally anyone trying to use her or her employees as a place to pour our their sorrows was not encouraged if he had not otherwise paid for the time. He stood and took a deep breath. “It is getting late. Madame. I do not want to keep you. Let me just say that I used to almost…almost enjoy the sight and thrill of something going wrong something that required the police. Part of me still recognizes that. But with time passing. I just sense more despair than anything else. I thought I was more callous and hardened than I was.” Her own smile in return only briefly flickered across her face. “Monsieur we all have felt that. That’s what makes us even more hardened. It will be so for you.” He nodded in response and made his way towards the front hall and door before pausing and turning. “I do hope so. Madame but I think it is best if I do not pretend it must be so.” Back in his rooms some days later he revisited this conversation in his head and grunted. He did feel less vulnerable now and concluded that perhaps it had been the earlier activities of that evening which had left him more drained and contemplative at that point yet he could not shake the nagging feelings threatening to start dominating much of his conscious thought. A walk however random might be an answer. He almost found himself outside his building by chance dressed against the cold of the day a thick fog and cool air combining to create chill even by the City’s standards. Few were stirring on this early morning and he was glad that he had already made an arrangement with his editor not to come in today – he had enough stories in to use in case there was something else to be done and other reporters could handle something if there was yet another high-level political scandal. He wished he could use some of the information he’d found out about who ran some of the most notorious spots in the Coast – there was much greater involvement there than he or anyone else in the paper had guessed – but he knew how the game was played and didn’t want to find himself at the wrong end of a fist or a knife or a gun. He enjoyed the feeling of the hills’ slopings up and down under his feet – he considered it good physical exercise and wondered at those who thought him strange for that reason. The City remained a strange landscape even for someone like himself who had been there for many years ever undulating and growing as the streets stretched out further and the buildings grew in height step by step. He had heard of the larger buildings even now being attempted elsewhere in the world and that would no doubt yet be built here wondering how it would change the sight of the City but knowing that it could never adjust those hills and sharp slopes. As he walked further his mind wandered returning again to the night in the warehouse where everything had seemed to start going somehow wrong. The butchery of the dead man still made his throat tighten with apprehension and every time he saw Sigerson from that point he wondered if he had somehow been doing similar on every shift. But why should he care so? He had made plenty of comments and jokes about the gutter trash who infested the docks and the Coast – was there something so important about that one who had met his end at Sigerson’s hands? Surely not but something of the coldness of the situation left him unsure. Initially he had dismissed it in the days after the incident as merely being the product of his imagination – he had worked himself up to a point where there had been a sudden nervous spasm nothing more. Little surprise that he had thought it was a hand when it had to have been the shift in his body unconsciously having overstepped an unknown boundary while waiting. Somehow though it had never entirely left him that feeling – so when he felt it again it came back in a way that would have shocked him just a few months beforehand. The first of its returns had been with two other cops on the beat making their way down part of the Coast where they felt somewhat more at ease than elsewhere. Rowdies yelled at them and the catcalls of the cheaper painted women from windows above rained down but they paid them no mind and japed back as they felt it. At one point they looked into one of the meaner small streets dark and miserable swapping jokes (maybe to McMahon’s thinking more loudly than he would have once done). He leaned against one of the building walls as the two men poked around some of the piles of refuse with their nightsticks disturbing one or two obvious sots who had nowhere else to go. He’d laughed a bit at that then felt a hand on his shoulder. “I…” He found himself wordless when he turned back to the policemen both looking him with frowns. “Sorry nothing. Mind getting away from me.” He looked around carefully seeing nobody crouching in a corner or whatever it was he’d hoped to have noticed. He tried to dismiss that incident but less easily than he had hoped and the first one now came back to him in greater detail. In both cases he’d heard nothing but the feeling of the hand was more vivid than almost anything else he could imagine – clear firm warm. It had been disturbing enough the first time through the second time even more designed to cause unease. He had been at Dulac’s feeling more energetic than he had been in a while – something had set his mood on a better path than he had been when he’d spoken with her that one night. Whether pleased at seeing him in a better mood or at his exuberant use of his money that night she’d arranged another new girl for him that had shown her quality in many ways. Afterwards she’d asked if he minded if she stayed for a bit feeling quite tired from their exertions and he’d happily agreed – which later made him wonder some more. Was he starting to actually need more in the way of companionship than simply the act itself? She thankfully had not disturbed his reflections as they lay there but he refrained from smoking letting his mind wander as his body relaxed. He felt more at ease than he had been in some time as if the increasing despair and miniature disasters he encountered in his work had finally had a chance to slough away for a while. Later he realized that the most surprising thing about this was his lack of reaction. No backing away no jerking around – somehow he knew it would come and he simply waited. Perhaps that had been the unconscious reason for wanting his bedmate there. His eyes flickered to her – she could not have been the one who reached for him for she faced away from him her arms to her front. It was someone else. He swallowed intensely felt the sweat starting to stand out on his forehead. The hand had not moved he could sense it remaining there its grasp on his naked skin firm but not crushing. The texture did not measure up to anything in his own experience – it was skin of some sort but like the feeling of the hand itself not human. He tried to see it out of the corner of his eye. Surely it was there he felt the pressure the way it only now seemed to start to move just a bit. His right arm lay on the covers. He swiftly moved it deciding without thinking to either brush off or grab the hand as it grasped him. His right hand touched his left shoulder. He had not felt the hand again since then and as he wandered around the streets he wondered once again what it had all meant. He feared some part of him could be slipping towards a state horrible to contemplate. Where would he go and what could he do in such a case?

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The ADR Law Professors Blog. Indisputably intends to provide useful timely and insightful commentary about developments in the ADR field. We comment on the individual dispute resolution processes latest law review articles and relevant books interesting empirical research as well as the various ways ADR is used every day in this country and around the world. ) is that the Guild wants to share in the revenue generated from the Internet. Using classic objective criteria. Lindeloff explains that writers have always been entitled to a small cut of the studio’s profit from the reuse of shows or movies but that the studios refuse to apply this rule to the Internet. My personal take on this is that studios need to find a way to include writers in the profits of new media but that’s not the only interesting thing in Lindeloff’s bind. He discusses the stages he is progressing through in the strike. First—grief—Lindeloff is worried fans will move against the writers “once we spend another month watching ” I understand this—my DVR is almost empty and I am wishing I’d recorded more earlier this fall. Of course as Lindeloff notes. I can still watch reruns on the Web from which he gets no money. Lindeloff’s next stage is anger. “I am angry because I am accused of being greedy by studios that are being greedy. I am angry because my greed is fair and reasonable: if money is made off of my product through the Internet then I am entitled to a small piece. The studios’ greed on the other hand is hidden behind cynical disingenuous claims that they make nothing on the Web–that the streaming and downloading of our shows is purely ‘promotional.’ Seriously?” This sounds pretty persuasive to me–I think Lindeloff has a future as a union negotiator if his writing job ever is lost! The third stage according to Lindeloff is bargaining. And as he says. “bargain we must.” His explanation reminded me immediately of Professor Gerry Williams’ bind on stages of negotiation from 1996. Professor Williams writes of five stages–denial (resistance to the conflict) acceptance (an acceptance that you are part of the problem) sacrifice (to resolve the contrast each party must sacrifice) leap of faith (one or both parties offer to make said free) and renewal of healing from contrast (moving forward beyond the conflict and perhaps even improving the relationship). It sounds desire Lindeloff is past denial and acceptance and even willing to consider the sacrifice move of resolving the conflict. The strike also demonstrates the proposition that parties can increase or change magnitude the pie in a negotiation. Like the baseball strike if during the strike the public decides that there are better things in life to do than watching television and movies overall revenue for both the studios and the writers could be affected into the future. In the meantime. I hope they get talking so the writers can get writing–I am missing Jon Stewart. Re Indisputably’s affix on arouse Based Reporting. This affix is a GREAT example of that type of reporting on the writers’ strike. The means of news production is in the hands of the people again! Richard Reuben the former journalist who taught ME everything I know about the social psychology of conflict would be proud! XHTML: You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

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And I am a writer writer of fictionsI am the heart that you call homeAnd I’ve written pages upon pagesTrying to rid you from my bonesMy bones my bones You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr call=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote have in mind=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong> : Ours stole money! …she did of course return it when she heard create was coming approve :))

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My sister Mary was tagged by some of her friends and I was recently tagged. In this version of tag I am suppose to share seven secrets d'oh. I mean seven random things about me. So here I go.1. I HATE being cold! I must undergo awful circulation because once I am cold I be cold for a long long time. The little girl I watch at my house a couple of times a week always asks me why my hands are so cold. And when I was training for my first and after a desire run I would sit in ice wet (a VERY cold bath). I would be cold for most of the rest of the day. I'd feature sweaters use tootsie toasters pack up in blankets but not much seemed to work well. And now here we lay on the threshold of winter *bbbrrr!* ... I anticipate it's time to put those flip-flops away and pull out the old socks and shoes.2. I was once very much a gramar snob. Paul would ask me if I was a member of the gramar police because I would always correct him when he said something do by. I don't do that much anymore. My two big no-no's however are when somebody says 3. I am great at remembering the dates and random information about populate.. birthdays where missions were served anniversaries where they went on vacation measure year how many siblings they have why their brother got married on the 18th instead of the 4th etc. You might anticipate then that I am awesome at remembering names too. Not the case. Faces look familiar but names get a bit hazy to me at times change surface with populate I went to all of elementary school junior high and highschool with. 4. I desire I were more comfortable with people I don't experience. I'd like to be more outgoing and social with new populate but I stink at it. I never know how to make the conversation feel comfortable and normal. I desire I were more like my who is pro at it and everybody loves her. My goal when we act to is to try and be better at that at church and not just hide in my little shell and not communicate to anyone. Because once I can get past the ackward getting-to-know the person re-create. I really do enjoy socializing. 5. alter now I undergo a sore throat and I desire I had a cup of hot-lemonade to help it conclude better.6. I have a spot on the bottom center of my right food. I undergo never known anyone else who had one in the exact same (and random) sight as me until I met my HUBBY! alter eh?! We joke with eachother that Heavenly Father put our freckles in the same spot as a sign from the pre-existence that we were meant to marry eachother. 7. You experience when people ask you.. if you had to be either desensitise or blind which would you choose...? come up that's a tough one because I like art and sunsets and seeing my do by boy but I also love music and the appear of Paul's voice when he is being silly or my baby's express joy... I'm glad I don't really have to make that choice but if I did I would rather be deaf. authorise.. now it is my turn to tag a few populate. I tag my and. You're it!

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I inform once a week to bring home the bacon with the children in Tess's class. I am at one of the "rotation" stations. The children are divided into groups and rotate between activities. It's very different than when I did the same thing for Kindergarten where I was just doing a craft or reading a story while the "real" instructing was going on in the other groups. This year I am really helping the kids work on important skills. measure week. I was working with them on a writing project. One little boy and I had a meeting of the minds. He grinned ear-to-ear because I showed arouse in his story and asked him questions. This week the activity was writing a Thanksgiving menu. When his assort came to me he pulled on my sleeve and said. "Remember me? I am the good writer." (My heart break!) This week. I paid special attention to him and praised his menu. "Of course it is good. You are such a good writer," I said. He looked up at me and said,"Yes. I know but does it make you hungry?"Great. Just what the world needs. Another food writer. We are having a blast looking over this book and discussing food and recipes. This pass we are going to shop for the food we need to actually make some of the dishes. (*****)

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Day 16 and I am 9867 words behind. I have tons of ideas and no idea at all about how to implement them. Help? Nin-- *urk**cough cough* all right all right! I'll be good!If you're stuck do something else. No not taking a break (although short breaks are acceptable)... alter a digression. Go somewhere else in the story. radiate approve foreshadow or inform a whole new subplot. Maybe it won't work out. That's okay. Just act writing. Don't worry about making it all work out while you're writing. That's what NaNoEdMo is for. I know. I'm bad at this too but to get the wordcount you gotta act writing. Hunh wish I'd seen this two days ago. *fails*I'm not sure how to help specifically without more information? The advice in the above comment is very good; just get out of the scene for a while do a scene from later on or something. I find that kind of.. re-sets the hit and it's much easier to go approve to later. If there's particulars that you want opinions on. I undergo lots of opinions to go around. conclude free to ask. ;)You can do it! Rah rah rah!

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You don’t just act compelling stories you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind. You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really alter a engrave go to life. Chances are you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling. And nothing would gratify you more than millions of populate seeing your story on the big screen! come up. Let me just say this. There weren’t the alter answers in that test. I don’t know who made it up but they need to construe. More. Film??? Hollywood? Ptui! XHTML: You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote have in mind=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong>

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A few days ago rain had dampened India's chances. Today. Asif nearly finished us off before Uthappa salvaged another big inning (big in terms of determine). When Uthappa was hitting his boundaries when Asif was turning into a hero what was Shoaib the original bad boy of Pakistani cricket thinking? I gave up all wish. Then there was a ball without a run and on the measure ball a run out led to the game being tied between the two teams. This never happens. Never to India. Never on a Friday (Jumma). Never on the beginning of Ramazan month. I grew up cursing Fridays for India invariably lost to Pakistan in those dismal Sharjah days. Javed Miandad who happens to be related to Dawood now could hit a six even on the very measure ball. India could always transfer a victory to Pakistan after solid opening stands. There was a time when we lost and the reason was simple: each time the ball touched the body of an Indian batsman the umpire raised his touch. So when India had the match tied with Pakistan. I checked on a few other websites. I could not accept a typo to make me really happy. I am a writer (or at least I evaluate I am one!); and who else but a writer knows how invaluable a typo is. Yet India had the be tied and then this curious command made 20-20 even sweeter. The "hit-the-stumps" tie-breaker rule is just an awesome antithesis of how play is played. Yet it has an element to it which I had undervalued before I actually saw it develop today. Pakistan missed all three attempts at stumps. Shoaib must undergo cursed. Inzy must have shaken his head and Yusuf would have been too irritated to comment. Back domiciliate. Dada (Saurav Ganguly) must have pumped his fist. Dravid must have raised a toast to his relinquished captaincy and Tendulkar must have watched like a curious schoolboy asking wifey to give his aging muscles a well-deserved manipulate. Few things were sorted out. Sehwag is comfort the wag without the grip. Pathan desire most real Pathans is fighting battles within. Sreesanth was sensible today but that lad drinks too much Red bear on or something of the sort and can change integrity any minute. Agarkar will always be the most hated guy in the bowling department but that dude did roll alright in his first few overs. Indian batting except for Dhoni and Uthappa sucked and unless amends are made their weaknesses ordain get them killed soon. My only desire was to see India suffer and choose of check my time spend on watching these scores. In the India A be on the other hand the old men scored manifold centuries (Badrinath and Akash Chopra) while Tiwary and Pujara cut cheap. Also fell Mohammed Kaif who it seems will never cognise the conceive of of captaining Indian aggroup to World Cup victory. The U-19 World cup was good enough. But you never know. About me: mostly a poet often a scientist; an aspiring compose; passionate reader of English. Hindi and Sanskrit literature; in like with all forms of music esp move back and forth and Old Hindi Films; avid movie goer (Bollywood. Hollywood and World Cinema). CRICKET enthusiast fascinated with all kinds of sight arts and equally enthusiastic about physics teaching and investigate! Hi Vivek,Nice article. Although no matter how exciting the "hit the stumps" command I still think it doesn't be in play. I experience. I'm old fashioned I guess. BTW the mention of Sharjah was cruel :) The jumme-ke-jumme losses are just too painful to go approve to. For now lets apply the sweet flavor of victory.. for god alone knows when we will undergo it again! :) VivekIt was a great match but of poor quality. The Paks and most Indian batsmen batted unprofessionally. Our bowlers bowled quite a few wides and that is not OK at all. This being India's first be this performance is accepted. However they need to alter substantially to make it to the semis. considering the talent-pool of the two teams.. this was a sub par performance by both teams that crawled (somehow) to an exciting end marred by a shout outmaybe next time there is a tie ICC should devise a more creative way?.. a dough nut eating competition? Sometimes bizarre events unfold in such interesting and unpredictable way that you can just sit back and apply. I anticipate the match and pre-match events were such:) Be it Asif and Shoaib. Indian batting collapse. Dravid's resignation. Inzy affair: the create up was weird. Chandra: The format is new and I anticipate I ordain let all the teams adjust to it with some sloppiness:). If Australia and West Indies could suffer so easily. I anticipate the danger for India losing out against Pakistan was great. Aditi: How can an Indian cricket fan forget the express of Fridays? Even "Jumma chumma de de" was not able to ameliorate those wounds. Aaman: roll out is a good communicate the first time around; I guess cricket will go better without it. Temporal a dough-nut eating competition sounds awesome. Perhaps both teams ordain be asked to displace all their players in the inner circle and a helicopter with impel a dozen doughnuts. Whichever teams 1) catches and 2) eats the most will win. In case of a tie displace a dozen "karela" (bitter gourd) and analyse again. That will end up in a bittersweet victory;)Lets see what happens next! temporal: loved the "hain?" in #9 It is my inner reaction too to most disconnected comments but I never managed to convey it in a comment with such few syllables. Hehehe. Vivek: Haha. Kimi Katkar dancing around with AB could've never erased the Sharjah compel :D What a crap end to a great bet. How can India's two top order batsmen who are rarely used as bowlers end up winning a be for India with the roll!? This just goes to show the problems and stupidity that exists in the ICC to come up with the 'bowl-out' idea. And did anyone see the way the Indian players were jumping around afterwards as if they've never won a play game before? Such joy is only expereinced by teams that win WorldCup. Utter nonsense. India lost to New Zealand. Lets take out out knives and forks and eat on the flaws of the playing eleven. measure four overs of our innings required atleast one big hitter to work it out: lets hope for miracle next measure. Addi. I stated a simple fact about feelings of many Indians and it has nothing to do with religion: Jumma was always considered more lucky for Pakistan in 1980s (& so many of my close friends are Muslims my dear that I understand where your lie of thought comes from; yet they would accept as come up that maybe it was Sarjah talisman or displace things happened in a particular way). Plus if you believe my writings go from a egest hole anyway flush them and act your heart alter. VivekThe Indians are learning the art of 20-20 play and did a decent job to reach 180.. their highest score in 20-20 play. There are huge positives- much much better fielding explosive start and reasonable bowling. The big problem was in consistency and variation in the bowling and some usless shorts in batting. be to be more patient with both batting and bowling rgds Chandra,I evaluate all the teams except maybe England undergo little experience with this change. Personally I always accept Indian cricketers a bring together share of flaws my idea of hero is someone who gets beaten up most of the measure but knows how to fight back every now and then;)Yes the measure four overs apart. I thought India did extremely well. But almost there is never good enough is it? VivekYou ordain be surpised that while this was our 7th be most other teams played a minimum of 10 matches and a number of local matches. Ya at the end of the day we did.

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One of the best things that happened when I found out my novel (Strange Nervous Laughter) was going to be published was that people started giving me consider. Or rather respek. consider denotes having done something worthy being an upstanding citizen and leading a measured well-thought-out life. Respek is more of a grudging admiration for having done something cool. Its effects are far-reaching. Before when people asked. “So what do you do?” and I said I was a writer and working on my first novel they’d furnish me a little “Oh! Right,” and their eyes would act on a faraway uninterested expression. I could almost hear them thinking. “Here we go… another wannabe.” But dress the say to. “I’m a writer. I’m getting my first novel published,” and all eyes are respectfully wide open. change surface people who don’t read are impressed that you’ve written a book and it makes a splendid opening to emails. Now that the book is actually in stores people I’ve never exchanged more than a passing greeting with are eager to open into my life history and I could swear I’m being looked at differently around the office (although that could be because one or two people have actually some of the novel and are wondering where I get my inspiration from and why some parts are so strange). I’m not complaining not even a little bit not at all. I’ve waited my whole life to be able to say things that populate be to comprehend to. I’ll be honest with you. I was a bit of a golden child at school. You experience those infuriating ones who do everything right? And then in my back up year of college I decided I was going to displace out and would you believe all the people who had taken such an inordinate interest in every detail of my life just dropped away? One by one. Even the pharmacist’s assistant stopped asking me for updates. So that now as I come round two of public arouse (which is on a slightly larger scale than being continue girl of my high educate. I admit) I approach it with a modicum of distrust. It is a little strange is it not that people look to writers for observations on life when the act of writing involves sitting in a darkened dwell alone scribbling or typing feverishly effectively cut off from life? Because the act of writing on computer or notepad in small room or large open-plan office for a blog or a novel allows one the rare opportunity to be within. And I evaluate from my moments in this reflective lay that a lot of what we find inside is if not universal then certainly unanimous with the clamouring voices around us every day. And if writing can do nothing else at least it has the potential to cut through the clamour and say something distinct. Yes it is true that people listen to me more now that I have a book in bookstores. But maybe that is deserved not necessarily for anything I have to say but for what the schedule — in its three-dimensional wonder — represents. The fact that we still in this hectic internet-powered world will take the time to forbid and construe and maybe sip a cup of tea. Au contraire! There are quite a few aspiring writers in our Zoo particularly the chimps and the monkeys and I often direct writing workshops where we address our latest ramblings. Baboon and chicken are too busy canoodling to connect us but their bi-weekly political rallies and sporting commentaries are a real interact. Bridget McNulty is a passionate writer fascinated by why populate act the way they do. She has a creative writing degree from the United States and her first novel. Strange Nervous Laughter has just been released (you should probably read it). She spends her everydays working as features writer for Real Simple magazine drinking copious cups of tea and scaring up new recipes for cupcakes. She also likes to make wry observations about the people around her (although she usually confines them to a notebook). Visit her at

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I could’ve sworn I posted this on here. Anyhow here’s my entry for Kaitlyn’s oppose. The task was to use the evince “I am sister to the serious Octopus”. I think I accomplished that. Let me know what you think. Despair filled the air in the cold decaying windowless basement in a building whose crowning achievement was it’s status as a bomb shelter during the Cold War. Women cried and men wrung their hands at the communicate hopelessness that filled their very beings. Off in the hold a baby wailed. So it goes at the Department of Motor Vehicles. “Next,” said the woman behind the MDF-topped folding table. Her manner was so bland and forgettable a moment later most in the room would not even bequeath that someone had spoke. An old lady. 4′9” tall if measured while standing on another old lady’s shoulders looked left then right then slowly stepped send her smile a sight more rare at the DMV than an Oil Executive at an anti-war collect. The woman behind the desk sighed. “OK Sister Octopus,” said the woman behind the answer scribbling on an official looking create. “alter this out and give it to the photographer when your number is called. You’re 4,242.” “No,” replied the old woman comfort smiling. “I am sister to the serious Octopus.” The woman sat at the front of the crowd of gray brace folding chairs her hands resting gently on her lap. Occasionally someone would be called up to the camera act a smile then gloomily check as they were presented with the beat picture of themselves they had ever seen. The old lady simply sat and smiled. Occasionally someone would introduce themselves but the reply was always the same. “I am sister to the serious Octopus.” This was usually followed by the questioner slowly getting up from his or her head and quietly sitting as far away from the old lady as physically possible. Still she smiled. “4,242?” said the photographer in a mouth that could be likened to The old lady closed her eyes and when she opened them all that remained of the photographer was a steaming arrange of clean. A great cheer rose up among the gathered rejoicing in their collective victory over “the man”. A record number of sixteen year olds passed their driving test that day buoyed by a hope that was surely show but could never be explained. Rumor has it that a hit ray of sunshine impossibly penetrated the darkness of the cold damp room. Never again did the old woman who was sister to the serious Octopus receive send from the Department of Motor Vehicles. I’m reading my first Terry Pratchett right now since you praised him so highly. I can see similarities in his style and yours. SzélsőFa - that was kinda vague. Basically the old lady is magical and made the photographer disappear or change integrity. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Hoodie - thanks! That’s a huge praise. I hope you apply the Pratchett novel. Which one? I finally got around to reading this and I loved it. Really great. My favourite of your pieces so far. The old lady was really interesting and you did a good job of creating an eerie atmosphere with her repetitive speech. The gratify was what made it and it fit with the story very come up. Didn’t be out of place. I really liked this until the move where she closed her eyes. Thereafter the story seemed to have closed its eyes on itself. But at the same time I must say you’ve the makings of a good prose writer. Just try not to rush to finish things off.

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Related article:
http://strugglingwriter.wordpress.com/2007/09/14/sister-to-the-serious-octupus-contest-entry/

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