
Photo by Yuliya on Pexels.com
She held the rock to her lips. Copper and silver shone where her fingers caressed.
For a moment, Gichi-gami rolls beneath this secure Virginia town. Continue reading
Photo by Yuliya on Pexels.com
She held the rock to her lips. Copper and silver shone where her fingers caressed.
For a moment, Gichi-gami rolls beneath this secure Virginia town. Continue reading
The room sits at low-tide. Eddies twirl sluggish through muddy gray waters. Slow eyelids blink, sleepy frogs gathered ‘round in a circle. We hope that gathering and moving pen across paper will stir enough energy in this morning’s free-association writing group to stir those eddies into rivulets of free-flowing inspiration. Continue reading
Her fingers paused and flattened on the ridged wood of the screen door. A warm breeze flowed over her fingers, soft promise of the summer day. Springs screeched as she pushed through, concrete floor chill under her bare feet. Continue reading
Dirk’s long, strong hands grasped the green, held over the deep-brown bamboo bowl, and tore in lingering, sensuous movements. Lettuce had never looked so inviting. Continue reading
Nora reached two fingers towards the mound of shaving cream on the tiny table. Sliding her fingers across and down, she palmed the foam, squishing it flat and rotating her hand slowly. Continue reading
Although I swore to renew our vows this Midsummer’s Night, I cannot in good conscience re-marry you. Your cruel joke on Nick Bottom backfired, and I’m still pissed that you snatched my changeling to make him one of your warriors. Continue reading
“Enough of that,” he snapped off the television and stepped onto the back porch. Easing into a wooden rocking chair, he cupped his hands around his coffee, Continue reading
Cold. Literally frozen to the bone. Not that I’m whining. Not that I can do that anymore. Continue reading
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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