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She slides her fingers
in mine
it is dark
we breathe
her head
on my shoulder
the previews
make us laugh
Hollywood knows… 51 more words


Squaw Valley Community of Writers

An annual event for almost half a century, this weeklong gathering of writers is one of the best and most distinctive.  Shunning the elitism that mars others with their clear demarcation of supplicants from gurus and gatekeepers, Squaw Valley mixes and mingles “staff” (everyone who comes to provide insight and guidance) and participants in one big melting pot of about 130 people, most of whom are fiction writers but with an appreciable number of non-fiction/memoir writers too. 367 more words

In My Opinion: The World Around Us


I went to Canterbury on Saturday to The Beany which is the new add on building to the original library there that is extremly old. What a beautiful job they have done mixing the old and new together perfectly. 149 more words


A 23-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Late February, 1975

Friday, February 21, 1975

8 PM. I’ve just come back from a walk through the neighborhood. I stared at the gibbous moon and the belt of Orion and watched the kids preparing to go on Friday night dates; Marc left to go to the movies with his girlfriend. 4,189 more words

A 23-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Early December, 1974

Monday, December 2, 1974

I went to Avis’s house directly after work today. She called me last night and asked if I could take her to the airport tomorrow. 4,901 more words

Andreé Robinson-Neal

Homegoing Day

“Taste this,” Nancy ordered as she shoved a spoonful of macaroni salad in Jamal’s mouth. “Is it enough tuna? You know how Bertram and them like it with a lot of tuna.” 4,098 more words


Cynthia Covert

Elegy For Rufus, My Mentor And Friend

Gentle lord of the flowers, winter red, spring white,
Nurturing crops for market,
Toiling day and night.

Botanical cycles turn, those immortal keepers of time. 112 more words