The book lay unopened for centuries. Julie didn’t know that, of course, when she clambered up Auntie Murphy’s attic steps to see how bad it was going to be.
Auntie’s will had been read just yesterday, and she’d left Julie everything in her 180-year-old house – the house she’d lived in, as well as her mother, and her grandmother, and her ….
When the attic door above Julie creaked open, she released a nervous exhale. Continue reading
On this dreary day, Thea wrote sitting in the tub, her favorite place for creating stories. Writing allowed her to sink into another world while candles lit the steamy room and bath bubbles glistened.
But Thea’s story was side-tracked when a knock at the front door roused her from the fantasy world she’d created of knights and lasses and a well-spoken dragon. By the second, louder knock, she dried herself off with a towel, grumbling that she could have stayed in the tub another half hour.
The third knock was obnoxiously insistent, so Thea pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” she asked, irritation noticeable in her tone. Continue reading
roughwighting 