Protected: Two at the Door

July 10, 2017 Enter your password to view comments.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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Tourmaline – Part II

There was a tickling sensation which grabbed her then – a lovely gripping coolness which sprayed giddy chills across every pore of her. She smiled, wanting almost to cry at the same time. The flooring felt soft and her toes curled to feel what it was made of – it seemed a mass of miniature cushioned fingers, each welcoming the weight and feel of her feet. Her legs moved through the coolness, her nose catching the weightless blips of spray as the water from the fountain’s center fell into the pool. It was dangerous here, an easy place to fall…

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July Goings

Here’s the deal – I haven’t written anything here in FOREVER. It’s no one’s fault but my own; that I know, and there’s no excuse I’m going to post here that would make any difference. If you’re looking for excuses, there is an endless ocean out there from which one can cull. They come in all shapes and sizes, and they are all customizable in every degree. I know I owe you the rest of the “Tourmaline” story. That’s a given. And here forth I’m not going to make any promises to you, but more to myself. The next installment…

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Evening thoughts on Staying Positive

There is work on the next installment of the story, “Tourmaline,” and that will be posted by Sunday night. The year is passing with an increased speed and I’m not sure I know where the time has gone. I am reading and writing; both are proceeding nicely, though after reading an online interview Robert Jordan did with some of his fans before he passed away, I am left newly inspired. Recently I read a book called The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. Fantastic read, and quick too. It’s incredible, when you really stop and think about it (and I…

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Tourmaline (a serial story)

  Dear Reader, Happy Sunday…night. I hope your weekend glistened as mine did. I wanted to bring a story to the space, but I wanted to do it in parts. The following story is called “Tourmaline,” and it comes from of the Chucky Challenges from Mr. Wendig’s space. I guess, that being what it is, it could be called a collaborative effort. Nah. Sorry, Chuck. This one’s mine. -lp —-   Tourmaline By L.P. Stribling Part I   Constance ran toward the quarry with the last vial of the drug clutched in the prison of her palm. The dirt and…

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Art or Craft – which matters?

It’s rounding on ten o’clock at night and I just saw this: 23. Storytelling Is The Art, Writing Is The Craft Writing matters. It has rules. It can be artful or utilitarian, it can be languid or merciless. But it’s just the vehicle. We keep coming back to the authors we love — Atwood to Gaiman, King to Morrison — not merely because of the quality of their prose but because their stories are engaging. It’s the stories that matter. The art lives in the story. It’s the hardest and most essential part — you can write beautifully, but if…

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老戀醉

開罐聲音已消失 獨間中光有吾倆 愈樂飲瓶言愈繁 無言互眼迅發紅 站講走坐凡為敗 何時開始獅是獅 搖頭飲水往室滾 但願夢後明陽起. 李博:作

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Let’s remember

by L.P. Stribling Remember that one day you’ll remember none of this, …..and in the absence of that memory, Your soul will return to the Infinite, As complete, endless, and smiling as it began.

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S – Town (*a cast for Serial fans) NO SPOILERS

If you’re a podcast person, you may want to check this one out. Let’s start that one over. If you’re a podcast fan and you enjoyed the podcast called Serial (click here for link) (made by Sarah Koenig last year), you will enjoy this new podcast called S-Town (or Shittown), done by Brian Reed along with This American Life. I’m not going to ruin any of it for you because I just don’t like spoilers. I’m not into making deadlines for something. For example, if a show has been out for 12 years and now the fans just want to start talking…

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Balls

by L.P. Stribling     “Okay, now do you believe me? She had me by the balls, Frank. And I mean that quite literally. Balls. All of my balls in all of her decrepit granny paws.” Bart took another chomp of his double-bacon cheeseburger and chewed while he spoke, symmetric specks of grease glistened on either side of his mouth under the neon pulse of the late-night Burger Bobby joint. The blue bill of his Pepsi hat seemed to bob upon his forehead as his animations grew. Frank sat across from him smoking, his eyes half closed, blinking mildly to…

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