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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
Start to finish
it's never over.
Life runs in cycles
for better or for worse.
I subject myself to trying and doing new.
Sometime that means (more)
"Four years after the war, your grandfather started to build this house from scratch. He spent three years, coming out here on weekends and vacations. He drained his life savings, retirement, college funds for us kids, he lost his wife, family, his job. When everything had dissipated from his(more)
Throw it away.  You need to start from scratch.
Isn't that like succumbing to regrets?
Why regret?  
Haven't the decisions you've made in life brought you to exactly where you should be?
Right here.
Break it down and start all over.
Sometimes I wonder if it was intentional just so whoever was left could start from scratch and get it right this time.
The world had gone to hell quickly the last few years before the end.
Politics became a joke perpetrated b(more)
You know in movies when they show a character writing away before he suddenly shouts, rips out the page, crumples it and tosses it behind him before he starts writing again on the new page? That character doesn’t know how good he has it. I want to start form(more)
She is the girl of my dreams.  Everything that I strive to be she already is: Mature, Independent, Kind and Caring.  Often times in the morning I watch her sleep and marvel at how lucky I am.  I can not help but smile my little secret smile as I smell her sweet(more)
There's a point in our lives where we all realize that we've messed up. A point where we feel that there's no reason to keep going. Like we've messed up so bad that we just can't keep going, that all are friends will disregard us, that life just isn't(more)
I don’t have the time in me anymore to: add, subtract, multiply, or divide my way into your brick wall. Go bury yourself my Fortunato, and then call me like you do, when you realize that you want back in.

Yes, I’ll be there, bloody knuckles and all(more)
Mother used to make my lunch every morning, and if I gave her any lip about it that evening--usually something like, to her question of how my day was, Well, lunch was the same old boring thing I'm tired of peanut butter sandwiches Can't I have money for hamburgers?--she'd(more)
Norma scanned her bedroom one last time.  

It was bare.  

The only evidence that someone might've occupied this space were the pictures markings left behind from her old photos she proudly hung.

Once upon a time.  

Like trudging trough molasses, she(more)