I grew up surrounded by woods, fields, an old mill, a Lutheran church, a cemetery just down the road, a local "party store" in the other direction, and farmland for miles and miles. It was glorious, really. And thank God for that party store.
I had a lot of hate. That’s what God gave me to work with, which was a blessing; my capacity to hate things, situations, and people, people most of all, is nothing short of miraculous.
These two are not young, not rom-com blow-dried and fresh. One of them has an eye with a filmy sheath over the iris, and the eye also wanders, preventing the long lovers’ gaze.
Writers who seem to want to write a commercial screenplay in prose strike me as the least interesting sort. The same goes for all attempts at translating cinematic terminology to prose.
There hadn’t been this much excitement since the boys came home from war with their uniforms and their little triangular hats. They’d been shipped off again.
