tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15657677287239834592024-03-08T14:37:11.561-05:00My Writing LifeThis is the place where I put some of my favorite short projects, and talk about new projects in the works, works in progress, etc.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-86440223272956954642019-08-30T00:00:00.000-04:002019-08-30T00:00:09.467-04:00Story Fragment #25: CarolCarol was in the middle of what felt like the longest shift in the world. It seemed as if every difficult customer in the store was choosing to come through her checkout line today. If she didn't get to take her break soon, she was afraid she would snap. But for now, she put on a bright smile and faced her next customer, who just happened to be a harried-looking young woman with three children.<br />
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"Did you find everything you were looking for today?" Carol asked, feigning cheerfulness.<br />
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"All except for the magic pills to calm these guys down," the woman laughed hollowly, gesturing toward the children.<br />
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As if on cue, all three children began to grumble. "Mom, I'm hungry. Can we go home now? Can we get some candy?"<br />
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Their mother sighed. "It's been like this all morning. I'm not sure if they got up on the wrong side of the bed, or if I did, but nothing is satisfying them." She turned to her children and continued. "We'll have lunch when we get home, which will be just as soon as we finish here. And no one's getting any candy, because it would spoil your appetite for lunch."<br />
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As Carol rang up the purchases, the three children to grumble under their breath, and their mother just looked more tired. Carol felt sorry for her, realizing that most of her days were probably like this. "I hope you have a better afternoon---maybe everybody needs a nap and a reset."<br />
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The young mother sighed deeply once again. "Thanks! That would be wonderful, but I'm not counting on it."<br />
<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-17521107807171104762019-08-28T00:00:00.000-04:002019-08-28T00:00:04.613-04:00Writing exercise: emotion restrained vs. freely expressed<i>Frustration, restrained</i><br />
Jackie Turner sat in her home office, cell phone pressed to her ear, wondering if she had heard her new client correctly.<br />
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"Mr. Anderson, are you sure you want to go with that color scheme in the <u>entire</u> apartment? What about adding a little variety?"<br />
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She gritted her teeth as she listened to his response. "Yes, of course it's your decision, sir. I just thought--" She listened again as he interrupted her, more insistent than before.<br />
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As the client continued to share his vision, Jackie wiped her hand across her face, wanting to erase all the tension.<br />
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<i>Frustration, freely expressed</i><br />
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Pacing the small kitchen of her apartment, Jackie rubbed the back of her neck absentmindedly as she muttered to herself. "Of all the ridiculous ideas! How am I supposed to work with this moron?"<br />
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"What's wrong, Jax?" her roommate, Chloe, asked as she entered the room.<br />
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Jackie sighed heavily. "New client--he wants me to decorate his new condo totally in zebra stripes. The walls, the carpet, the furniture--everything!"<br />
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Chloe chuckled before responding. "Sounds, umm, shall we say---interesting?"<br />
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Jackie groaned and sat down, her hands held against the sides of her head. "Yes, let's say that. Interesting sounds so much better than what I'm thinking."<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-35040016132702660182019-08-26T00:00:00.000-04:002019-08-26T00:00:06.560-04:00Writing Exercise: One character has a negative character traitTony looked at Angela in disgust. "What do you mean you don't want to go to my parents' house on Christmas? It's a tradition!"<br />
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Angela sighed deeply and tried to remain calm. "But this is the first year Susie has really been old enough to enjoy the whole tree, presents, Santa thing and I want her to have those memories in OUR house. I'm sure your family will understand.<br />
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"No, they will not understand, because <i>I</i> don't understand! We've always driven up on Christmas Eve and been there for Christmas Day. I don't see any reason why we need to change that now. Susie can make wonderful memories there."<br />
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"But everything there has to be done just the way your family's always done it, and I want Susie to have some of the traditions from my family, too."<br />
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"Oh please! No one has ever complained about it before--my family has been doing things this way for generations. It makes for a lovely, organized holiday."<br />
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"A boring, strictly scheduled holiday, you mean," muttered Angela.<br />
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"Enough!" hissed Tony. "We're going, and that's the end of the story."Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-52979949557806754802019-04-19T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-19T00:00:11.841-04:00Friday Poetry Day: Acrostic Poems<div style="text-align: center;">
Leaving the old life behind</div>
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Inner peace at last</div>
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Breaking the chains</div>
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Escaping the abuse</div>
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Realizing your worth</div>
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After so many years</div>
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Taking steps out of the darkness</div>
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Into a brand new world</div>
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Opening new doors</div>
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Never looking back.</div>
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Loneliness sets in</div>
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Overwhelming everything</div>
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Sharing memories</div>
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Souls are touched</div>
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Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-67350402162450705782019-04-17T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-17T00:00:03.032-04:00Descriptive sceneIt was a beautiful summer Saturday and most of the residents of the small town were taking advantage of it.<br />
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On Main Street, a young man stood on a corner, playing his guitar and singing. As he sang, he drew courage from the special guitar pick in his pocket--the one signed by Eric Clapton.<br />
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At the park, people were engaged in a variety of activities. Children were running, laughing, and enjoying the playground. There was a man selling balloons and another selling ice cream. On a wooden bench, a mother held her crying young daughter close as they sadly watched her red balloon float higher and higher into the sky.<br />
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In a secluded corner of the park, a young couple spread a blanket beneath the trees and began to remove their picnic lunch from a well-worn wicker basket which had once belonged to the woman's grandmother.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-83550953912327086122019-04-15T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-15T00:00:07.385-04:00Story Fragment #24: End Of The Rainbow<b>PROMPT: </b>You and a friend decide to follow a rainbow. Write what you find at the end and how it changes your life.<br />
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The driving rain was finally letting up and I peered out the front door cautiously. Leaning over my shoulder, my friend Alex pointed toward the sky.<br />
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"Check out the double rainbow!"<br />
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Sure enough, there was a bright arc of color right above us, with a paler one nestled beneath it. Looking again, I made an amazing discovery.<br />
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"Hey, Alex is it my imagination, or does it look like they touch the ground on the other side of town?"<br />
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Alex smiled indulgently. "Meg, Meg, Meg. You <u>know</u> rainbows don't really touch the ground, right? And if you think you'll find a pot of gold---"<br />
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"It could happen!" I interrupted. "Come on, let's just go check it out. What could it hurt?"<br />
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Mumbling about "too many fairy tales" and "complete waste of time," Alex pulled his car keys from his pocket and we were off on our adventure.<br />
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Five minutes later, we arrived at McDougal Park, just outside our hometown of Donegal. I raced across the parking lot and through a grove of trees toward the clearing where it looked like the rainbow ended. I was sure I'd find something amazing there, even if it wasn't a leprechaun and his pot of gold.<br />
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As I burst into the clearing, I felt totally vindicated. We <u>had</u> reached the end of the rainbow, after all. Unfortunately, it appeared we weren't the first. Standing at the foot of the rainbow was a man about our age who looked to be about six feet tall with an athletic build. He had pale skin that almost glowed in the sunlight, and wavy brown hair framed his face. As I got closer, I could see his shimmering light blue eyes, which nearly had me mesmerized.<br />
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But then I remembered my mission. "Where's my treasure? What have you done with it?"<br />
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"Your treasure? It's right here, lassie. I've come to bring you true love."<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-4102944823340926322018-05-18T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-13T14:58:50.654-04:00FRIDAY POETRY DAY: Mother's Day, Then And Now<div style="text-align: center;">
In the early days of May</div>
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The house filled with sounds</div>
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Of not so quiet whispers</div>
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And joyful giggles</div>
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As Mother's Day surprises were planned.</div>
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When the big day arrived</div>
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They brought handmade cards </div>
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And gifts made at home or school</div>
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Presented with smiles and declarations</div>
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Of "I love you, Mommy."</div>
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Years later, all grown up</div>
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With families of their own,</div>
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That day in May is nearly forgotten--</div>
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Remembered with a quick phone call,</div>
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A hastily chosen card, a few words on Facebook.</div>
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They don't seem to remember</div>
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That the greatest gift they have to give</div>
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Is just to give her themselves.</div>
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Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-83967811432055650812018-05-16T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-13T15:30:41.806-04:00Story Fragment #23: RickI awoke with a jolt, looking immediately at my bedside clock. Four o'clock in the morning--really? Who plays music loud enough to wake the dead at that hour?<br />
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Slowly orienting myself, I realized the sound was coming through the walls, from the apartment next door. I had heard from other neighbors that Rick, the occupant of that apartment, was something of an eccentric character, but I had yet to get to know him. No time like the present, I supposed.<br />
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After throwing on some clothes and picking up my keys, I exited my apartment and knocked, loudly, on Rick's door several times. When he finally opened the door, he blinked several times as though perplexed by my presence.<br />
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I introduced myself as his relatively new neighbor, then got right to the heart of the problem. "Would you mind turning down your music? I have to be at work at 8 AM, and I was counting on at least two more hours of sleep."<br />
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Again he looked at me with confusion in his eyes. "What time is it, anyway?"<br />
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"It's 4 AM," I explained patiently.<br />
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"Really? When I get deeply involved in what I'm doing, I lose all track of time and can't even remember if it's day or night."Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-51154975595544632762018-05-14T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-13T14:45:46.013-04:00Character Sketch: RobertRobert is one of the quirkiest people I know. He can hold entire conversations with himself, voicing both sides. He holds conversations with the family cat as well, as though the cat has responded or understands him. He will begin conversations with people mid-thought, expecting them to understand what should have come prior to his spoken words.<br />
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His appearance can also be unusual at times. His gray hair will often be standing on end, going in various directions, much like Christopher Lloyd's character, Doc Brown, in the Back To The Future movie series. When he is the privacy of his own home, his clothing is often mismatched, with some very "interesting" color combinations.<br />
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He knows a wealth of trivia facts, particularly about music and movies, and what he doesn't know he can usually find out easily.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-37628983957874612772018-04-12T14:44:00.001-04:002018-04-12T14:44:34.598-04:00Be Careful What You Wish For<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">(This is a first draft, and I have plans to do some work on it in the near future)<br /><br />(This story came from Story Fragment #8--Genie Under The Sea)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">I was not having a good evening. My best friend, Jill, had set me up on a blind date with her cousin Hudson. He was a nice looking man: he was six feet tall, had an athletic build, and blonde hair and blue eyes, along with an engaging personality. However, his choice of restaurant left a lot to be desired.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Some people might enjoy the idea of dining in an Italian restaurant located at the bottom of the ocean, but not this woman. I have a deep-seated fear of being underwater, which stems from nearly drowning in a swimming pool at the age of three. I had spent most of the evening teetering on the verge of a panic attack. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">As I left the table to visit the ladies room, mentally willing myself not to lose my dinner, I ran straight into a rather exotic looking young woman.</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Excuse me,” I stammered. “I’m not feeling well, and I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you all right?”</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Yes, thank you,” she purred, her accent one I couldn’t place. “And because you reacted so kindly, I have a gift for you—any three wishes you make this evening will be granted. The only rules are that I can not bring someone back to life and I can not make someone fall in love with you.”</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Are you serious?” I looked at her in amazement. “What sort of prank is this?”</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">No prank, mistress. I am a genie, and I am granting you three wishes in exchange for your kindness to me. Whenever you decide on your first wish, just whisper it to yourself and it will be granted. But I must warn you to consider your choices and wish wisely.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">After a quick trip to the ladies room, I headed back to the table where Hudson awaited me. I considered telling him about the strange encounter, but after looking around the restaurant and not seeing the mystery woman anywhere, I chose to keep that little nugget to myself.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Hudson smiled at me and asked if I were enjoying the view. Considering the view was ocean water and fish, and I was still feeling like I might throw up at any second, I answered as honestly as I could.</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. But I do wish we were on dry land instead.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Something like a sonic boom occurred, and I closed my eyes, thinking of ducking under the table, sure the glass of the restaurant had shattered. Then I realized hiding under the table would be futile, as I would drown no matter where I was. When I realized there was no torrent of rushing water, I cautiously opened my eyes.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">The first thing I saw was Hudson, still sitting across the table from me. He had a serious “deer in the headlights” look about him as he stammered “Where are we and how did we get here?”<br />
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Thinking that was a ridiculous question, and that we must still be in the restaurant, I broadened my view to look beyond my date and our table. In that instant, I realized why he was so shocked and confused. Instead of the underwater restaurant where we had been just seconds ago, our table now sat on a rocky beach alongside the docking area of the submersibles which ferried people to and from the restaurant. It was incredibly dark, which was going to make eating our meals a difficult task. </span></span></span>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">I wish we had more light,” I muttered angrily. Instantly, a bright spotlight shone on our table, nearly blinding the both of us. </span></span></span>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Seriously? Come on! That wasn’t really what I had in mind!” I exclaimed.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">Hudson looked at me quizzically. “Do you know what’s going on here?”</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">I’m afraid I might,” I confessed. “Remember when I went to the ladies room earlier? I literally ran into this woman—a very exotic looking woman, no less—and when I apologized, she gave me some line about being a genie and granting me three wishes for being kind to her. Apparently I’ve used two of them already, and that’s what got us in this mess. So I guess I have one last wish to try to put things right. Any ideas?”</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">At this point,” Hudson huffed indignantly,”I’M wishing this entire evening had never even happened, and that I was at home watching a football game.</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">You could be on to something there,” I readily agreed. I closed my eyes tight, and whispered my last wish: “I wish this night had never happened, and that we were both at our own homes.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino linotype" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">When I opened my eyes again, I was in my warm flannel pajamas, curled up on my sofa, with my gray tabby cat purring next to me. I picked up the novel I had been reading, and smiled to myself. The next time I met a genie, I was going to say thanks but no thanks to the wishes!</span></span></span></div>
Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-23155771678664678642018-04-06T00:00:00.001-04:002019-04-13T14:37:46.616-04:00FRIDAY POETRY DAY: Poem about Poems<div style="text-align: center;">
Pleasing words and phrases</div>
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Ordinary scenes transformed</div>
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Emotions spilled across the page</div>
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Memories and dreams are shared</div>
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Solace often found.</div>
Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-17444454930717016732018-03-12T00:00:00.000-04:002019-04-13T14:32:32.759-04:00Story Fragment #22: DeceptionTommy looked at his parents incredulously. "You think I did WHAT?" He shook his head as he spoke.<br />
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"You heard us perfectly well the first time," his father spat out, as his mother sat with her head in her hands.<br />
<br />
"Okay, yes, I heard you. I just can't believe you would think I had anything to do with vandalizing the neighbor's house."<br />
<br />
"Mr. Gordon said he saw you running away from the house when he came outside."<br />
<br />
"He also told the police it was 1AM, and that he didn't have the porch light on, so he couldn't be sure who any of the people were. And you know me, Dad--why would I put any of those racial slurs on their house? I LIKE the Gordons!"<br />
<br />
After a few more minutes of back and forth, Tommy's parents agreed to drop the subject. At that point, Tommy went upstairs and composed an email to the other members of his white supremacy group--"Looks like I'm in the clear. Phase 2 tonight?"Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-88478622660240857682017-12-11T00:00:00.000-05:002019-04-13T14:16:54.627-04:00Story Fragment #21: HarryHarry Manacort, the world-famous mystery writer, had a very serious quirk. He handwrote each and every manuscript and never allowed anyone to make a copy of it until it went to his editor. This drove his assistant, his agent and his editor crazy, as they were always concerned his work would be lost or damaged. However, after writing ten best-sellers this way, Harry wasn't about to start changing his habits now.<br />
<br />
"Today," Harry thought as he entered his office, "I should finally be able to write the end of this novel." It was always a bittersweet moment, but even more so this time, as it was to be the last book in this series. He hated to say goodbye to such a popular character.<br />
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Sitting at his sturdy oak desk, Harry reached for his writing journal, only to find the spot on his desk where he kept it uncharacteristically bare. Had he put it somewhere else last night? He quickly looked around the top of the desk, then began to open drawers and search each one.<br />
<br />
Just as he was about to panic, his assistant walked in the room. Seeing the look on Harry's face, Sean laughed.<br />
<br />
"Looking for something, boss?" he asked.<br />
<br />
Harry glared at him. "How would you know that?"<br />
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Holding up the missing journal, Sean replied. "Because I took it off your desk, just to teach you a lesson."<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-5934303685386282372017-09-25T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-09T14:14:43.722-05:00Story Fragment #20: MoniqueMonique was having the most harrowing day she had experienced in quite some time. Anything that could possibly go wrong was doing so, in a big way.<br />
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First, there was no hot water when she turned on her shower, then she had to forage through her kitchen cabinets for a jar of instant coffee since she had apparently forgotten to buy K-cups yesterday. Getting dressed was no easier, as she went through four pair of hose before finding one without a run or hole.<br />
<br />
All of this meant that she was fifteen minutes late leaving for work, so rather than walking she hailed a cab and managed to drop into her desk chair at precisely 9 AM.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later, Derek, her supervisor, strolled into her office. "So--ready for the big presentation at 10?"<br />
<br />
"Sure thing," Monique responded, reaching toward the space beside her chair to grab her laptop bag. In that instant, she felt her stomach churn and her entire body go weak. Her laptop--with the only copy of this morning's presentation to a major client--was somewhere out in the city, in the backseat of a cab.<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-60891242617191312682017-09-11T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-09T00:12:44.999-05:00Story Fragment #19: AgathaWhen Agatha went to the flea market, she never expected to see so many unusual objects and people. One of the first things she noticed was a mime wandering among the shoppers. Not really all that strange, she supposed--until you noticed that all he was wearing was a pair of rubber underwear.<br />
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The next thing that caught her eye was a booth selling candy pigs. They were molded in pink chocolate, right down to their little curly tails. She snapped a picture of the entire booth, then bought a dozen of the cute little porkers to take home.<br />
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The next aisle was even more bizarre, not to mention sinister. One seller advertised poisonous bunnies, claiming to have blended the DNA of a rabbit and a rattlesnake. To demonstrate the rabbits capabilities, the seller put a rat into the cage. The rabbit immediately opened its mouth, displaying large fangs, which it sunk deep into the rat. Within seconds, the rat convulsed and died. With a shiver, Agatha hurried on her way.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-32473077306247543712017-07-21T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:46:47.904-05:00FRIDAY POETRY DAY: Halloween<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Halloween</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My brain is filled with eerie thoughts</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To frighten adults and tiny tots</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thoughts of monsters fill my head--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Frankenstein, Dracula, and the undead.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;">© 2017 Teresa Kander</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-925544843458108802017-07-19T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:42:45.575-05:00Story Fragment #18: Roberta the bored housewifeRoberta Atkins, known to her friends as Bobbie, had the same routine day after day. She would get the twins, James and Jessica, to the bus stop with only seconds to spare, after seeing her husband, Charles, off to the train station for his morning commute to the city. Then it was time to head to her daily yoga class, after which she would make a grocery run to pick up everything she needed for dinner. Then it would be time to head back home, have a quick lunch, run the dishwasher, do a load of laundry, straighten the clutter and do whatever other chores she could accomplish before she had to meet the twins at the bus stop. Once they were home, she would fix them a snack, get them started on their homework, and start prepping dinner. Charles would come rushing in just as dinner went on the table, and the meal would pass with everyone but Bobbie sharing the highlights of their day. Then it was time to load the dishwasher, get the kids to bed, and watch an hour or two of mind-numbing television before dropping into bed exhausted.<br />
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Imagine the surprise on her family's faces tonight at dinner when she tells them her afternoon had been spent at the firing range, shooting an AK-47 --and that she had bought one for herself.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-87835726047728967912017-07-17T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:42:25.704-05:00Story Fragment #17: Surprising MessageAs I walked the length of the strip mall that quiet Saturday morning, my mind was going in a hundred different directions. I had several errands to run, then I planned to spend the afternoon finishing a project for work. With all that going on in my head, it was surprising that the note on the sidewalk even caught my attention.<br />
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I think it was the paper itself that caught my eye, as it looked so completely out of place on the gray sidewalk. It was a lovely shade of blue, with geometric shapes outlined in black, and each row of shapes had a smaller inner shape, with the rows alternating turquoise, white and black. It was a tiny corner of the paper, which had been jaggedly ripped from the rest.<br />
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Fascinated, I bent to pick up the scrap of paper. When I flipped it over, I discovered a short five-word message: "Please help--trapped in Walmart." My entire agenda for the day had just been turned on its head.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-11694338851839533772017-07-14T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:43:18.503-05:00FRIDAY POETRY DAY: Ice Cream<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The frozen treat which fills my dreams</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Is tasty mint chocolate chip ice cream</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Its color is green</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The chips can be seen</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A small bite of heaven it seems.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">© 2017 Teresa Kander</span></span></div>
Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-26028458837702486352017-07-12T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:41:57.782-05:00Story Fragment #16: JamalDescription of person: six feet tall, slender, extremely short hair (brown), 30s, mocha colored skin, brown eyes, t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.<br />
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Jamal walked confidently between the buildings. The important thing, he knew, was to act as though he belonged there, so as not to draw attention to himself.<br />
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Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers, he could easily pass for an off-duty airman, which was the cover he had prepared should one be necessary. His brown hair was closely cropped, and his six-foot frame was slender, yet had the muscle tone of someone who valued physical fitness.<br />
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Casually checking the numbers on the building in front of him, he realized he had reached his destination. Now to find the proper office and charm his way inside.<br />
<br />
Fortunately for Jamal, he bore a striking resemblance to an actual airman in Colonel Scott's squadron, and he was able to use that man's identity to gain entrance to places he might never reach otherwise.<br />
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He stopped at the reception desk outside the cluster of offices which included Colonel Scott's, greeting the young woman at the desk. "Hello, Janice. How's your day going?"<br />
<br />
"Not a bad day so far, Andy. What can I do for you--you know the colonel isn't in today, right?"<br />
<br />
"Sure do! That's actually why I'm here--he sent me to get some files he forgot to pick up this morning."<br />
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"I swear, sometimes I think he needs me to do everything for him, " Janice smiled. "Go on in and get them. I'm heading to lunch, so make sure you lock his office when you leave."<br />
<br />
(Steals classified files for foreign government and is pursued by Bond-like spy.)Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-12571308974791431302017-07-10T00:00:00.000-04:002019-03-08T23:41:41.556-05:00Story Fragment #15: Life In The Rust Belt<div style="text-align: center;">
Life In The Rust Belt</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Ashley Wakersby had spent her entire life in this Rust Belt town, as had several generations of her family before her. At one time, it had been a thriving area, but now it was filled with empty storefronts and abandoned factories. </div>
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The neighborhood where Ashley lived was also suffering from the economic downturn. Where there used to be families in every home who knew their neighbors as well as they knew themselves, now there was an abundance of empty houses with boarded-up windows--places which hadn't held a family in a decade or more. The few houses which were still inhabited contained people who kept to themselves, who didn't even know the names of the others on the block, much less anything about them.</div>
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Ashley had spent forty-five of her sixty-five years in this house on Marigold Lane. She and Carl had moved in as newlyweds, raised their son and daughter here, and Carl had passed away here two years ago. Since his death, Ashley had found it more and more difficult to go outside the house.</div>
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Having the internet made staying home so easy for her. She could pay all her bills, order her groceries, listen to audiobooks or read ebooks from the library.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
(Discuss hoarding, fancy food traditions--champagne, caviar, pate--etc.)</div>
Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-22488265663308976442017-07-07T00:00:00.000-04:002017-07-07T00:00:21.219-04:00FRIDAY POETRY DAY: Yoda PoetryAs you may have guessed, Yoda poetry is poetry written the way Yoda speaks--and it's harder to write than you might think. This is my first (and so far, only, attempt).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Blowing through the clear blue sky cotton candy clouds are.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shining on my face warm sunlight is.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With each step in the soft green grass I take,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tickle my toes it does.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
© 2017 Teresa Kander </div>
Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-42645089362731425902017-07-05T00:00:00.000-04:002017-07-05T00:00:10.121-04:00Story Fragment #14: Write a script scene of two people in conflictThe voice actor for a popular children's show has died, and the two characters in this scene are auditioning for the role.<br />
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Character #1: Gerry<br />
Thinks Penelope is an entitled princess<br />Is sleeping with the show's producer<br />
Wants to be successful to show up his twin brother, a writer on the show.<br />
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Character #2: Penelope<br />
Thinks Gerry will ruin her father's legacy<br />
Daughter of previous voice actor<br />
Wants to win an award<br />
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Scene: Reception area outside producer's office. P sitting in a chair, waiting to audition, along with numerous others.<br />
G enters and takes last remaining chair, next to P.?<br />
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P: Oh no--MUST you sit there?<br />
G: Believe me, Princess, if there were any other seats available, I'd want to be as far away from you as possible.<br />
P: Fine. Just sit there and don't talk to me then. I can't believe you'd even show your face at this audition.<br />
G: Me? What about you? I suppose you think that Daddy's little girl should just get the role handed to her?<br />
P: Of course not--I'm banking on my talent, unlike you, who has to try to sleep his way to the top.<br />
G: My relationship with Lily had nothing to do with it. I'm obviously the better choice to be the new Puddy Numkin.<br />
P: Oh please! I've been preparing for this role my whole life--listening to Dad rehearse and talk about his motivation. I know this little cuddle bug inside and out--what do YOU know about him?<br />
G: I know this role will be the key to the rest of my career. Kids love the little furball, and I'll be famous as his voice--and then the offers for other work will start pouring in...hopefully something a little less juvenile!<br />
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P gawks open-mouthed as the receptionist calls G in to read.<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-58664271283276374932017-07-03T00:00:00.000-04:002017-07-03T10:38:42.435-04:00Story Fragment #13: Jean-Paul Jean-Paul Robillard arrived at the lush penthouse apartment of his client, Hank Atkins, precisely at 10 am, just as he had done every morning for the last six months.<br />
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"Cuddles!" he called out. Are you ready for zee morning stroll?"<br />
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A fuzzy black toy poodle sped toward him, coming out of a door Jean-Paul knew led to Hank's study.<br />
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"Naughty girl--you know Hank doesn't allow you in zhere," Jean-Paul chided as he approached her with her leash.<br />
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Rather than meekly sitting at his feet, as was her usual custom, Cuddles turned and ran back into the study with a loud bark.<br />
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"No games this morning, Cuddles--I have a schedule to keep. Let's get going, non?"<br />
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As soon as he entered the study, Jean-Paul's bright blue eyes widened at the scene. Cuddles was pacing back and forth along the length of her owner's body, which lay in front of his desk. Jean-Paul couldn't discern Hank's injuries, but there was enough blood on the beige carpeting to make it obvious they were serious.<br />
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The Frenchman reached into his jacket pocket, intending to pull out his phone and call 911, but instead he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head just before everything went black.<br />
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When he came to a few minutes later--or he assumed it was just a few minutes, at least--he noticed a fireplace poker that had been left on the floor next to him, and surmised that was the weapon which had been used to render him unconscious. As soon as he could sit up without the room spinning, he made the 911 call. While he waited for help to arrive, he searched the apartment for Cuddles, but she appeared to have vanished along with his attacker, whom he presumed to all be the person who had injured Hank.Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1565767728723983459.post-46613017138362499252017-06-02T00:00:00.000-04:002017-06-02T00:00:02.860-04:00Story Fragment #12: P.T. O'MalleyP.T. O'Malley, the best-selling horror writer, flew through the door of the small town library at five minutes before two o'clock.<br />
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"Sorry I didn't get here sooner," she apologized to Melinda Lovejoy, the librarian. " I was working on the new book, and time just slipped away."<br />
<br />
"Not a problem," Melinda assured her. "We're just about ready to start, and you already know the routine, so go ahead and take your seat at the table."<br />
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P.T., whose real name was Bella Chrisman, quickly took the remaining seat at the table, where she found herself sandwiched between Constance Newsome, director of the local animal shelter, and Patrick Kramden, church custodian and local gravedigger. <i>What an interesting combination of judges, </i>P.T. thought to herself.<br />
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At precisely 2 pm, Melinda walked up to the microphone and began to speak. "Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to our first annual feline beauty contest."<br />
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<br />Teresa Kanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14637414178733769112noreply@blogger.com0