Some Writers Pick A Topic And Write

It Took A Lot Of Work To Be Perfect.

I Felt Like I'd Been Swimming So Hard, And The Water Growing Warmer And Warmer The Closer I Got To The Top. I Wasn't There Yet, But Now I Could See The Surface, Rippling Just Beyond My Fingers.

As He Heard Me Approach, He Quickly Leaped Up, Grabbing A Nearby Loaf Of Bread And Holding It In Front Of Him As If Struck By A Sudden Desire To Make A Sandwich.

I Honestly Don't Have Many Creative Outlets. I'm Not Crafty - Although Motherhood Has Forced Me To Try To Be - And I Can Only Draw Trees, Beaches, And Clouds. I'm A So-so Cook Except For Deviled Eggs. Writing Has Always Been The One Thing I Feel That I Am Pretty Good At Doing. But It's Enough, Thank Goodness.

The Lizard Stared Up At Us, And We Stared Back, Taking Each Other In. He Was Little And Defenseless, I Felt Sorry For Him Already. This Was A Screwed-up Place He'd Just Come Into. But He Didn't Have To Know That. Not Yet, Anyway. There In That Room, Where It Was Hot And Cramped, The World Probably Still Seemed Small Enough To Manage.